(My best friend, Classmate #1, and I are all in track. Classmate #1 is in my P.E. class and he is an eighth grader, whereas my best friend and I are seventh graders in the advanced program. Our coach is explaining something to a few of us and the rest of us are just standing around. This happens after we’ve been standing around for a good 10 minutes.)

Classmate #1: “I just realized something.”

Classmate #2: *also an eighth-grade boy in my P.E. class* “What?”

Classmate #1: “If a car is going one mile per hour, does it mean it’s going one mile in an hour?”

Classmate #2: “Yeah, I think so.”

Classmate #1: “Well then, I run faster than a car.”

Me: *to best friend* “See, this is the intelligence level in my P.E. class.”

(During middle school, my best friend moved to California. I was heartbroken, since we had been friends since we were in elementary school. Much to my shock, however, my mother had a business trip to San Francisco and took me along. The biggest shock? My friend was living less than a half hour from the city. When we meet up again, we haven’t seen each other for more than five months. The day we met up in the hotel, this exchange occurs.)

Best Friend: *walks in* HEY!

Me: *glancing up* “OH, MY GOD!”

(We hug and both of us start crying. We stay put for a few minutes, and one of the hotel workers goes over to her father, who came with her.)

Worker: “Excuse me, but you need to calm them down.”

Dad: “Leave them be. I’ve never seen her cry in public before.”

(My friend happens to hear this and looks up long enough to shout at the worker.)

Worker: “Are you two going to need a room?”

Best Friend: *not getting what she’s saying* “Yeah! We wanna be alone, meanie!”

(Her dad lost it and the poor worker looked like she was traumatized. I still tease her about implying we were lesbians at 12 years old in San Francisco!)

(During rehearsal, the band director is going through each section separately to work on problem areas. He tends to “sing,” rather badly, notes and rhythms every time we struggle with something.)

Director: “Okay, I think that wraps that up for the flutes. Now for the saxophones…”

Flutist #1: *yells out to the band director* “Hey, can we sing this part at the end?”

Director: “No. No one wants to hear you sing.”

Me: “No one wants to hear you sing, either, but you do it all the time.”

(I slap my hand over my mouth as the rest of the class giggles. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud and was afraid the band director would punish me, but he has a sense of humor.)

Director: *laughing* “You’re lucky you’re one of my best students.”

(I am in seventh grade. In science class we are learning about the reproductive system.)

Teacher: “Say it with me now. You are mature enough to handle this. Penis.”

(My friend goes into a giggling fit.)

Teacher: “[Friend], go stand in the hallway and calm yourself down!”

(We continue with the lesson. Suddenly, over half an hour later we hear a sneeze from the hallway.)

Teacher: “S***, I forgot her!”

(In orchestra class, we are all practicing our different sections of the music we are playing for an upcoming performance. One of our bass players is goofing around, shining a laser pointer in several people’s eyes. He gets to me, and after a few times of doing it, I whip my cello bow around and smack him in the arm several times.)

Student With Laser Pointer: “Ahhhh!”

Orchestra Director: *shocked* “What happened?!”

Me: “Nothing. It’s taken care of.”

Orchestra Director: “Oh, okay… Well, let’s play [Song] all the way through together. [Student With Laser Pointer], get back to your instrument.”