I’m a member of my school’s horse riding club. This happens before a riding lesson, while we are putting on my mount’s bridle and saddle in the stable. It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck with [Horse].

Instructor: “So, how do you find [Horse] so far?”

Me: “She’s like my grandma.”

Instructor: “How so?”

Me: “Old, fat, and stubborn.”

The instructor is not sure whether to be offended or amused.

Me: “And lazy.”

My horse then swings her head around, clubbing me with her head. I’m wearing a helmet, so it doesn’t hurt, but I still get knocked aside.

Me: “Yeah, I deserved that.”

Somehow, that day, [Horse] is unusually active, requiring less nagging from me to move and more willingness to obey my commands. We even do jumps, after which, she goes into a canter, nearly throwing me off in the process. Much screaming is involved, to the delight of my girlfriend, who still refuses to let me live that down to this day.

After the session, we are taking the horses back to the stable and removing their saddles and bridles.

Instructor: “Good job, [My Name]. I think that that was the most exercise [Horse] has gotten this year.”

Me: “Yes, so maybe she isn’t as lazy as we thought, but I still think she’s like my grandma: cranky and bad-tempered.”

We pack up and I walk out of the stable. Just then, another horse trots past. The rider, horse and I are all looking in the wrong direction, so I get rammed and knocked into a puddle of mud. Thankfully, not only am I wearing a padded jacket and a riding cuirass, but I am also wearing a suit of motocross armour underneath, so I am fine, if only a bit stunned. Everyone rushes up to us, making sure that everyone is fine. The horse is panicking, but the instructors are all calming it down.

Me: *Getting to my feet* “Yeah, I definitely deserved that.”

I live in a small house on campus. It is a dorm, but we only have about a dozen rooms. I become good friends with two of the other girls, [Friend #1] and [Friend #2].

My second year, at the “get to know you” meeting, the three of us decide to take one of the freshmen under our wings. Our chosen freshman, who we call “Little Fish” — freshmen are often referred to as fish around here — is a very small girl, not even 100 pounds soaking wet, maybe five-foot-nothing. She is a sweet little thing, she was homeschooled, and while she knows how to do housework and is very well-prepared academically, she is very naive and believes nothing bad could ever happen to her.

One day, we find out she has been walking home alone from her night classes. Being the concerned big sisters we are, we have to stage an intervention. We sit her down in the lobby one day.

Friend #1: “Okay, Little Fish, it has come to our attention that you are walking home at night alone and unarmed.”

Little Fish: “Um, I guess.”

Me: “And are you aware just how dangerous this is?”

Little Fish: “Um, no. I mean, you guys walk around alone all the time. I don’t see why I shouldn’t if you do.”

[Friend #1] and I are both over 100 pounds and at least half a foot taller than Little Fish. [Friend #2] weighs more than all of us combined and is a weightlifter.

Friend #2: “Fish, you are small and portable.”

Little Fish: “No, I’m not.”

Me: “Yes, you are.”

Little Fish: “I’m not.”

[Friend #2] stands up, grabs Little Fish, throws her over her shoulder, sprints down the hall, touches the back door, and then sprints back and drops Little Fish back on the couch.

Friend #2: “See, portable.”

Little Fish: “That’s not fair! I wasn’t prepared for any of you to try and kidnap me. I’d be prepared for a stranger on the street.”

Me: *Standing up slowly* “Okay, Little Fish, I’m going to pick you up now.”

I proceed to grab her by the waist and carry her a few feet while she flails her hands about wildly. She manages to make contact with my face a few times but I don’t even have a bruise the next day. After I set her down again:

Little Fish: “But [Friend #2] could carry both of you off just as easy.”

Friend #1: “Honey, I carry a full-sized umbrella everywhere no matter the weather. It’s not just a style choice; that thing is a weapon and I can use it.”

Me: “And I have pepper spray on my key chain and have been learning aikido for years.”

Friend #2: “Heck, I carry pepper spray and I’m the least likely person in this room to ever need to use it.”

Little Fish: “Oh, but why would anyone want to kidnap me?”

Friend #1: “Because the world is a dark and scary place full of bad people.”

Little Fish: “It is?!”

I started dragging Little Fish to my aikido classes. We also found a friend of a friend who was taking the same night class and got him to walk with her, since his boyfriend’s dorm was in the building next door to ours.

This story starts at the beginning of the first semester of my senior year. I take a music appreciation class that semester which everyone just calls “the Beatles class” because that is the band the teacher focuses on the entire semester. I had this teacher my sophomore year, as well; I took a drumline class with him where he eventually asked if I would join the school band — he was the band teacher. Originally, I was interested in it, but I later changed my mind. He did not like that.

