Where I live, it takes twelve weeks of training to become a police officer and fourteen weeks of training to become a border officer. There is also an optional two-year college course for each to prepare you for the job, dive deeper into the criminal code, increase your fitness, and get your nonviolent crisis certificate. I am currently in the optional Border Services course, which shares a first year with the optional police course. I am required to wear a uniform (cargo pants and a button-up collared shirt with the program crest on the sleeves) three days a week.

The first day of classes was orientation, which meant we spent the day in one classroom and were introduced to the program and what it had to offer. I was fresh out of high school and was very nervous about my first day, so I packed everything I could imagine needing — a pencil case, a laptop, several notebooks, lined paper, and feminine hygiene products — and got ready for orientation. 

I sat at a table with five other girls who also looked my age and was surprised that they had all only brought their purses while I had packed a full backpack. At first, I was a bit embarrassed that I had misunderstood what was needed for the day.

Then, the orientation started. 

Professor: “All right, we are going to start by getting to know each other a bit, so I want you all to write your names on the cards in front of you so I know who I am calling on.” 

Nobody at my table had a single writing instrument, and they all needed to borrow a pen or pencil from me. 

Professor: “Next, I want you all to pull out your laptops. You are expected to have these; it was in the list of program requirements when you applied. I want you to open [Website]. I can’t show you the student version because I have a teacher’s account.”

She quickly realised that out of seventy students, only about twenty-five of us had brought our laptops. 

Professor: “Today, you can look this up on your phones, but in the future, you need to bring your laptops. I don’t want you pulling out your phones in class. This is the first day of college; you all need to be better prepared than this.”

We were then given an hour off and asked to meet in a different room for uniform fitting. I ate lunch and then found the room, arriving ten minutes early with about twenty classmates.

Uniform fitting ended up going by very slowly because they could only take three people at a time, but the email we had gotten the week before told us that we had two and a half hours blocked off for this, so I wasn’t concerned. After ten minutes of waiting past the time we were supposed to meet, people at the back of the line started loudly complaining, and several started to call the professor profanities behind her back for making them wait sooooo long. 

Things like this continued all semester. Our Sociology teacher started bringing a box of pencils to the tests because most of the class didn’t bring anything to write with for the test, or at least not a pencil for the scantron. Several people stopped showing up for Fitness because they thought the professor was a b**** for making us go for runs.

One girl got kicked out of Psychology because she screamed at the professor and called her several names when she was asked to put her phone away. (She was in her late twenties and angry that the “high schoolers” were taking up the back row so she couldn’t hide her phone as easily.)

Over twenty people asked for extensions the night before a major presentation was due because they hadn’t read the instructions and hadn’t started the project, thinking that we would be working on it in class that day.

Someone dropped out because she was concerned about how the homework was interfering with her bar-hopping with her fake ID. 

Thankfully, many of these people will not be returning next semester, but it still confuses me how many of these people somehow wanted to go into law enforcement without even being able to respect authority.

I always carry extra pens in case one dies. How do you show up for a final exam without even one?

I was in Italy for University and stayed in a dorm. We had a total of five people, and duties were immediately handed out. [Roommate #1] was told to handle the purchases of all cleaning supplies, and we all pitched in money.

A couple of hours later, we were treated to an impressive amount of cleaning supplies. We had, like, a vacuum, two brooms, two mops, a squeegee, a toilet brush, several buckets, multiple brushes, packets of cloths and sponges, wet wipes, at least fifteen different kinds of cleaning agents, and whatever else I forgot. Basically, way beyond budget.

This was partially our fault — we didn’t say exactly what to get, besides excluding laundry — but it was way overdoing it.

Roommate #2: “That’s a lot. How much did you spend?”

Roommate #1: “Yeah. I used my own money. You didn’t give me enough to cover it at all. I don’t mind. We can be very clean now.”

Me: “Right. Let’s have the receipts?”

Roommate #1: “Oh, I’m not sure I took them all. Never mind about the money; it’s on me. I hope that’s all we need.”

Roommate #3: *Poking through the supplies* “That’s way more than enough. What’s this? Tile cleaner… glass cleaner… drain cleaner…”

Roommate #1: “Well, they are all for different jobs, so I had to cover everything possible.”

Me: “This is like… neat freak, OCD type of cleaning. How do you clean at home?”

Roommate #1: “I never did. I have a maid who does everything.”

Roommate #3: “Oh. Well, most people don’t need this much.”

So, while we did get a rich roommate who had never cleaned nor done any household chores in her life, she was far from snobby or lazy and was keen to learn. She just goes overboard so we’re swamped with too many products.

