I am a seventeen-year-old student at a dance studio. My dance studio is small, and only has six teachers and a secretary. The owner of the studio, who is one of the teachers, has an “open house” each year before classes start so people can get forms to sign up and ask any questions. Since the other teachers don’t do paper pushing and the secretary is unable to help, the studio head asks me if I can help. I say I will. Note, I am clearing Caucasian. I am tan, but it’s uneven, so I am clearly white.

As I’m chatting with a friend of mine who is signing up with her mother, a woman and her daughter come in. The studio head takes the friend further away to finalize things, the woman comes over to me.

Woman: Give me a form and a schedule.

Me:(a little shocked) Of course ma’am.

She takes the papers and begin reading them over. The daughter(who can’t be more than seven) is sitting quietly in a chair.

Woman: Which class should I sign her up for? The Ballet 9?

Me: No ma’am. The Ballet 9 is the most advanced class.

Woman: My daughter is an amazing dancer! She can do a pirouette!

Me: That’s great ma’am, but that class is too advanced for a girl of her age. I am in that class and the youngest person in it is fifteen.

Woman: You think my girl can’t dance well because you’re jealous!

Me: No, ma’am. I’m just telling you the facts.

Woman: You’re racist.

This is totally out of left field. She continues on a rant about how I’m a f****** lesbian and how I’m a racist piece of trash. I’m now fed up.

Me: Ma’am, we are both white. I have made no comment about your skin color throughout this whole interaction. Also, I am not a lesbian, I am pansexual. My girlfriend and I are very happy together. I was trying to help you, but now I will inform Mrs. [Head of Studio] about you. I’m sure-

Head of Studio: No need. I heard the end of it. Ma’am, you are banned from my studio. Goodbye.

The woman left, screaming about racist lesbians.

(This happened to my sister who runs a dance studio that also offers aerobics, Zumba, and other workout classes. One of her longtime clients and friends is a model who tends to draw attention to herself due to her oversized breast implants. This happens when my sister is teaching a Tae Bo class which is about half first-timers. Ten minutes before class starts:)

New Girl #1: *points to the model* “Hey, slut, this isn’t the strippercise class. This is for people who actually want to exercise.”

Model: “I know what class this is; I signed up because it compliments my boxing lessons.”

New Girl #2: *sarcastically* “Sure, whatever you say. Just don’t complain if you get tired and can’t keep up; you look like you’re carrying a bit of extra weight.”

(The model just stares at them quietly. According to my sister, variants of this joke have been levied at said model at least a dozen times before.)

Sister: “All right, girls, let’s get to it! First break isn’t for forty-five minutes.”

(Both new girls are absolutely exhausted by break time; neither one of them looks like they can even stand.) 

Model: *feigning worry* “Oh, dear! You seem beat. But how can that possibly be?! I mean, I’m carrying so much more extra weight and I still feel fine.”

(Both girls just glowered at her and tried to get up to finish the class. They lasted about ten minutes into the second half before they finally couldn’t take it and ducked out early.)

This happened a few years ago, me and my mom were picking up my sister from her dance class when a group of girls- presumably from another class come over. One of them looked at me before saying
Girl- “You’re really pretty.”

Girl, I don’t know where you are but it made my day. Thank you!!

(I teach ballet. I frequently tell my students that no one is allowed to get hurt. This is mostly a joke, but I do bring it up when warning them against certain movements, because I know that those movements are more likely to cause injury. One week, I notice one of my students during an exercise.)

Me: “[Student], you’re making faces I don’t like. Are you all right?”

Student: “I’m fine, Miss [My Name].”

(I let the matter drop. The next week, she comes in with an ankle brace. I ask her what happened.)

Student: “So… you remember last week when you said I was making faces and I told you I was fine? I guess I wasn’t as fine as I thought.”

(She takes things easy for the next few weeks. Things are improving, but I don’t want her to push herself and make it worse. A few weeks later, she comes up to me before class.)

Student: “Miss [My Name], my ankle is all better!”

(This is not quite true, as I can see that she still has the brace on, but she has it under her tights instead of over so it isn’t as obvious. Then she pulls her arm out from behind her back, showing me that it is encased in a bright pink cast.)

Student: “Unfortunately…”

(I probably gave her every bit of the reaction she was hoping for, as I playfully scolded her and told her I was going to have to wrap her in bubble wrap if she didn’t start being careful.)

(I teach ballet. At this class, I have been talking to my class about the importance of being “high on your leg”: lengthening your hip joints so that your legs can easily move in and out.)

Me: “… but if you’re sinking down in your hip, it will be a lot harder to move your legs.” *I demonstrate* “So you want to make sure that you are always high.”

(A student snickers, and I realize what I’ve just said.)

Me: “On your leg! High on your leg! DO NOT come into my class high on drugs!”

(We all had a good laugh at that one. It’s now a running joke:)

Me: “What is my rule?”

Class: “Be high, but don’t be high!”