This is a story my dad told me from when he was a college freshman in the late ’80s. Apparently, my uncle, who was still in high school, had gotten himself a pet tarantula around that time and had it in some sort of cage-type setup in their kitchen.

One day, not long before spring break, my grandmother was tasked with feeding it and, naturally, the tarantula jumped out of its cage and fled right into a sink filled with dishes and soapy water and died. 

When my dad came home not long after, he ended up taking the tarantula’s corpse and shellacking it to a piece of wood in a way that made it look like it was still alive. He then brought it back with him to school a few days earlier than he’d initially planned. During those few extra days, he put up several “Missing Pet” signs for it all over campus. 

As people in his dorm started returning, he would sneak the dead tarantula into their rooms while he pretended to help them with their luggage, and, since this wasn’t out of the ordinary for him, they never suspected anything until they ended up finding it. He told me he lost count of how many people he pranked in his dorm before word got out of what he was doing.

(A student, a well-dressed woman who appears to be in her fifties, approaches our circulation desk.)

Woman: “I need information about this German woman, her name is Marlene something…”

Me: “Marlene Dietrich?”

(I’m a bit surprised, though, as this college doesn’t teach anything related to cinema.)

Woman: “No, actually, not Marlene, maybe something like Mark…”

Me: “Angela Merkel?”

Woman: “Yes!”

When I was in the third year in high school, a Muay Thai group gave a special presentation on our sport orientation day. Along with two other guys from my school, I found them exciting and cheap enough to try and join. This group was mostly made up of legal adults, soldiers, and police, in fact, but they were accommodating enough. All three of us could join from next week. 

The club had training thrice a week, two hours. The other two from my school guys were a year older than me, and a lot bigger; the difference was mostly made up of fat, but it was still enough that they could bully me.

We started training; the first two lessons, despite the other two pestering me, were good. Then, the third time came.

This was the first time a girl came into the studio. She was tiny, maybe 90 pounds, and five feet tall. She looked like she was around our age, with spiky short hair and a suit and boots. I thought it was strange, but the group behaved as if they knew her, so I didn’t dare to say anything. The other two guys from my school started catcalling her, though, which got ignored. The girl simply changed into training clothes, and we started the lesson.

My schoolmates were pestering her, the only girl in the class, giving her advice on basics and telling her this was a manly sport; she never answered, just concentrated on breathing. She took a break twice, in fact, prompted by the coach, once using an inhaler. Then, at the body touch exercise, those other two guys crossed a line; they were quite blatant about trying to grope the girl. She mostly just evaded, and as she never said anything, just like any of the guys, my schoolmates started to get braver and braver, harassing the girl.

Then came the fighting part. The coach said, “Okay, [Boy #1], [Boy #2], [My Name], get into the ring with [Girl]. She is a beginner just like you. One by one matches, two minutes, everyone goes a round against [Girl]. Keep to the rules.”

The boys started leering, and I started to get a bad feeling. I let the other guys go before me, and the coach went over the hits with me… I don’t exactly know what happened, but only maybe half a minute passed with the sound of hits, then a loud bam! I looked up, and the bigger bully was on his back, gasping for breath, the girl apologising with a grin. She had somehow knocked out the guy twice her size in half a minute!

The second bully only lasted the same time against the girl before he fled the ring. I was the last, and I went down even faster. I was trembling the whole time! It was surreal! I could barely believe how easily she’d knocked those two out! The tiny girl was not even so tiny; she was well over 110 pounds, it turned out, merely thin.

The other two guys didn’t come next week. I did, and I lasted until I left for university.

And that is how I met the woman who inspired me to get into disaster management. She was actually well over thirty, and started Muay Thai training a year before. She had some kind of lung damage from the job, but it turned out not to diminish her fighting prowess. While she couldn’t keep up against the coaches or the prizefighters training there, she could sure kick the a**es of three newbies!

(When my mother is a student teacher, her professor comes in to observe her teaching. For some reason, she brings her teenage daughter with her. Afterward, the professor discusses the lesson with my mother.)

Professor: “I’m afraid I’m going to have to mark you down for classroom management. A lot of the boys seemed distracted during the lesson.”

Mom: “You brought your daughter with you.”

Professor: “Yes, her school isn’t in session today.”

Mom: “Your cute teenage daughter.”

Professor: “Yes?”

Mom: “Who sat in the front of the room the whole time.”

Professor: “Wait, are you saying that’s why the boys were distracted?”

Mom: “Quite possibly.”

(I get a job as a music instructor at a small music school outside a big city. About a week into working there, I get assigned a new student, who is presented to me by the student’s mother.)

Mother: “Hello, this is [Student]; she’s your new student.”

Me: “All right, thank you, ma’am.”

(I start to take the student to the practice rooms.)

Mother: “Um… I’m sorry, what are your qualifications?”

Me: “What, ma’am?”

Mother: “What are your qualifications?”

Me: “Well, I’ve played piano for fourteen years, was trained as an opera singer, and have competed internationally in musical theatre competitions.”

Mother: “Oh, that won’t do. You see, I’m a musical theatre education major, and I hold the highest standards.”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you I am qualified for this position.”

Mother: “I assure you, you are not.”

Me: “Ma’am, you may find another instructor, or, if you desire to be so rude, you could simply teach her yourself. You are a music education major, are you not?”

Mother: “Why would I want to teach my own child?”

Me: “Because she’s… yours, ma’am?”

(The mother stormed out with her child. Two weeks later, we got a call at the academy from the same mother asking for the best instructor for musical theatre, which was me. My coworker asked what I would like my response to be. I said I would rather try and teach a stick to sing; mother nature would be nowhere near as much a b****.)