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Absolutely Despicable, Horrendous, And Dreadful, Part 2

, , , , , | Learning | September 16, 2020

I’m the author of this story. This story is not about that witch, but rather a giant whom I have the displeasure of fighting in ninth grade. I have fairly severe ADHD, and that leads to me “stimming” or using up my excess energy in various ways, such as foot-tapping, crochet, and writing ciphers.

Most teachers tolerate this because I still work hard and get decent grades. This teacher, however, thinks that if I am stimming, I’m not working, so things I do to stim are rapidly banned until all I have left is tapping my feet.

On the day of this particular incident, I have gotten these wonderful new boots that are shiny and go click-clack when I walk. I love them.

I’m sitting in the lesson, trying my best to pay attention without stimming, when my knee starts bouncing, the heel going “click-click-click,” not particularly loudly. My teacher, on the other hand, stops his lesson and turns around.

Teacher: “If you don’t stop tapping your foot, I’m getting the sponge.”

Me: “Sorry, sir!”

He goes back to the lesson. I’m quiet for about five minutes, and then my knee starts bouncing again. 

He doesn’t even say anything; he just goes and fetches a bright pink sponge and puts it under the foot that was tapping.

This happens with my other foot, as well. I’m embarrassed and I can hear the people in the class whispering about me, so my feet start bouncing again, hard enough that the sponges aren’t stopping the noise.

My teacher turns around again, glaring at me.

Me: “I’m really sorry. I just need to move and I’m trying not to make noise, I promise; it’s my shoes!”

Teacher: “Boots off, then. It’s annoying.”

So, I took off my boots and planted my feet on the sponges and started bouncing my knee again. Somehow, he could still hear that, and I ended up with three sponges under both my feet by the end of the class.

In his defence, I suppose the shoes were overkill, but at a certain point, I just needed to not sit still for the double-length math/science class. There had to be something he could do other than stacking sponges.

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Absolutely Despicable, Horrendous, And Dreadful

Just Throw The Whole Administration Away

, , , , | Learning | August 16, 2020

When I am younger, I join my middle school’s student council. I soon find that the president is a little controlling, but I try to avoid her if possible. One of the student council jobs is emptying recycling bins of water bottles into a larger bin across the small campus which accepts bottles and cans. My friend has given me a fruit drink in a can, which I have finished and am trying to put in the recycling can just as the president walks up to empty it.

President: “Hey, you can’t throw that away in here!”

Me: “Why not? It’s metal, and this bin accepts metal cans.”

President: “No, it doesn’t!”

She points to a paper sign on the side that says, “Water Bottles Only”.

President: “It only accepts plastic bottles!

Me: “The big bins over there accept cans, and that’s where you are taking this bin!”

President: “Then why don’t you put this in the bin over there?!”

Me: “This one’s just going there right now. Why would I waste my time walking there when I could just save a trip?!”

My friend, who has been next to me the whole time, speaks up.

Friend: “Come on, [My Name]. This isn’t worth arguing about. Let’s go.” 

I ended up throwing the can into the trash and quitting the next year. I couldn’t avoid the president, as I had three months of morning announcements performed by the student council with her.


This story is part of our Recycling roundup!

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Read the Recycling roundup!

For Some Reason I Can’t Explain…

, , , , , | Learning | August 13, 2020

I have unusual taste in music and typically know zilch about new or popular releases. I’m in middle school and my orchestra teacher has just announced that we’re going to perform a string version of the Coldplay song “Viva La Vida” as our “fun piece.”

Me: “Viva La Vida?”

Classmate: “I love this song! Do you know it?”

Me: “Nope. Never heard of the group, either.”

The teacher plays the song on her laptop. I’m excited beyond belief.

Me: “IT’S ‘FALLEN KINGDOM’!”

Classmates: *Pause* “What?”

It turned out that “Fallen Kingdom” was a parody of “Viva La Vida.” Geekdom strikes again!

Something Doesn’t Add Up Here

, , , , , | Learning | August 7, 2020

When I was in middle school, my math classes required a graphing calculator. My older brother and I were both math geeks, so he showed me how to use the “programs” feature of the calculator to do some cool stuff — not related to class.

