(We have a class of about twenty students and of those, I am the only female.)

Instructor #1: “…Yeah, that system is a load of s***.” *looks at me* “Sorry.”

Instructor #2: “…It’s a three-day weekend. If ANY of you drive drunk I’m going to be really f****** pissed!” *looks at me* “Sorry.”

Instructor #3: “They yelled at me for telling that story when I was in instructor school. They said, ‘You can’t tell your students about how you took a f****** shock on purpose!'” *looks at me* “Sorry.”

Me: “…Ah, that’s how it works. Yeah, that s*** makes sense.”

Instructor #3: *turns and looks at me*

Me: *looks back at Instructor #3*

(After that conversation, Instructor #3 never made any attempt to apologize to me for swearing. I think he finally realized I had the same potty mouth the rest of the sailors did, and didn’t need any special treatment when it came to dropping the occasional (or even frequent) swear word!)

(Even the Army has fool’s errands for the recruits to run, as is tradition in many other professions. Usually, instead of being sent in search of “sky hooks” or “anvil grease”, these tend to be a bit more specific. This was a few years ago when conscription was still a thing in Germany.)

Instructor: “You know, the conscripts are getting dumber every year.”

Me: “Nah, you’re exaggerating. They’re just not adjusted yet. Think about it: some of them are away from Mommy for the first time, they’re getting yelled at for the most ridiculous things, and they’re suffering from sleep deprivation. Don’t you remember your boot camp?”

Instructor: “Sure, but even though some were simple, they weren’t this stupid. You know, there’s something I always wanted to try… If this doesn’t work, I owe you a case of beer.” *he yells down the hallway* “[Private #1], [Private #2]!”

(They come running.)

Private #1: “Reporting, sir!”

Instructor: “I need the two of you to go to [area within the base] and report to Sgt. [Name]. He is with the maintenance guys; his office is by the garages for the recovery tanks. Do you know where that is?”

Private #2: “Yes, sir.”

Instructor: “Good. For our upcoming training unit tomorrow, I need a UTM grid from him. He should have it ready; you just need to get it over here.”

Privates #1 & #2: “Yes, get a UTM grid from Sgt. [Name], sir!” *they leave*

(UTM is a specific coordinates system for maps.)

Me: “Seriously? They just had a course on reading maps and coordinates last week, and field-training on that two days ago. There’s NO WAY they’re that stupid. They were probably just too scared to tell you off.”

Instructor: *grins at me and dials a number on the phone* “Yeah, Sgt. [Name]? This is [Instructor]. I sent two recruits your way to get a UTM grid.” *pause, then laughter* “Perfect.” *he hangs up* “And now, we wait.”

Me: “Isn’t Sgt. [Name]’s office like 700 metres from here?”

Instructor: “Yup. I’m telling you, they’re gonna do it.”

Me: “You’re on.”

(About half an hour later, the two recruits come back, struggling with an exhaust grating of one of the tanks, which weighs around 120 kg/260 lbs. We watch them through a window as they arrive on the plaza in of the entrance to the barracks. The instructor opens the window as they put it on the ground for a short pause.)

Me: “You gotta be s****ing me.”

Instructor: “This is fantastic…” *yelling out the window* “What the f*** is that supposed to be?”

Private #1: *audibly panting* “Sir, the UTM grid you wanted, sir!”

Instructor: “Are you f****** with me? If I’d wanted a small one, I would’ve asked for it! Take that thing back and get me the big one!”

(Their faces visibly dropped and they looked at each other, Private #2 quite obviously cursing under his breath. Still, they picked it up and started carrying it back. They eventually reported back empty handed and sheepishly. When told about the prank, they were pretty good sports about it in spite of the hard work and very thankful for the apologetic beers we bought them afterwards.)

(I work overseas for the U.S. military. There is a periodic inspection of our living facilities and an inventory of all the items in our places. On the day my inspection is scheduled there is an explosion at the main power plant and half the country is without power for several hours. My inspection is done by candle light and with flashlights.)

Chief Inspector: “Okay. Everything seems to be in order but I want to go over the paperwork with you. Would you please turn on the lights so we can do this?”

Me: “Uhm… no.”

Chief Inspector: “Why not?”

Me: “Really? You just got done doing an inspection by candle light. What makes you think I can magically turn on the lights now that you are done?”

(There is an exhibit on the conscription in the memorial park, and in that unit we also have a part attributed to the demolition experts, with panels about mine clearing, explosives, and projectiles. Since Hungary was a war zone under both World Wars, and the neighbouring countries also have/had local wars, there are plenty of these mines, projectiles, and bombs scattered around, still dangerous; most of the time, they are found in public places, even at schoolyards and nurseries, fields, rivers, etc. Because of this, we are obligated to give a small but thorough speech about the most common dangers. Be advised that generally people receive similar warnings at school, preschool, and even in the media. As it seems, it is not effective:)

Me: *finishing my spiel about what to do* “…so, if you find any of these, you just leave it in peace, and call an adult.”

Mother: *cupping her daughter’s ears, so she cannot hear me* “Don’t worry, honey, this isn’t true anymore…”

Me: *speechless*

Father: “Oh, I think I have one or two of these at home!” *points at one of the smaller bombs* “But they are intact… I mean, they are whole, not distorted like these…”

Me: *hoping he bought a replica* “Oh? Where did you get them?”

Father: “Well, I was ploughing, and they just sort of came out of the ground.”

Me: *alarmed* “And where did you put them?”

Father: “In the garage, I think…”

Seven-Year-Old Son: “Yes, they are there. I usually play with them!”

Me: *agitated* “Please, sir, as soon as you get home, don’t enter the garage and call the police!”

Father: “Why?”

(This classmate is actually one of the instructors for another class in the schoolhouse. Our computer class has become a prerequisite for his, so they have him audit the class, to see what material he can cut from his own teachings.)

Classmate: “I can’t believe what my kids tried pulling!”

Me: “What happened?”

Classmate: “The older kid showed the younger kid where to find adult material online, and then how to delete the Internet history.”

Me: “Wow. How’d you find out?”

Classmate: “Well, the younger was silly enough to leave a printout in the printer. But even then, I would have STILL found out. Deleting the history doesn’t stop me from seeing where they go online. What’s sad is that … they KNOW I do this for a living yet they still thought they knew more about computers than the old man?”

(When I got to the fleet to work with computers, I found out that he wasn’t lying. NOTHING stopped the admins from finding out where people went online, no matter how often someone tried to erase their history – or how much they lied to us about it!)