(I’m in my 7th grade social studies class for the first time.)

Teacher: “I will go to any length to make absolutely sure you hand in all of your work. If I have to, I’ll go to [Principal]’s office and go on the intercom…”

(The teacher covers his mouth to sound like he’s speaking over the intercom.)

Teacher: “Mister [Student Name], please hand in your assignment by 3 pm today!”

(The teacher then looks like an idea has just struck him.)

Teacher: “Or worse! I’ll sing! IT’S NOW OR NEVERRRRRRR, GET MY WORK TURNED IIIIIIIIIN…“

(My history teacher is away on jury duty, so we have a substitute teacher. I was born in South Africa.)

Classmate: “So what language did you speak in Africa?”

Me: “English and Afrikaans. I learned both of them when I was little.”

Sub: “Don’t listen to her! Afrikaans isn’t a real language. She is making it up.”

Me: “No, it’s real. It is one of the thirteen National Languages of South Africa.”

Sub: “You’re lying.”

Me: “If it isn’t real, then why is it on Google Translate?”

Sub: “Stop lying before I write you up for disrupting class!”

(Needless to say, when my history teacher came back, he was unimpressed by the sub’s education.)

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(In math class, we are talking about checking equations.)

Teacher: “Every time somebody asks if they have to check it, I live another year. This is how I see who hates me.”

Student: “DO-WE-HAVE-TO-CHECK-IT-DO-WE-HAVE-TO-CHECK-IT-DO-WE-HAVE-TO-CHECK-IT?!”

Teacher: “Great. Now In 70,000 years I will be a floating head going ‘Curse you [Student’s Name].'”

(My science teacher keeps sodas in the classroom, and he gives them out to kids on their birthdays.)

Teacher: “Hey, [My Name], I need the energy worksheet from you.”

Me: “I already turned that in.”

Teacher: “I don’t have it. You need to do it again.”

(I take the worksheet, finish it quickly, and give it back to him.)

Teacher: “I told [other student] to do this.”

Me: “No, you told me.”

(The teacher pauses, and he face-palms himself.)

Teacher: “Go get a soda from the fridge.”

(I’m an English teacher at a middle school. I catch a student coming in late.)

Me: “Kiddo, you’re late; you got detention after school.”

(I see the student force fake tears into his eyes.)

Student: “But my brother died last night!”

Me: “I’m so sorry for your loss buddy, but I’ll tell you a story. When I was nine, my disabled, mute, happy, loving older brother died. I still went to school. I also lost my sweet grandpa, who was like a perfect dad, and he died when I was eleven. I still went to school the next day despite the fact I cried for about half an hour after receiving the news. My emotions aren’t as strong as some; I cried a lot after hurting my knee, and it left a small scar. You didn’t even lose one tear when you broke your arm a year ago, so I doubt you’re too emotionally frail right now. You’re also 13, so, unless you are able to get a death certificate confirming the death, detention.”

(The student’s friends are holding back their laughter.)

Student: “Aw man, I thought it would work!”

Me: “Yeah, I could have called that lie when I was a sixth grader; all that reading I did wasn’t for nothing!”