This is a “smart” student story. About 30 years ago, when I was just starting out as a teacher and having to be a substitute, I was called into this high school. No big deal. One day turned into two, then three and more. Then, I was told that the teacher I was subbing for would likely be out for the rest of the year, and they asked if I’d be interested in applying for the position. I had a quick interview with the principal and two members of the department after school and I was in. Yay!

I started about the beginning of October. There were six classes, three different courses, one of which was brand new, so there were no materials yet. But I was young and full of energy. After a few weeks, my department head had a talk with me about the approaching first-term report cards. Note: at this time, teachers filled out reports on those three-copy NCR forms. The student’s info was printed on top, but we had to hand-write the grade, add any comments in the space provided, and then sign it. My department head said that, as I would be merging my marks with the ones already recorded by the teacher I was replacing, and that I hadn’t really gotten a chance to know the students, to just record the grade, leave the comments section blank, and sign them. I did just that.

Sometime the morning after the reports went home, I got a message to call the mother of one of my students. On my first break, I called and identified myself. She said she had a question about her son’s report card. I was thinking the worst, that this was a parent going to beg, plead, or bully her kid into a higher grade. Nope. She was concerned about the comment. I told her that, due to the circumstances, I had made no comments on any of the report cards. She started howling with laughter, then read me the comment on her son’s card. It was over the top: best student ever, great class participation, and so on.

The reason she’d called was that all the comments from his other teachers were pretty much what she expected — work not done, more effort required, etc. — and she was curious about the one rave review. We had a good laugh about how if her son had just toned it down a bit she wouldn’t have noticed. She said she’d talk to the boy, and I took no further action than, when I asked that kid’s class if their parents had any questions about their report cards, to focus on this boy with my best imitation of laser eyes. His response told me Mum had talked to him.

I hope he learned something. I learned to never sign a document while leaving a space blank — put a slash through it.

(I do data entry for a company that supplies drug stores with their merchandise. The way our system works is that the customer will phone our office, get our answering machine, and leave a recorded message with their order. I will then play the message later and enter the order on my computer. I can count on the following happening at least once a week:)

Person On Recording: “Hi, [Company]. Here’s my order…” *gives order*

Me: “Oh, great. They didn’t give their name or their store, and the computer won’t let me start entering their order unless we know who it’s for.”

Person On Recording: *continues*

Me: “I hope this is a short order…”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Maybe I can recognize their voice? …Nope.”

Person On Recording: *keeps talking*

Me: “Please, please, have them say who they are at the end of the message! I’ll have to rewind and listen to the whole thing again, but at least I’ll be able to enter it.”

Person On Recording: “…and that’s it. Thanks!” *hangs up*

Me: “Aw, crap.”

(We don’t have call display in these days, so I have no hope of knowing who the order is for. Then, the next day, this usually happens.)

Caller: “WHERE’S MY ORDER?!”

(My wife and I speak fluent American Sign Language since we have some deaf relatives and a number of deaf friends. Sometimes we use sign rather than speaking out loud, whether we’re home or we’re out. It’s good practice to keep sharp, and it has some other benefits. One night we are out to dinner at a crowded but classy restaurant. After ordering and receiving our food, we begin signing to each other. Another couple is then seated at the table next to us. It’s impossible not to overhear them unless we were truly deaf.)

Man: “Look, those two are deaf and dumb.”

(My wife and I physically shudder so hard that I think he might notice. “Deaf and dumb” is a very old and ignorant expression. The couple continues making comments about us as they order and start to eat, amid other conversation. Here are a few remarks.)

Man: “Do you think they can drive? I don’t think they should be allowed.”

Woman: “Do you think they can have kids?”

Man: “Flopping their hands like that is stupid; they should just learn to lip-read.”

Woman: “How can they read the menu? The restaurant must have one in braille.”

Man: “They look so weird. Why did they even come here?”

(Our server comes up to check on us)

Server: “How are you doing? Do you two need anything?”

Me: *speaking, loud and clear* “We’re doing great! Thanks. Just the bill soon, I think.”

Wife: *speaking, loud and clear* “The food was great. My compliments to the chef.”

(The other couple just sat there staring for a few moments. It seemed to take forever for them to come to the realization that we could hear them the entire time. The man seemed almost offended, and even sputtered a few times, as if wanting to say something to us, but neither actually said another word. My wife and I, however, were able to continue signing freely about how ignorant they were, and how fun it was to see their reaction. How can anyone be so dense as to think deaf people can’t have kids?! Of everything they said, that was the worst.)

(I’m on a bus tour of Eastern Canada, and so far I’ve had no reason to complain about the tour or the guide. One evening, our guide takes our party to the revolving restaurant in the CN Tower for dinner and eats with us. Note that I have Asperger’s, which means that repeated small stresses accumulate into really big ones.)

Me: *between mouthfuls* “Hmm. It’s very spicy.”

(I’m just making a comment here. I’m enjoying the spicy food, as well as the view. However, the guide seems to take this as a complaint for some reason.)

Guide: “Oh, it’s all right. I can get you something else—“

Me: “No, that’s all right. I just—“

Guide: “No, really, let me—“

(I’m starting to get really annoyed at this point, since all I want to do is eat the rest of my meal and I don’t need her constant interruptions.)

Me: “I’m not complaining!”

Guide: “No, seriously, it won’t take me a moment to—“

(By now I’ve really had enough.)

Me: “WILL YOU LEAVE ME ALONE? I AM NOT COMPLAINING ABOUT THE FOOD! I LIKE THE FOOD! I’M STILL EATING IT, SEE? JUST LEAVE ME ALONE AND LET ME FINISH MY MEAL IN PEACE!”

(I felt guilty about yelling, especially in front of the others, but at least it shut her up and I was allowed to finish eating. I have resolved never to comment on my food in public again in case somebody takes it the wrong way.)

(We’re gathered for a meeting. My manager has brought in a weird, squishy, pink stress ball she found at a craft store. Everyone is immediately distracted by it, and spends several minutes passing it around, debating what’s inside.)

Manager: “Do you think this is what fake boobs feel like?”

(As she’s saying this, it gets tossed to one of my coworkers, who is gay. Right on cue:)

Coworker: “Eww, it feels gross!”

(The room cracked up, delaying the meeting for another ten minutes.)