(I am an English teacher, and sixth period is one of my Junior-level classes. A student falls asleep in class and just will not wake up, not even after I draw on his face with water-soluble ink. So I get the rest of the class to hide in the hallway, and then I come running back into the classroom to wake my kiddo up.)

Me: “Oh, my God! There’s a survivor!”

Student: *stares blankly, blinking the sleep away* “How long have I been asleep…?”

Me: “Long enough for the world to end.”

(Cue the rest of the class losing it in the hallway.)

(I’m in a session with my therapist at the school. I have high-functioning autism.)

Me: “So, I found certain scholarships that apply to students with disabilities.”

Therapist: “I wouldn’t say you’re disabled; more like, you find some things hard.”

Me: “Would you say that to a kid in a wheelchair?”

Therapist: “Well, I would say you have a walking disability.”

Me: “But I don’t have a mental disability?”

(She changed the subject after that.)

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(I am on a field trip with my class to see a stage hypnotist. He has called up some classmates to the stage and “hypnotized” them.)

Hypnotist: “And now… I turn down the gravity!”

(Everyone on stage immediately drops to the ground and pretends to struggle standing up.)

Hypnotist: “I said turn DOWN the gravity!”

(I am in year four – equivalent to the third grade. We are having our first sex ed lesson.)

Teacher: “Okay, who can tell me what the name for this part is?”

Classmate #1: “Oh! Oh! I know, Miss!”

Teacher: “Yes, [Classmate #1]?”

Classmate #1: “It’s the d***!”

Teacher: “…no. That’s not the right name.”

Classmate #1: “But that’s what my Mum says to my Dad.”

Teacher: “Sorry, it’s still not the right answer. It’s actually not a very nice word, and you shouldn’t use it with people.”

Classmate #1: “Why, Miss?”

Teacher: “Because it’s a swear word, and we don’t use those.”

(There is silence for a few seconds, as the class contemplates this.)

Classmate #2: “Haha, d***.”

Classmate #3: “D***!”

Entire Class: “D***! D***! D***!”

(Every single one of us was forced to stay for an hour after school.)

(My chemistry teacher in high school is generally known to be a sarcastic but cool guy. The room right above his belongs to the less popular biology teacher. On this day, we are learning about how different chemicals react to electricity being passed through them. One thing our teacher ran electricity through was a pickle which, while cool to look at, produced a strong smell. A few minutes later the phone rings.)

Teacher: “Hello? What?” *looks at us* “No, I’m not burning anything… No, I don’t smell it. Huh, that’s weird.”

(He calmly hangs up the phone and stares at it for a second. Then he grabs a paper towel, sets it on fire, and begins waving it under the vent in the ceiling.)

Teacher: “Let’s see if she calls back…”