(My English teacher has an odd sense of humor. Class is about to start, and students are entering the classroom. Student #1, dressed in all black with heavy chains, walks into the room.)

Teacher: “Hey, [Student #1].”

(Student #2, wearing a short plaid skirt, knee-high boots, and wristbands, walks into the room.)

Teacher: “How ya doin’, [Student #2]?”

(I walk into the room, wearing a modest, solid-color t-shirt, plain jeans, and simple sneakers.)

Teacher: “I’ve got my eye on you, punk.”

(I’ve just fallen off of a set of monkey bars during lunch hour recess, and straight-armed my left arm into the ground. A friend comes over to aid me.)

Friend: “Are you okay?”

Me: *holding my left elbow with my right hand* “I don’t think so. I can’t bend my arm.”

Friend: “Let me see.”

(My friend gently tries to bend my arm manually, and I scream.)

Friend: “You’re right. I’ll help you to the nurse.”

(We’re stopped when we enter the school building by the teacher who’s monitoring the hallway during lunch.)

Teacher: “You can’t come back in. You’ve already used the bathroom this recess.”

Friend: “Mrs. [name], I think he’s really hurt his arm. It’s probably broken.”

Teacher: “Well, there’s no protruding bone, and the arm isn’t crooked. It’s probably just bruised. Let me see.”

(I offer her my arm, thinking she’s just going to look. She tries to bend my arm, but with more force than my friend did. I scream again.)

Teacher: *sighs* “Okay, you can go see the office.”

(The teacher sends my friend back to the playground. I go to the office.)

Secretary: “What do you need?”

Me: “I think I’ve broken my arm. I need to see the nurse.”

Secretary: “You can’t see her today. She’s at [other school]; she rotates between three schools. You’ll have to wait until tomorrow.”

Me: “Can I call my mom, then? She works for my doctor, and will come get me.”

Secretary: *sighs* “We don’t need to do that. Let me see your arm.”

(She bends my arm quickly, eliciting my greatest scream yet.)

Secretary: *still doubtful* “Okay, I’ll call for the nurse. Have a seat in the clinic.”

(The nurse comes about 30 minutes later, and thankfully doesn’t manipulate my arm. She doesn’t believe it’s broken, but she authorizes my mom to come get me. At the doctor’s, the X-ray reveals that I have a unique fracture: my humerus has wedged into my ulna. He sets my arm in a half-cast and a sling, and estimates that I’ll be unable to use it until summer. The next school day, I take great pleasure in presenting the doctor’s note to the school secretary so that she can write up an official exemption from PE for the rest of the year.)

PA System: “Your attention please: the library will be closing in five minutes.  Please return all materials and head to the nearest exit.”

Patron: “The library is closing? But…where will I go to study?”

Me: *astonished silence*

Patron: “I need to study.”

Me: “…You could go to your residence?”

Patron: “But if I do that, I won’t study because there is internet and TV.”

Me: “You could always not turn on the TV or your computer.”

Patron: “Oh, I never thought of that. Thanks! You’re real smart! No wonder you work with all those books.”

(I am in my first week of grade 10 science, when my teacher picks up a stack of pop quizzes.)

Teacher: “Okay, so every week we’ll do a quick 10-question quiz about what we’ve just covered. I used to call these ‘Quickies.'”

(Several students chuckle.)

Teacher: “… but the principal has informed me that I’m not allowed to do that any more, since it sounds sexual. So from now on, I’ll be calling them ‘Testes.'”

(We are studying the First World War, and the teacher just finished a lecture on Manfred von Richthofen, the Red Baron.)

Teacher: “Now, are there any questions?”

Classmate: *raises hand*

Teacher: “Yes, [classmate]?”

Classmate: “Was the Red Baron Italian?”

Teacher: “…no, he was German. I was just telling you—”

Classmate: “Oh. But pizza is Italian, and you can buy pizza called Red Baron!”