Fast forward, back to my senior year. I miss a test due to a doctor’s appointment. The next day, I go to him to see when I can make it up.

Me: “[Teacher], I wanted to see when I could make up my test?”

Teacher: “Will you be in the [School Production] this weekend?”

Me: “Yes, I will be performing.”

Teacher: “Then don’t worry about the test right now; focus on your performance. Come see me next week to discuss when you can make up the test.”

Me: “Thank you, [Teacher].”

The weekend goes by and so does my performance. It is now Monday morning. I walk up to my teacher to discuss the test.

Teacher: “You have a test that you need to make up!”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Teacher: “You need to come to see me after school today to make up for your test!”

I do not have my license and can’t get a hold of my parents to pick me up later because cell phones are not allowed.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t be able to make it up today. Can I take it tomorrow after school?”

Teacher: “Fine.”

The next day after school, I walk to his classroom and find that he has left for the day. He does not mention anything about the test later on and I end up completely forgetting about it. Fast forward again to finals. I am talking to a friend before the bell and the teacher comes up to me.

Teacher: “You have a test to make up in my class. We had a date set and I waited until 4:00 but you never showed up.”

Me: “I was there before 4:00 and you weren’t there.”

I can tell that I’ve caught him on that one.

Teacher: “You will need to take your test after your final.”

Me: “Can’t I take it before my final with [Special Education Teacher I work with]?”

Teacher: “No, you have to take it with me after your final.”

Me: “Okay.”

As you can tell, I was fed up with this and it didn’t make sense to me that I had to wait until after my final to take my test. I finally got my mom involved, who sent him an email to try to get an understanding of what was going on, especially with him refusing to let me take the test with my special education teacher; my IEP states that I get extra time on tests and I get to take my test in a different classroom.

He did not budge with his decision so I finally got my special education teacher involved. He sent my music teacher an email telling him that I would be taking the test in his classroom before my final.

I finally took my test, but because it had been so long since we went over that lesson, I did not know any of the answers. That didn’t matter, though. Just by turning it in that test, it brought my grade up to 95%. Because my grade was 95%, I no longer had to take his final.

I think the thing that annoyed me the most about the whole situation is that it took a male teacher to help me with another male teacher because the teacher would not listen to his female student or her mother. I also truly believe that this was his revenge for me not joining the drumline.

I’m the author of this story. This story is not about that witch, but rather a giant whom I have the displeasure of fighting in ninth grade. I have fairly severe ADHD, and that leads to me “stimming” or using up my excess energy in various ways, such as foot-tapping, crochet, and writing ciphers.

Most teachers tolerate this because I still work hard and get decent grades. This teacher, however, thinks that if I am stimming, I’m not working, so things I do to stim are rapidly banned until all I have left is tapping my feet.

On the day of this particular incident, I have gotten these wonderful new boots that are shiny and go click-clack when I walk. I love them.

I’m sitting in the lesson, trying my best to pay attention without stimming, when my knee starts bouncing, the heel going “click-click-click,” not particularly loudly. My teacher, on the other hand, stops his lesson and turns around.

Teacher: “If you don’t stop tapping your foot, I’m getting the sponge.”

Me: “Sorry, sir!”

He goes back to the lesson. I’m quiet for about five minutes, and then my knee starts bouncing again. 

He doesn’t even say anything; he just goes and fetches a bright pink sponge and puts it under the foot that was tapping.

This happens with my other foot, as well. I’m embarrassed and I can hear the people in the class whispering about me, so my feet start bouncing again, hard enough that the sponges aren’t stopping the noise.

My teacher turns around again, glaring at me.

Me: “I’m really sorry. I just need to move and I’m trying not to make noise, I promise; it’s my shoes!”

Teacher: “Boots off, then. It’s annoying.”

So, I took off my boots and planted my feet on the sponges and started bouncing my knee again. Somehow, he could still hear that, and I ended up with three sponges under both my feet by the end of the class.

In his defence, I suppose the shoes were overkill, but at a certain point, I just needed to not sit still for the double-length math/science class. There had to be something he could do other than stacking sponges.

Related:
Absolutely Despicable, Horrendous, And Dreadful

I’m attending my first ever class on my first ever day of university, an 8:00 am general chemistry class. My professor makes some things very clear very quickly.

Professor: “My office is in [Building], but be careful asking for me by name! There’s another Doctor [His Last Name], and, naturally, his office is also in [Building]. He’s on the third floor with all the other biologists and I’m on the fourth with the other chemists. Remember, my first name is [First Name] and his is not. I repeat, my name is [First Name] and his is not, so just call me Doctor [First Name], instead.”

After this, he pauses before adding:

Professor: “One of us is good and one of us is evil, but I’ll let you figure out which of us is which on your own.”