When I was a teaching assistant, I used to work as a substitute teacher for very unruly classes — the classes licensed teachers wouldn’t accept. I had full responsibility and worked all hours, and my numbers showed that my class was making great progress. I just had some bad luck that caused me to not finish teaching college at that time.

Because I didn’t have my license, my boss came to me one day and told me that I was actually “too uneducated and inexperienced” to teach and that I “must have had someone telling me what to do” behind me. I told her I didn’t, but she didn’t believe me and told me she’ll be watching me like a hawk to see if I was fraudulent, changing grades and stuff.

I never did anything to my students. I’m not a cruel person and I didn’t want anyone implying that I wasn’t doing my job as expected. They all got to the next year with scores higher than we would’ve expected beforehand.

But. I started to behave like a beginner student teacher, to my boss only! I asked really stupid questions like, “How can I make my class quiet? I’m really too uneducated to know, so can you please help this teacher out by showing me?” I knew fully well that my formerly disruptive class wouldn’t ever listen to her. I called her for anything and everything: a parent wanting to talk to me, a kid who fell down and needed a band-aid… anything. I made sure to tell her I was too uneducated and inexperienced to handle such a task and I needed to observe a true pro work.

My colleagues got in on it, too. They started pointing out everything I wasn’t allowed to do but expected to do, and they told my boss that she was being very hypocritical by expecting me to do so.

In the meantime, I was discussing gamification, the need for programming and English in primary school, showing older colleagues new teaching methods and digital assistance… All the goodies.

After six weeks, my boss was done. She called me to her office and apologized to me for saying that I was too uneducated and inexperienced. She said she was renewing my contract and got some budget to pay for half of my studies.

I was happy to tell her that I gotten a new job that would pay for everything to get me my license and I would get full creative freedom… without being watched like a hawk.

This was two years ago. I almost have my license now and I still work at that awesome school that hired me after the allegations of being “uneducated and inexperienced” at my old job.

My parents used to try and pull the “if you don’t finish your food you can’t get up from the table” trick, but I’d say, “Fine,” and sit at the table for hours until they gave in. There was no phone, no TV, no anything — just me, some vegetables, and a set of exhausted parents. I was apparently totally capable of just… saying no and sticking to my guns.

Fast forward to a school trip. It’s lunchtime and on offer are sandwiches. A couple of kids have cheese and onion sandwiches, but the rest of us are being offered, insanely, pâté sandwiches. I think this is a crazy thing to feed a group of forty schoolchildren, but clearly, the school didn’t agree. I ask if I can have a cheese and onion sandwich and I’m told that no, I can’t, because I had to sign up for the vegetarian option in advance.

At this age, I have no idea what pâté is, but I can see it and smell it, and I know it’s not happening. I ask again for some cheese and onion sandwiches, and I’m told there’re none left and I’m going to have to eat the other kind.

I was an absolute model student up until the age of, like, sixteen, but there is this one teacher who absolutely hates me regardless. Think, “How dare you write in cursive when I haven’t taught you cursive yet?!” She seizes upon this opportunity.

Teacher: “Don’t be picky! You’re holding everyone up. You should just eat the sandwich.”

I’m poking this thing and the texture is totally freaking me out — my biggest issue with most foods.

Me: “Can I just skip lunch?”

Teacher: “No, absolutely not. You have to eat and you have to eat that sandwich.”

Me: “I’m not trying to be fussy, but if I try and eat that sandwich, I’m going to throw up.”

Teacher: “Stop being dramatic. You’re not going to throw up; you’re just a picky eater and you need to get over it.”

So, I bit into the sandwich, and not fifteen seconds later, I started throwing up everywhere. Clearly, [Teacher] was not expecting this and she had no idea how to react.

A bunch of the other teachers came over to check that everything was okay, and she tried to explain to them what had happened. They had to call my parents — as was the throwing up protocol — and they were very interested to know why the teacher had force-fed their child a lukewarm pâté sandwich.

In the end, they broke out the crisps and an apple because, unsurprisingly, there were things to eat other than meat paste in bread, and [Teacher] gave me a wide berth for a good few weeks.

My school is hybrid with students coming in part-time due to full-time viral yuck. A student emails me that she may have been exposed to viral yuck and wants me to know she’s quarantined. I call her to check in on her.

Me: “So, you went out with friends and one of them tested positive afterward?”

Student: “Yes, ma’am. I didn’t even hang out with her that much.”

Me: “You were in different rooms the whole time?”

Student: “No, but we only got near each other to pass what we were smoking.”

Me: “…”

Student: “What?”

Me: “First of all, why are you telling me that part? Second, you put your mouth on something that had her saliva and breath on it?”

Student: “Well, now that you put it that way, I’m worried.”

In my freshman year of high school, I have some pretty bad luck with my health early on in the year. Somehow, I manage to catch strep and tonsillitis AT THE SAME TIME, so I miss about two weeks of school. I am okay for a while after the full course of antibiotics, but I start feeling sick and groggy again pretty quickly so I go back to the doctor. This time, I have mono. Not only that, but I have TWO DIFFERENT STRAINS of mono.

My school, in their infinite wisdom, says I can’t miss any more days or I’ll have to repeat the semester. Great. So I try to just power through, which is made more difficult by the fact that my first class of the day was algebra.

I’m sitting in class, nodding off HARD while trying to pay attention and take notes, pinching my arm black and blue trying to stay awake. Eventually, I decide to take a ten-second power nap to try and recharge a little bit. I close my eyes and count to one…

Teacher: *Shaking my shoulder gently* “[My Name]?”

Me: *Groggy* “Huh?”

Teacher: “Your pencil’s still moving, but your head’s been down for ten minutes.”

Me: “What?!”

I look at my desk and see pencil scribbles everywhere.

Me: “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry. I’m trying to pay attention, I swear I am…”

I frantically try to clean up the scribbles and grab the desk when I get dizzy.

Teacher: *Concerned* “[My Name], you look like h***. What’s wrong?”

Me: “I’m sorry, I have mono.”

Teacher: *Shocked* “What?! What are you doing in school? You should be at home resting!”

Me: “I’d love to be, but the office said I can’t miss any more school since I missed so much last month.”

My teacher is silent for a moment, clearly angry.

Teacher: “Put your head back down and go to sleep. I’ll print the notes for you. Do you need, I don’t know, water or something? Anything I can get you?”

Me: “I’m okay. Are you sure?”

Teacher: “I’m sure. Go to sleep.”

I thanked him and went to sleep. I genuinely don’t remember the rest of the day, or most of the recovery period, but when I got home my parents had gotten a VERY apologetic call from the office saying that I could stay home until I was better and my teachers would email me notes and assignments. Turns out my algebra teacher had gone to the office and demanded an explanation as to why one of his students was being forced to attend class when they were too ill to even stay awake and the vice-principal, who was awesome and way better than the principal, hadn’t heard about this and demanded an explanation, as well. I might hate math, but that was the absolute best math teacher I ever had!

A kindergartner is sent to the principal for writing on his bus seat.

Principal: “Did you write on your seat on the bus?”

Child: “Yes.”

Principal: “Do other kids write on the seats?”

Child: “No.”

Principal: “Do you write on the furniture at home?”

Child: “No.”

Principal: “Then why did you think it was okay to write on the bus seat?”

Child: *Bursts into tears* “Because the driver told us to sit in our ‘signed seats, and mine wasn’t signed!”