I remember being a nine-year-old in the mid 1980s. Our bus driver (a really nice lady, but she suffered no fools) keeps looking into her rear-view mirror and cursing. 

After a few more minutes of this, she stops the bus, rolls her window down, and starts screaming at some guy, whom I then realized was trying to drive past the bus.

Driver: *Pointed at the extended stop sign, screaming.* “IF YOU CAN’T F****** READ THEN GET IN THE BUS, AND I’LL HAUL YOUR IGNORANT A** TO SCHOOL SO YOU CAN LEARN!”

The driver turned down a side street quickly after that.

 That’s my clearest memory of being in the fourth grade, and it wasn’t even in the school.

I used to work in a university bookshop. We closed once a year to do our stock-take, but couldn’t lock the door because it was the only way out (fire exit).

We had a solid triangular pillar-shaped mobile sign about 1.6 metres high, with each side being about 60 cm wide. I parked this outside the closed door with a sign reading “CLOSED FOR STOCK TAKE” in text about 10 cm high.

I lost count of the number of students and faculty who pushed the sign out of the way to get into the shop, and then had an embolism when told:

Me: “We’re closed for stock take.”

Faculty: “How the h*** was I supposed to know that?!”

Me: “The “CLOSED FOR STOCK TAKE” sign you pushed out of the way should have given you a hint.”

Faculty: *Looks back at the sign, then at me, then back at the sign.* “If I didn’t see it, it wasn’t clear enough!” *Leaves.*

Manager: “This is how you learn that it’s possible to be highly educated but dumb as a plank.”

A number of years ago, while at college, I started a new medication. One unfortunate side effect of this medication was uncontrollable yawning. It didn’t matter if I’d had ten hours of sleep or two; I would be yawning every fifteen to thirty minutes. I knew my college tutor would pick up on this because that’s the kind of person she was, so I sent her an email asking her not to mention it during class because it was a bit embarrassing.

The very next day, we were in class, and I yawned.

Tutor: “Oh, I’m sorry [My Name], am I boring you?”

Me: “No, I just yawned. It happens sometimes.”

Tutor: *Nastily.* “Well, if you’re that tired, you can go home. I wouldn’t want to bore you with my teaching.”

Me: “[Tutor], do you remember that I emailed you yesterday?”

Tutor: “Yes, but—”

Me: “—And do you remember that I explained uncontrollable yawning is a side effect of the medication I just started taking?”

Tutor: “Yes, but—”

Me: “And do you remember, [Tutor], that I explicitly asked you not to comment on it because it was embarrassing to me and I didn’t want the entire class to know about my medical issues?”

Tutor: “[My Name], you’re being very rude—”

Me: “—No, [Tutor], you’re being very rude. I explained to you privately why I would be yawning and asked you not to mention it in front of the class because I knew you would, and you’ve still put me in a position where I have to tell the entire class that I’m taking medication. I tried to avoid this conversation by giving you a heads-up, and you’ve ignored that, so you can try to embarrass me in front of twenty people.”

Tutor: “Well, I just—”

Me: “Can we get back to the lesson, please? I will yawn again; it has nothing to do with your lesson, and I would appreciate it if you didn’t mention it again.”

Later on, the tutor demanded I go to the head of the department to “explain” my rudeness, certain I’d be punished somehow. I’m not sure what she expected to happen, seeing as I was eighteen and living on my own, so it’s not like they could call my parents about it.

When I explained what happened (backed up by a classmate) and showed the department head the email I’d sent, she got very quiet and said she would have a word with our tutor. The tutor avoided talking to me for a week, then went back to acting as if nothing had happened.

That, plus a number of other incidents like the tutor teaching us totally wrong information and admitting she deliberately took points off my and other students’ tests to try and motivate us to work harder, ended up with me quitting that college because I didn’t want to deal with her for another two years. I ended up applying to a different college instead with much better tutors, and passed all exams with good marks despite my terribly disruptive yawning.

Growing up, my family listened to a popular local radio station in the morning. One part of the morning show was to announce birthdays that people had called in. It was my birthday (1997), and we were listening to the radio as usual.

DJ: “…and we have [My Full Name] from [Hometown] who turns ten today. A double-digit midget, how about that? And next…”

I was speechless. I would have been thrilled if not for the second part. I was already small for my age, and I knew the kids at school listened to the same station. I begged my parents to keep me home from school, but they refused. I walked into the home room and saw several other kids grinning.

Kid #1: “Hi, [My Name]! I knew you were a midget!”

Me: “I’m not.”

Kid #1: “I heard it on the radio.”

Me: “Well, I’m not.”

Kid #2: *Singing.* “Double-digit midget! Double-digit midget!”

Teacher: “Okay, that’s enough. Let’s settle down.”

For the rest of the day and several days after, those two kids called me a double-digit midget every time a teacher wasn’t around. I tried to tell my teacher, but they denied it, so nothing happened. When my next birthday came around, I told my parents *not* to call the radio station.

I’ve been teaching for a long time. A LONG time. Many of my students’ parents were my students, and in a couple of cases, grandparents. I have no tolerance for BS anymore.

The school provides buses for all students, even the ones who live in the house across the narrow road from the entrance to the school parking lot and on the adjacent property to the school, as every time the district has tried to cut courtesy bus service for students close enough to walk to school, the parents have been up in arms.

And still, the parking lot is full of parents dropping off their children every morning, with the official traffic study showing roughly half of the students being brought in by parents.

It is routine for parents to drive at highway speeds, the fastest clocked this year is 50mph, and to go around vehicles trying to park, in the parking lot, at a school. Often passing on both sides.

Last week, I had a parent in a Maserati (a not uncommon personal vehicle here) pass between me and the stall I was turning into, while signalling, to do a bootlegger turn rather than drive the additional few feet to the turn around. Again, not uncommon. The parking lot is painted with tire scars.

I stopped.

He was blocked.

I got out, went to his window, and told him that I was happy that he found a car that properly compensated for the size of his genitalia, but given that it is a school, not a Formula One course, he should drive appropriately. I can say these things. I’m old, and I’m retiring. His response is unprintable and may constitute a criminal threat, but it proceeded no further at that point.

It took less than an hour, though. I was called by the Assistant Principal to explain why I was being disrespectful. I told her to look at the video; it’s the 2020’s, and there are cameras everywhere.

I have heard no more about it. No follow-up, apology, anything. But I expect no less. Or more.