(We are in math class, learning about volume. The teacher is currently talking about the volume of boxes.)

Teacher: “Would the volume of this box change if you submerged it underwater?”

Class: “No.”

Teacher: “And [Student #1]! Would the volume of the box change if it caught on fire?”

Student #1: “No.”

Me: “Actually, it would. The box would burn and it wouldn’t hold anything anymore.”

Teacher: “What if the box was fireproof, [My Name]?”

Me: “Then it wouldn’t catch on fire in the first place.”

Teacher: “…touché.”

(My seventh grade Social Studies teacher was known best for two things: his wacky, offbeat sense of humor and his equally wacky ties. He had a gift for getting students interested in learning history, too.This was by far his most notable class opening when I was a student:)

Teacher: “Okay! Who here knows the story of the first recorded streaker in history?”

(And that is how you get twelve-year-olds interested in Archimedes.)

(It is first day of my junior high biology class.)

Teacher: “We’re going to be discussing many things in biology and using terminology that some of you may not be familiar with like ‘organism’ which I know sounds like a different word. Do not get them confused ‘accidentally.’ It’s not funny or clever.”

(The class continues as normal for 15 minutes.)

Boy: “ORGASM!”

Teacher: *facepalms as the class kills itself laughing* “Yes, [Boy], that’s the word I told you NOT to confuse with organism…”

(After three years of watching classmates cross the stage to receive awards, at assemblies I am finally slated to receive one. It’s the last day and it’s my last chance. I go to school all dressed up.)

Principal: “So many students are going to receive awards that we don’t have time for everyone to get theirs at the assembly. Your home-room teachers will pass them out.”

(A few of the class’ bigger and meaner guys surround me as shop class is about to begin.)

Thug #1: “You are so dead.”

Thug #2: “Yeah, what’d you go and do that for?”

Thug #3: “Messin’ up our projects like that?!”

(I ask them, rather timidly, what the problem was. They show me. Each of us has a woodworking project, and my name is scribbled on theirs in green ink.)

Thug #1: “You have a green pen; you did it!”

Me: “Yes, but look…”

(I pull the green pen out of my pocket, and write on a piece of paper.)

Me: “See? The ink is black, not green. Whoever is trying to set me up didn’t do their homework. Besides, why would I want to put MY name on YOUR projects?”

(The cadre of thugs looked at each other, confused. They would have loved to give me a good beatdown, but they had no excuse, and were a little embarrassed to be fooled so easily. So they threatened me not to do it in the future, and went on their way.)