(My friend and I are eating lunch outside. I am sitting leaning against a concrete pillar while he sits opposite me against a wall. I am just about done when I hear snippets of a strange, rambling voice behind me.)

Voice: “Yeah, I’m… money… fo dis… real man… yeah…”

(I look at my friend who is watching whatever is going on with a look that is equal parts bafflement and horror. I piece together the incoherent blather and his face and come to the conclusion that a confused, homeless person has somehow snuck onto our campus and is currently harassing students for money. Not wanting to deal with that hassle, I quickly finish my food and stand up so that we can head indoors, pointedly not turning around, to avoid making eye contact.)

Friend: *immediately once we were indoors* “Did you see that?!”

Me: “I heard it. I figured it was some crazed, homeless guy bothering students.”

Friend: “What? No! It was that blond chick trying to rap!”

(I turn around and see a blond girl that neither of us knows, but she is hard to ignore, as she loudly speaks like a “gangsta.” She is in the middle of a small group of people bobbing back and forth with her hand to her mouth as if holding a microphone.)

Me: “Good God, her free-styling was so awful I assumed it was a half-drunk hobo seeking pocket change from teenagers.”

When I was in middle school, our district had a program meant to promote reading amongst students. Once you read a book you would take a short online quiz asking you about plot points and details from the book. If you scored a passing grade, you earned points based on the difficulty of the book. Near the end of the year, you could spend the points on prizes and the top students would sometimes get a field trip. These points were also sometimes used to evaluate teachers in the reading courses.

My class was reading the same book together, and every class period we would be given 20 to 30 minutes just for reading that book. I was the first to finish the book, so my teacher sent me to the classroom next door to take the online quiz. She told me to write down my questions and answers I received, as well. I missed only one question on the quiz, and following her instructions, I wrote down my answer, rather than the correct one.

I got back to class and explained this to my teacher. She scolded me for not giving her all right answers, and even let me know that she was “disappointed” in me. After that, whenever a student wanted to take the quiz, she gave them my answers so that everyone could use them to score well. The second student to take the quiz got the answer for the one I missed, so this means that everyone in the class got 100% other than me.

After she used me to cheat, and even chided me for doing it poorly, any trust I had for that teacher was ruined.

When I was young my dad had an IT job that could call him into work at any time, on top of his normal working hours. At least once a week he would a get a phone call in the middle of the morning and would have to get dressed and go to the office.

One night, my mom woke up and noticed that he wasn’t in bed next to her. She looked at the clock to find that it was past three am. Concerned, she got out of bed and walked into the living room to call him. She reached his office answering machine — this was before everyone had cell phones — and left a message about how it was late and whatever he was doing could wait until he got some sleep. She then went back to her room and slid into bed, only to find another person already in the bed. She screamed like a banshee until she realized it was my father’s panicked voice asking, “What?! What is it?!”

Turns out, while Mom had left their room to make the phone call, my dad was in their master bathroom brushing his teeth. He had kept the lights off and was trying to be quiet so as to not wake her and then climbed into bed before she got back.

(My mom used to be a teacher for a classroom of 10- and 11-year-olds. Her school happened to be in an underdeveloped area surrounded by desert lands, with her classroom right next to a door that goes outside. One day she is made aware that the superintendent of the school will be visiting her classroom, so she decides to wear a dress rather than her usual pants because she wants to make a good impression. In the middle of giving a lesson, she feels something tickling her ankle and looks down just in time to see a tiny collared lizard scamper up her leg and under her dress. The superintendent opens the door only to see a woman barreling towards him:)

Mom: *screaming* “S*********t!”

(My mom knocked him to the floor, ran outside, and began a mad jig until the lizard fled from under her dress. Thankfully, the superintendent was very understanding.)

(I am roughly eleven years old. I am in my room working on homework when I notice the #2 at the top of my pencil and start to wonder if there are #1 or #3 pencils, as well, and how they are different. Considering my dad has always been rather knowledgeable, and this is before the Internet is easily accessed, I decide to ask him. I find him in the living room watching television with my mom. Not wanting to interrupt his show for a silly question, I decide to ask him if it’s okay first.)

Me: “Dad, I was wondering if I could ask you a question?”

(My dad stiffens and slowly turns his head to look at me. His face looks paler, his mouth hangs open, and there is some fear in his eyes.)

Dad: “W-what?”

Me: “Um, I wanted to know, if you weren’t too busy, if I could ask you a question.”

Dad: *shaken* “Uh… right. Okay. Just… go sit in my room and I’ll come in when I’m ready.”

Me: *figuring he wants to wait till a commercial break* “Okay.”

(This next part is from my mother’s perspective, which she shares with me years later. She has been watching the show, not listening to our conversation. After I leave the room the TV suddenly turns off.)

Mom: *looks at my dad* “Hmm? What’s going on?”

Dad: *gravely, not looking at her* “It’s time.”

Mom: *concerned by his tone* “Time for what?

Dad: “Our son has… questions. It’s time for ‘the talk.’”

(She picks up that he means it is time to give me the “sex talk.” They spend a few minutes discussing what points to bring up, and Mom tries to bolster him into doing this until he decides that he’s ready and goes to talk to me.)

Me: *obliviously watching TV while waiting*

Dad: *enters the room, turns off the television, and sits next to me on the bed* “Well, son, what questions did you have for me?”

Me: “Oh, I was wondering if there are other numbered pencils rather than #2; they always say, ‘use a #2 pencil,’ but I’ve never heard of a #1 pencil before.”

(I see my dad practically deflate as tension leaves his body. There’s a pause of at least ten seconds as he gathers his thoughts. He answers my question to my satisfaction.)

Me: “Cool. Thanks, Dad.” *starts to get up to leave*

Dad: *stopping me* “Wait. There’s something else I wanted to tell you about.”

Me: *confused*

(He proceeds to give me “the talk.” It isn’t especially overt, but the topic comes so out of left field for me I’m practically knocked off my feet.)

Dad: “So, son, do you have any more questions for me?”

Me: *dazed* “No… no more questions.”

(I shambled out of their room and back to my own. I sat down at my desk and stared at the innocuous pencil that started this. In the living room, I could hear my mother’s cackling laughter as she heard the story.)