My quiz results don’t tell me how many other geeks I outrank and are therefore useless to include on my resumé.

My Facebook friends love sharing internet quizzes out of the boredom of their heart, but I generally skip them on standoffish principle. Of those few I click on, I rarely finish because sooner or later I encounter a question with no right answer, no close answer, not even an answer I would pretend is right just to finish out the page. Alas, I’ll never know which Frozen character I am, which Hogwarts house would have me, how hipster I am, or which member of One Direction is my secret twin. I don’t want to know these answers, because knowing is half the defeat.

Then someone somewhere in the underground internet clickbait factories switched gears and decided to tempt us with checklists instead of quizzes, because they sound less like schoolwork. As a lifelong list junkie, I have a harder time walking past a checklist without ticking a few boxes, especially if I can pretend it’s for statistical science. And when Buzzfeed posted a checklist called “What’s Your Geek Number?” I’ll admit I was an easy mark. I gave it a whirl and wasn’t surprised at the results, or at the questionable test construction and the myth it perpetuates.

To its credit, the quiz recognizes that the term “geek” applies to a lot of media, hobbies, and other areas of trivial interest. The questions span the worlds of comics (American and manga), gaming (video games, RPGs, TCGs, and other tabletop), fantasy and sci-fi lit, fanfic, TV on both sides of the Atlantic, conventions, science, computer programming and repair, graduate studies (curiously, all doctors get one free point as if they’re geeks on principle), and, of course, internet places no mere mortal would dare tread. I do see some omissions — movies are barely noted at all, few outside the worldwide blockbusters that even most non-geeks have seen multiple times. Cosplay is limited to a single question about Stormtrooper armor. A couple of my friends would’ve benefited from a nod to customizing action figures. I’m respectively shocked and gratified that both Community and The Big Bang Theory, the polarizing either/or Beatles and Elvis of our times, rate nary a name-check.

As far as I know, only one of my online cohorts scored over 100 on this quiz. Looking at us from outside, I suppose some might think that’s telling or shameful or exposing us all as fake geek girls and fake geek boys. My crowd skews a little older than average, sure, so we may be shaky on recent phenomena. But I’m skeptical of any test where scoring 33% is as close to a passing grade as anyone gets.

I’m sure it’s all presented in good fun and traffic, but if you review the questions in toto, it reminds me of the kind of conversations and impressions I’ve encountered from numerous people throughout my life that boil down to one common misconception:

All real geeks know everything there is to know about all “geek” stuff.

Where I live, well-meaning folks who buy into this are a majority demographic. Yes, I wear glasses, did well in school, go to the theater too often, use long words when the mood strikes, own too many DVDs, have been collecting comics since age six, used to own all the hardcover AD&D manuals released up to 1986, and have a few fanfics buried in my past. That does not mean I know how to diagnose your computer issues, or that I’m following Game of Thrones, or that I read Twilight, or that I enjoy DC’s New 52, or that I remember any calculus, or that I’ve been to the San Diego Comic Con, or that I own multiple video game consoles, or that I can tell the first seven Doctors apart. And as I’ve written here before, never EVER get me started on The Big Bang Theory.

Like any human, geeks have limitations too. We have the same woefully limited number of hours in the day. We have the same capacity for disliking unpopular stuff if we choose. For us, being a geek isn’t about acquiring ultimate universal knowledge and becoming unstoppable Brainiacs so we can go show off on some cheesy, demeaning reality show. It’s simply about liking the stuff we like no matter how obscure, bizarre, or criminally overlooked it is. Often that “liking” takes the form of lifelong collecting, years of studying, intense scrutiny, and sometimes delving into the material deeply enough to drown if someone doesn’t pull us out.

But there’s no way we can be like that about everything. We’re all about selective specialization. Gamers, comics collectors, movie buffs, hackers, and all other cross-sections may know a little from each field, but the know-it-all jack-of-all-trades who’s got them all covered is very rare, if one even exists. Frankly, there’s no way any rational human should have had enough study time in their entire life to earn a perfect 300 on that quiz without cheating. For one thing, how many doctors brake for internet quizzes?

I’m old enough not to give myself an inferiority complex over my low quiz score, or my dearth of tabletop know-how, or the fact that I was unaware of the existence of 100-sided dice and the largest die I own is only thirty-sided. I appreciate the friendly discussion it sparked with my peers. And I’m really glad the spoilers in the quiz didn’t affect me. I just hope no one else out there is putting much stock in this, treating the scores as if they hold any meaning, using them as the basis for establishing a pecking order, or deriving one iota of self-worth from it.

There’s no prize at the end for knowing the most stuff. He who dies with the most toys wins nothing. Disregard the results, relax, enjoy the geek interests that mean the most to you, don’t feel ashamed of missing out on the rest, and don’t forget to tune in this Thursday for the Community season-five finale, which in my happiest alt-universe would’ve destroyed The Big Bang Theory in the ratings years ago.

(See, this kind of gratuitous BBT-bashing is exactly what happens when you get me started.)