Can’t Skip This Period

(My middle school math teacher was a somewhat grumpy man in his early 60s. At the time, I had just started getting my, ahem, “time of the month”, and being a naturally shy girl, I was all the more embarrassed by it.)

Me: *raises my hand* “Um, Mr. [Grumpy Teacher], c-can I, uh, have a r-restroom pass?”

Teacher: “I assure you, [My Name], it can wait.”

(Cowed into silence, I lower my hand. Class goes on for five more minutes before I decide to try again.)

Me: “M-Mr. [Grumpy Teacher], it’s, uh, really an emergency…”

Teacher: *sighs heavily* “Fine, you can go. Two minutes only.”

(Relieved, I grab my bag and start to head out the door.)

Teacher: “Wait, wait. You can’t bring your bag. Put it back.”

Me: “But I—”

Teacher: “[My Name], NOW.”

(I’m bright red and on the verge of tears at this point. My brain short circuits, and I deliver maybe the worst reply possible.)

Me: “Mr. [Grumpy Teacher], it’s the blood time!”

(The entire class quietly loses it. The teacher goes dead silent, and, clearly mortified, allows me to leave.)