(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.)

(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!”

(My baby sister is taking beginner ballet classes; she is four years old. There is a large age gap between us, so usually I’m the one who drops her off there and picks her up an hour and a half later. The teacher believes that people shouldn’t be watching the class, as it distracts the kids from learning. My sister loves dancing, so she does well until we have to pull her out because of this encounter.)

Teacher: “I had to put [Sister] in timeout today; she was being really bad!”

Me: “Oh, really? What did she do?”

(As I grab my sister’s hand, I notice she looks as if she has been crying for a long time.)

Teacher: “She pushed another girl today.”

Me: “How long did she have to stay?”

Teacher: “The majority of the class. She didn’t seem to learn her lesson.”

Me: “And how long did she cry?”

Teacher: “I couldn’t move her until she learned her lesson!”

Me: “And? Did she apologize, at least? I’m not sure why she would be there for so long.”

Teacher: “I mean, she did say sorry after she pushed her, but she needed to learn!”

Me: “So, leaving her alone, and letting her cry this entire class, was her ‘learning her lesson’?! She’s four years old, she apologized, and she has been crying this entire time, and you left her there all class long?! Not only was this a wasted class for us, you needlessly punished her for so long, even when she apologized!”

Teacher: “She needed to learn her lesson!”

Me: “The only thing I’ve learned today is that you don’t know how to handle a child. We’re not coming back once I tell my parents.”

(We got her out of that class, and have since admitted her into another dance school. I’m not saying that my sister didn’t do anything wrong, but keeping her in timeout while she cried her eyes out, after she had apologized, is ridiculous. We give her timeouts, too, sometimes, but never for so long!)

(I am 16 and dance 50 hours a week, as well as being an honor student. I have four students to whom I am teaching solos. All consistently second place or better at competitions, sometimes getting first place out of their whole age group. I decide to open up a fifth slot for a student, because I figure I can manage another one. The mother of my first soloist has helped me recruit students, and because of being my first and helping me find students, I only charge her $15 an hour, compared to the other parents I charge $25. The mom accidentally lets it slip to a new recruit’s mom about her special price, and the following happens at the next tryout:)

Student’s Mom: “I heard you’re taking on another student.”

Me: *smiling* “That’s correct; despite my busy schedule I’ve decided I can take on another student.”

Student’s Mom: “Perfect. So [First Mom] said you will only charge me $15 an hour, correct?”

Me: *heart sinks to my stomach* “No, I actually charge $25 an hour.”

Student’s Mom: “Then why would she tell me $15?!”

Me: “I have been teaching her daughter for four years. She was my first soloist, and that is what I charged when I first started.”

Student’s Mom: “So, why does she get to keep that price!?”

Me: “Because she helped me get started.”

Student’s Mom: “That isn’t fair. You are what, 16? What makes you qualified to get $25 a hour?!”

Me: “Regardless of my age, ma’am, my dances win. Most teachers with a resume like mine are charging $50 an hour. I only charge $25 because I am younger.”

Student’s Mom: “But why do you get to charge that!?”

Me: “Ma’am, I am a busy person. I dance 50 hours a week myself, and I am an honor student, and my choreography wins. I have four other people who are interested in that slot and are fine with paying the $25. I am trying them out this weekend to find out if I can work with their student and them. So far, I can’t work with you, so your daughter is not worth my time.”

Student’s Mom: “Excuse me, young lady?!”

Me: “Ma’am. If my price is so outrageous, why are you still here trying to get me to teach your daughter?”

Student’s Mom: “Because your choreography wins!”

Me: “Exactly! I can charge $25 because my choreography is wanted. Now, $25 is my final price.”

Student’s Mom: “Fine. When can my daughter start?”

Me: “Never.”

Student’s Mom: “What?!“

Me: “I don’t work with divas, and if you’re like this, I can’t imagine how your daughter must be. Get out!”

(She left, muttering something under her breath about me being a b**** and arrogant and many other things. I found a student the next week who received choreography that won, and she ended up staying with me for two years. I don’t teach divas. I still won’t do so.)