I am a middle school teacher. One day, there is a tornado risk, and we lock down in our storm shelters – the PE locker rooms. Some students get anxious, particularly students who moved from places that don’t get tornadoes. I give them the most information I can in a reasonable tone – knowledge is power – and they seem reassured, or at least too busy thinking over the info to be panicked. 

To further reduce the tension, I take out my secret weapon – a small, palm-sized yellow school bus stress toy made of foam. I hurl it into the back of a student’s head. The kid laughs and launches it in kind. Soon enough, we have a seated, hushed hybrid game of catch/dodgeball going, and the storm is forgotten by the students as I keep an eye on the radar.

As he prepares to throw the bus, a student pauses, thoughtfully inspects the bus, and informs the students around him:

Student: “You know, there might be a bus flying outside just like this.”

He then hurled it across the room, and the game continued.

My poor bus landing in the toilet notwithstanding, all was well, and we eventually resumed classes.

My mom was picking me up from middle school one terrible day. I was picked on all that day and was just looking forward to going home and licking my wounds for the next day. She saw that I was depressed and wanted to cheer me up. She got my attention, and when I looked over, she had her hand up to her forehead, making the ‘L’ for loser gesture, and a big innocent grin on her face. Seeing my mom making fun of me, I just kind of brooded for the rest of the ride home.

When we got home, she asked:

Mom: “Why didn’t you say it back?”

Me: “Say what back?”

Mom: “I love you!”

She put the ‘L’ gesture to her forehead again.

Me: “Mom, that doesn’t mean what you think it means. It means loser. You called me a loser!”

We both laughed. Now it’s an inside joke we do to each other all the time.

I went to a school where most of the students were privileged; many were the children of millionaires. This was in the 1970s, when having a million dollars put you in the top 1%. Often, the families had inherited their fortunes.

History class was covering the Great Depression, and the lesson included a picture of a breadline. One girl asked:

Classmate: “Why are people standing in line to get free bread?”

Teacher: “Because they didn’t have any money.”

Classmate: “If they didn’t have any money, why didn’t they just sell some of their stock?”

I am a 7th grade history teacher. Our school year is split into four quarters, with two quarters making up one semester. After the first semester, students have midterm exams, which cover everything they’ve learned so far.

At my school, if students have maintained at least 90% in the first two quarters, they can be exempt from the midterm. I know that even students who are exempt will need a refresher, so I’m having all students take a short quiz that covers what we’ve learned since the start of the year.

The day before this, the whole class played a game to study for the quiz, and it contained all the topics we had learned about.

Me: “The quiz is officially tomorrow, but if you feel prepared and want to take it today, you may do so. Otherwise, please quietly study.”

[Student], who knows the material but is repeating the class for various reasons, including rushing through assignments and not reading directions thoroughly, raises his hand.

Student: “What is the material on?”

Me: “Everything we’ve covered so far.”

Student: “So does that include the Byzantine Empire?”

Me: “We’ve covered that, so yes.”

Two other students elect to start the quiz early, and before handing them out, I explain to the class at large that when I printed the quizzes, a spacing error made it so that two of the possible answers on a multiple-choice question got pushed onto the back page. A few quiet minutes pass, then [Student] raises his hand again.

Student: “Can you just tell me which topics are covered, and then I’ll decide if I want to take it?”

Me: “It is cumulative. It covers everything we have learned since the beginning of the year.”

Student: “Oh, okay.”

After thinking for a bit, he decides he’s ready to take the quiz. A few minutes later…

Student: “The question at the bottom of the page is cut off.”

Me: “As I explained less than ten minutes ago, the other answers are on the back of the page.”

[Student] turns the page over and gasps in realization. After he finished the quiz and was handing it in:

Student: “I bet I aced it.”

Me: “I’m sure you did! You know a lot about history.”

I just finished grading it. He got 60%. As I said, he’s incredibly bright and knows the subject well, but we’re still working on study skills and reading comprehension.

When I was in Middle school (age thirteen, back at the start of the millennium), we had a math teacher who was… special.

She was a fairly young woman (about thirty-five) who never arrived on time, had below-zero patience, and the teaching abilities of a mousepad. I was never a math genius, but I was still better than my friends, who struggled a lot and would have needed a more one-on-one approach.

This teacher hated my friends for the simple fact that they asked about everything because they didn’t understand. She just resorted to telling them to shut up, or plain ignoring them.

Around November, we were having some sort of final, and when the grades came… it was strange. I got a ten, and one of my friends had a three (A+ and F, for the Americans).

Friend: “I… don’t get it. I’m bad, but not that bad.”

Me: “And I’m not that good.”

Friend: “May I see your exam? I want to compare.”

We put together both sheets, and they were identical. We hadn’t cheated, but for some magical coincidence, we did exactly the same steps and method despite being on opposite sides of the classroom.

Friend: “Well, one of us is straight-up graded wrong. I’ll take it to the teacher to see what’s wrong.”

So he went into the classroom, talked to the teacher, and even though she had two identical exams with different grades in front of her, she maintained that it was right. So obviously, my friend went to the director, and the next day, his parents came.

Next week comes…, and the teacher is no more.

Me: “Hey, [Friend]. Where’s the teacher? What happened at last week’s meeting?”

Friend: “Oh, I thought I told you… They fired her in front of my parents, and I have a ten (A+) now.”

Me: “What?! How?”

Friend: “Well, they all sat, my mom demanded answers, the director showed her the exams and asked what happened, and she just said, ‘answers don’t matter, one is stupid and the other is smart, so the smart will get extra graded, and the stupid will be punished.””

Me: “She… called you stupid in front of her boss AND your parents?”

Friend: “Honestly, firing her was the peaceful solution. According to my mom, it was mere seconds away from first-degree murder.”