This was when I was a high school student considering what college I wanted to attend. I had a narrowed-down list of colleges known for their programs for what I was interested in and was looking to see if any of them met the other criteria I was personally looking for. 

One of the main requirements I had for considering a school was that they have something along the lines of a Genders & Sexualities Alliance (GSA) club. I’m visibly queer and knew at this point there was a very high chance I was going somewhere out-of-state, and I figured this would be a good social “in” for wherever I went. This was also compounded by the fact that my high school and hometown were very conservative and I was sick of it. 

One of the schools on my list was a large Christian college in Texas (not that I knew it was Christian until I started looking into it more). One of the first things I found about them was that the school did have a GSA… sort of. The college essentially refused to acknowledge the club’s existence, so I already knew this wasn’t the place for me. 

Me: “Mom! I’m taking [Texas College] off my list.”

Mom: “What? Why?”

Me: “It’s 2019 and they’re still refusing to acknowledge their gay club, and I really don’t like that.”

Mom: “Yeah, okay, that’s fair. Just remember to email [High School Guidance Counselor] to let her know.”

A few hours later, I ended up relaying this to my father, as well.

Dad: *Genuinely baffled* “Why the h*** should that matter? You’re going there for an education, right?”

Me: “And why the h*** would I want to go to a school that refuses to acknowledge my existence? Do you really think they’d try to help me if I faced any discrimination? Absolutely not!”

He still wasn’t thrilled but ultimately relinquished. Today, literally my entire friend group is built from people I met at my chosen college’s GSA.

I used to work for a company that advertises knights, horses, and real weapons. If you know, you know. I was a follow spot operator; basically, you point the big light at the horsie man to highlight them. The company didn’t seem to like hiring extra people for that position, and in hindsight, the turnover rate was pretty high. Plus, pay was $10 an hour.

During my work there, I had major surgery which put me out for two months, requiring quitting and being hired back. That never seemed to be an issue.

A few months after that, I developed a pre-septic bacterial infection to a mild form of sepsis, my fever was 103, and my heart rate kept going up. I was SICK. This necessitated me being out for a week. However, for some reason, I had to miss an extra night of work and forgot to call in, largely because my meds knocked me out. This WAS my bad. 

At the same time, I’d been accepted into graduate school and had a class that met one Saturday a month.

I was called into my boss’s office to discuss the no-call-no-show.

Manager: “Hey, [My Name], you did a no-call-no-show. That’s pretty bad.”

Me: “I’m sorry, I sent you an email and a doctor’s note after, as soon as I could. I understand this is an issue, though.”

Manager: “Well, you’ve been written up for it, but that’s not what concerned me enough to call you in today.”

Me: “Oh?”

Manager: “You’re asking for a Saturday off every month. That’s our highest attendance day; we can’t do that.”

Me: “I thought with enough advance notice you could schedule around me.”

Manager: “See, that’s just the problem. We’ve had to constantly lean into your needs, and now it’s time for you to consider our needs and your team’s needs.”

Me: “What are you saying?”

Manager: “It’s either us or this class.”

Me: “I need this class for full-time attendance; I can’t drop it.”

Manager: *Smugly* “Well, I guess we’ll see where we are in two months.”

Me: “Okay.”

I left his office and told the coworkers I liked goodbye. Then, I clocked out.

[Manager] came storming out to my truck screaming at me, asking how I could quit on him like that. I told him he wanted me to choose between grad school or this rinky-dink job, and I had made my decision. I then took off the costume belt and handed it to him, saying I’d bring the rest back when I had time.

A week later, I got my first real stagehand job that paid $20 an hour. So, yeah, f*** you, dude.

I have a Master’s now, I’m set to start teaching at colleges this next semester, and I’m a pro stagehand. Never give your employees s***ty ultimatums!

The hallway my college dorm room was in had a large whiteboard posted along one wall. Unsurprisingly, it became a locus for a variety of graffiti. As it filled up, a few hallway residents denoted themselves as the “Keepers of the Board.” They had a notebook where they’d write down anything they deemed interesting or amusing enough and erase the board to make room for further doodling.

One day, my roommate and I came across the Keepers busily at work recording the most recent whiteboard notations. They were discussing a particular graffito and trying to decide whether they felt it was witty enough to merit entry into the annals.

My roommate leaned in and read the item.

Roommate: “There are two secrets to success. Number one: Never tell anyone everything you know.”

After a pause to digest this morsel of wisdom, he asked:

Roommate: “Wait, what’s the other one?”

The Keepers traded an amused look.

Keeper #1: “Quick! Write that down!”

Another one did so, attributing it to my roommate. Then, they dutifully recorded the entire exchange in the notebook before erasing the message from the board.