Eventually, we learned the quadratic formula in class. After finishing the unit and passing the quiz, I had the bright idea to create a calculator program to do the formula for me. I then showed the program to my teacher, expecting the teacher to be impressed by my ingenuity, but instead, the teacher told me I wasn’t allowed to do that. I tried to point out that the mere fact that I had created the program was evidence that I had mastered the formula, but my teacher wouldn’t hear it. So, no time-saving shortcuts for me.

Looking back on it now, I wonder if the teacher didn’t believe I had created the program myself, but I’m still annoyed; as I said before, I had already passed the test on the formula itself, and using my calculator for the formula should have been no different than using it for basic arithmetic.

Some Doctors Should Be Dislocated From Their Professions

, , , , , , | Healthy | June 17, 2020

When I am in middle school, I do gymnastics through the school. During the last meet of my last year at the school, I dislocate my shoulder doing a cartwheel while I am warming up. Looking back, this is all pretty hilarious. At the time, not so much.

I’m slightly in shock but I know something’s wrong. I’m crumpled against the practice beam.

Me: “[Coach], [Coach]!”

My coach was watching the current student perform her routine and thought I just had questions, so she’s shushing me. Up in the stands, my mom saw me fall but thought that I’d just bumped the beam when I went down.

Mom: *Jokingly to a family friend* “I know she’s had worse. She just needs to shake it off; she’ll be fine.”

Back on the floor, a couple of teammates and one of the other coaches have realized that there’s a problem. They get me upright and the coach signals my mom to get down to the floor. By this time, the initial shock has worn off and I’m in massive amounts of pain — when my shoulder dislocates, my arm gains about three inches in length and what feels like 1000 pounds — so there is some minor crying going on on my part. My mom gets into the locker room, gets a hold of my dad, and tells him to stay in the car because we need to get to urgent care.

We get ice on my shoulder and my mom uses an ace bandage to immobilize things and we get in the car. We get down to urgent care and I remember this guy who sees me and lets me go ahead of him — not sure what his issue was, but thank you so much for letting the screaming and crying teenager jump the line!

We get into the exam room and the doctor comes in and starts examining things. Keep in mind that, A, I’m in a gymnastics leotard and, B, there’s a noticeable divot at my shoulder. He starts poking where my shoulder is supposed to be and asking if it hurts. At that point, not really, and I tell him so. He then starts probing my arm and gets to where my shoulder actually is, and of course, there’s a ton more pain and I tell him so.

The doctor looks up at both my parents.

Doctor: “So, this isn’t a dislocation; she’s broken her humerus. I’m going to order X-rays to be sure, and then we’ll get this fixed.”

Both my parents just stare at him, because it’s obvious that it’s a dislocation. Honestly, my dad was a medic when he was in the army, but the only reason he didn’t reduce my shoulder himself was that he didn’t want to risk something getting pinched. The X-rays get developed, and what do you know, my shoulder is dislocated.

Doctor: “Well, uh, I’m going to send you to the ER. They’ll have better drugs to give her. We’ll give her something to help for now and call ahead to get you guys checked in.”

A nurse comes in and gives me a shot of Demerol — I think; it might have been Dilaudid — and then we’re off to the ER. We get to the ER and they get us checked in, get vitals, and give me the exact same dose of Demerol. Then, they get me into a waiting gurney in the hallway.

We wait there for a while — I don’t remember much of it because I was so drugged up — but my mom finally goes out and asks what’s going on, so then they move me to a bed behind a curtain. I get hooked up to monitors and then to morphine, as well.

Looking back, there were an awful lot of drugs onboard that night. Again, hindsight humor: I thought I was asleep 90% of the time, but apparently, I wasn’t; my parents never mentioned if I said anything weird, but I’m sure I was entertaining.

There is more waiting and my mom finally goes out to the nurses’ station where they are just hanging around.

Mom: “Hi. Excuse me. Could we get some assistance back here? I know this probably isn’t exactly a high priority, but my daughter is fourteen and in pain and a little scared. Can someone please take a look?”

There was a flurry of activity and, within a few minutes, my shoulder was reduced. The doctor then had to pin me to the bed because I immediately tried to put my arms over my head. I suddenly felt better; why wouldn’t I try to use my arm?

My mom called urgent care a few days later to complain about the doctor we’d seen there and it turns out the guy was an allergist! He’d been covering the on-call because they’d had to make a run to help a patient. Mom thinks he was just scared to reduce it which is why he’d sent us to the ER.