(I am an exchange student, attending one of my very first lessons. I am alone in the classroom a while before the class starts, and I turn to the closest of the few other students that has arrived.)

Me: “Excuse me, do you know the password for the school network? I’ve never used it before.”

Student: *arrogant tone* “Hah, well that’s just typical of you exchange students. It’s so simple; how can you not manage to log in?”

Me: “Well, I found the network and everything; I just don’t know the password. Never mind, I’ll just ask someone else.”

Student: “No, alright, I’ll give it to you. But seriously, how do you expect to pass any of your classes if you can’t even handle a simple thing like a computer?”

(At this point, I am getting very annoyed and upset by his tone, but since I really need to log in, I try to ignore it.)

Me: “Could you just tell me the password, please?”

Student: “Right. It is ‘2012,’ and then three random letters, [letters]. See? Not that hard at all. I don’t know how you could mess it up.”

Me: “Okay, ‘2012[letters]’ right?”

Student: “Yeah, I don’t really know what the letters are supposed to be, they are always the same but the numbers change every year. I guess they just have really bad imagination.”

Me: “The letters are the initials of this university; that might have something to do with it.”

Student: “Eh… yeah. I… never thought about that.”

(The student is very friendly to me the rest of the semester!)

(It is 1998, when candy-colored iMac computers are popular. I have just gotten a lime green one for Christmas, and am setting it up for dial-up internet access in the dorm.)

Roommate: “What kind of Windows is that? It looks different from mine.”

Me: “It’s not Windows. It’s Mac OS 9.”

Roommate: “Don’t be silly. You can’t run a computer without a Windows.”

Me: “Ooookay, then.”

Roommate: “You know, I just changed my major to computer science, so let me know if you need any help!”

(She dropped out about six weeks later.)

(We are discussing Pocahontas in history class.)

Friend: “Wait, didn’t she get some disease and die really young?”

Teacher: “We’re still not sure what disease, but yes.”

(Most of the girl classmates discuss how Disney ‘tricked them’ while my friend has another question.)

Friend: “Where did she get it?”

Teacher: “It was the 17th century. They didn’t have vaccines or any kind of prevention.”

Friend: “…didn’t she get it from having sex with Lewis and Clarke?”

(The entire class just stares at her. Finally, I speak up.)

Me: “Wrong girl, wrong time, and definitely wrong cause.”

Teacher: *still speechless* “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a more wrong statement in my life.”

(She also thought that John Wilkes and John Wilkes Booth were the same guy.)

(I am six years old, and my mom comes to pick me up early from school.)

Office On Intercom: “Ms. [Teacher’s Name], can you send [My Name] to the office? Her mother is here to pick her up.”

Teacher: “Okay.” *to me* “Go ahead.”

Me: “Okay.”

(I start gathering materials for homework, and getting everything organized as I am an extremely organized person. I am not making a lot of noise or disrupting the class in any way.)

Teacher: “Hurry up!”

Me: “Okay, I’m just putting everything in the right place.”

Teacher: *yelling* “That doesn’t matter! Just get your things together and get out of my class!”

Me: “Okay, okay, I’m almost finished.”

(The teacher runs over to me, grabs my arm, and screams at me.)

Teacher: “You disrespectful little—”

(The teacher raises her hand to hit me, but at that moment, my mom steps into the room. She decided to walk to my classroom since it was on our way out of the school anyway. She has seen the entire exchange.)

Mom: “EXCUSE ME! WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO MY DAUGHTER?!”

Teacher: “Um… uh… uh…”

Mom: “We will take this to the principal! Come on, sweetheart. Let’s go!”

(When we talk to the principal, the teacher loses her job for the incident, and many others like it in the past.)

(The college society I’m part of is open to non-students, who often bring their kids to craft nights. We’re working on banners when the adults joke about child labor. I’m not particularly fond of one of the kids that are helping.)

Friend: “[Younger Child] would be perfect for going up chimneys!”

Kid: “What?!”

Kid’s Mom: “Back in Victorian times they used to send children up the chimneys with a brush to clean them, because they had no central heating and the fire was lit everyday.”

Kid: *indignant* “Why didn’t they just put the brush up the chimney?”

Me: “It was too short and narrow.”

Kid’s Mom: “The chimneys were really wide and funny-shaped because rich people had fireplaces in every room.”

Kid: “Well why didn’t they get a ladder and go up on the roof?”

Me: “They didn’t have big enough ladders.”

Kid: “Well why didn’t they just build one?!”

Me: “Kids are cheaper…”