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.”

I am the author of So Much For No Child Left Behind. If you’ve read that, you know my dad had some behavior issues. However, this story makes me laugh because it really sets the tone for my life in general.

At thirty, I begin teaching at the high school my dad graduated from. I did some student teaching here, so I’m not unfamiliar with it. It’s worth noting that in Virginia, county and city schools are often separate, and I went to the county schools and my dad graduated from the city. It’s also very important to note that my family is not originally from here so my accent is somewhat confusing and instantly recognizable in my area.

I have been in my classroom for one year at this point, and I am rather happy with it. I had to do a lot of work to get it clean and in shape. The teacher that occupied the class before me left a mess, and the teacher who had the room before him was here for thirty years. I don’t think he threw away anything, and neither did she. There were books that had been in the closet since the seventies. I threw them away because, well, frankly, they were icky. I did notice that across the spines it looked like someone had slashed the word, “B****.” I may add that this was a glass front closet and it was just left there.

This will be important later.

Teachers have to help monitor and proctor standardized testing. I am helping an older woman I do not recognize and am later told was a teacher here and only became an administrator in her last few years to help out. It turns out she retired and was asked to help out this semester as we need a few extra people due to heavy cold and flu incidents.

After the testing, she’s getting me to sign forms necessary and she asks me where my room is. It turns out that her old room is my room! I’m so excited. I ask her if she wants to see what I’ve done and she declines, saying if she has to look at those books with “B****” on them she may scream.

Here is where I make my mistake. I say, “Oh, no, I tossed those out. They were old anyway.”

She narrows her eyes and says, “You threw out my books?!”

I am in WTF mode now. She retired! But I ask about it. She gives me this withering look. She tells me that she had a student she hated. He was loud, rude, and he somehow knew answers even when not really paying attention. She told me he once passed a test and she was sure he cheated because he skipped class several times. When she confronted him, he told her he knew his geography. She gave him some sort of detention, and in revenge, he slashed that on her books and waited.

She tells me that she called the principal the next day because he was the only one there. The principal confronted the student and told him he would have detention for a month. The student got mad, stormed out, and screamed, “I quit!” Incidentally, this was May, and they graduated in June.

She glares at me and says, “I would look at those books every day and remember that not all students are smart, and not all students are dumb, but some smart students make very dumb decisions.”

As an experienced teacher, I know you seldom forget names. So, I ask who this stunning pupil was.

She looks at me and says, “[My Dad].”

My jaw nearly drops to my toes. I tell her, “That was my father. He died eight years ago.”

Her eyes widen like she’s caught me in a lie. “I knew you had that same snotty Norfolk accent! His kid turned out well enough to be a teacher?!”

So, to sum it up, I ended up in the classroom where my dad quit school and I threw away the evidence that the teacher kept because she loathed my dad. By the end of the week, all of the teachers in the building and some of his former classmates who worked there knew about it. Then, the students found out about it.

It became a running joke to ask me who else I was destroying evidence for. It also made me super popular with the alumni, because they all liked my dad and said he was totally justified. The staff that knew the teacher always wanted to thank him for making her miserable when they could not.

So, thanks, Dad!

Also, he did go back and finish high school.

Related:
So Much For No Child Left Behind, Part 2
So Much For No Child Left Behind

My high school US history class has an abnormally high population of dim bulbs, much to the frustration of our teacher. We’re playing a trivia game.

Teacher: “What is the capital of Iran?”

Guy: *With complete confidence* “IRAQ!”

For a second, the teacher just stares at this guy, along with most of the other more intelligent people in the room.

Teacher: “May the fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits.”

I am behind the tills at a bookstore. A few schoolchildren from a high school come in and look around dizzily. I realise they’re with a teacher and have come from a trip.

Me: “Welcome to [Bookstore]; can I help you?”

Girl #1: “Yeah, where is Fifty Shades of Grey?”

Teacher: “[Girl #1]! You are not old enough for that!”

Me: “It’s okay.” *To the girl* “I’m sorry, but you have to be over eighteen to buy it.”

They leave. Then, [Girl #2] and [Girl #3] come up.

Girl #3: “Has the Hunger Games number two, like, got any sex in it?”

Me: *Bewildered* “No.”

Girl #3: “Can we have it, then?”

Girl #2: “I thought all books had sex in them now. Why are we buying it?”

[Girl #3] shushes her as they take the book from a pile on the side, pay for it, and go.

They giggle as they go. A few minutes later, the fire alarm goes off. After the children and the other customers and employees are evacuated, and a small fire is put out by firemen, one finds that a book in the garbage bin started it. It was coated in nail polish, shoved in with newspapers, and set alight. I recognise it as the book the girls brought.

Me: “Those girls set it on fire!”

Teacher: *To the girls* “IS THIS TRUE?”

Girl #3: “Well, it was a dumb book! And there’s no sex in it!”

Fireman: “What?!”

Girl #3: “And anyway, it’s a stupid book. Who cares? Everyone who actually isn’t a dork uses Kindle!”

Fireman: “Even if that is true, young lady, you began a fire in a public area, with people inside! You are so lucky the fire didn’t get more serious. You’re under grounds for prosecution!”

The girls are sent away in a police car. The next day, one of the other students from the school comes in. I prepare myself for more trouble, but she asks…

Girl #4: “Can I get a copy of TimeRiders?”