A short time ago, I became my college’s newest IT services person. I actually enjoy the job and honestly couldn’t be happier unless I got to play video games all day long. I have a desk, personal email, and job duties, but no timeline that “it has to be done in eight minutes or our necks are on the chopping block.” It’s just straight-up tech work.

The IT department is always on hand during the day to assist the professors in teaching their students. Most of the time, the professors are great. But I do get those once in a while who make me want to facepalm so hard. 

Anyone who has worked in IT will recognize the following story.

Professor: “This computer is not working and I have a class in ten minutes. I have to have my lectures off the computer, now!”

Me: “Can I just ask some questions real quick to see if it’s an easy fix?”

Professor: “No! Get your lazy butt over here and fix it!”

Me: “All right, sir, I will be over there in a few minutes as your office is on the other side of campus.”

It takes about five minutes to get there. We are a small community college, so the furthest one would have to walk anywhere would be half a mile.

Me: “Okay, let us take a look at this com—”

Professor: “Well, it took you long enough to get over here. What is wrong with you, anyway? I have a class in five minutes and the computer still isn’t even… Hey, it’s coming on. What did you do?”

Me: “I simply plugged it back in. Looks like you unplugged your computer this morning when you plugged in your coffee pot. You should have no problem getting your files off your computer.”

Too bad he wouldn’t let me ask some basic questions over the phone. Sheesh!

He then pulls a thumb drive out of his pocket, prints the notes for his lecture from it, and then removes the thumb drive. I decide not to mention that he could have done this at any computer on campus and that there’s an open computer lab literally next door that he could have used his thumb drive in.

Professor: “Well, it doesn’t help that you took your time getting here! I know more about computers than you ever will, anyway. Let’s not forget who has a degree and who doesn’t!”

Me: “All right, sir, I hope your fragile ego gets better! Have a good day.”

I grinned and left before the professor could say another word.

A physics professor walks by, pushing a piece of equipment on a cart.

Me: “Hey, [Physics Professor], what’s that?”

Physics Professor: “Railgun.”

Me: “Uh… whoa. What class is that for?”

Physics Professor: “None. Just wanted a railgun.”

About half an hour later…

Biology Professor: “Hey, [My Name], do we still have that old dartboard? [Physics Professor] wants to borrow it for some reason.”

When I was in middle school, we got a new teacher who had terrible anger issues. He threw chairs, snapped clipboards in half, and threw a student‘s backpack out of the second-floor window for not paying attention. These are just a few examples; it was a long year. My experience with him was a bit more severe.

I was a disruptive child, to say the least — always talking, texting, passing notes, and playing around. For this reason, my angry teacher particularly disliked me. One day, as I was talking and distracting my friends, he snapped. He walked over to me, grabbed me up by my arm, yelled something, and then pulled me into the classroom closet and slammed the door. This closet was used for the Spanish teacher, so there was a chair, a little desk, and a desk lamp, but it was still very cramped. I figured he would let me out when class was over, so I waited. And waited. I started to get anxious, so I pushed on the door, but it wouldn’t move. He yelled at me to knock it off.

About an hour passed, and I heard the bell ring. I was so excited! I grabbed up all my things and started bouncing impatiently waiting for him to open up. Everyone left. He didn’t open the door. I started to cry and yank at the door but it wasn’t budging. Then, I heard a loud scraping noise and the lock turning, and three of my friends were there to help me escape!

When I walked out, none of them laughed or joked. They looked scared. I looked around and saw why. My teacher had locked the door and moved a shelf in front of it to ensure I couldn’t get out. He wasn’t in the room. He left me there. I would not have gotten out if not for my friends. 

I wish I could say I told the principal or my parents and something bad happened to this man, but I didn’t. I was a kid and thought I did something bad and didn’t want to get in more trouble. The most I can tell you is he lasted one more year before his temper finally got him fired.

I’m chatting with a classmate I don’t know very well and the talk turns to music.

Classmate: “So, what kind of music do you like?”

Me: *Nervous laugh* “It’s pretty weird.”

Classmate: “It can’t be that weird. Come on!”

Me: “I like sea shanties and just about anything Celtic, but my favorite band is Canadian Christian punk rock.”

He takes a moment to consider this.

Classmate: “Most of the time, when someone says they have weird taste in music, it’s not actually that weird, but yeah, that is out there.”

He was so curious as to what the punk rock band would sound like that I played him a snippet of one of their songs. I may have made him a punk rock convert.

I work every Tuesday at my kid’s middle school store. An eighth-grader that I know comes up and asks for $13 worth of gummy fruit snacks.

Me: “That’s a lot of fruit snacks. Are you going to share with all your friends?”

Eighth-Grader: “No, I’m eating them all for lunch.”

Me: “But you have braces, and I’m going to see your Mom on Friday. Do you think she’ll want to hear this?”

Eighth-Grader: “I don’t care; it’s my money.”

Friday, I see his mom and tell her. 

Mom: “So, that’s why he had a stomach ache and wouldn’t eat dinner!”