I work in IT at a school. The school has a computer room with a lot of computers set up. There’s also a desk with four computers that are part of a project funded by the municipality to promote computers. These computers are accessible for free for citizens who want to do some research. They are managed by an admin who has got nothing to do with the school. These computers are connected to a printer in the computer room so visitors can print whatever they need.

As I’m doing some maintenance, a woman walks in, sits in front of a computer, and starts searching the Internet. After some time, I hear the printer starting to print. After some more time, the lady calls me over.

Lady: *Pointing at the printer* “I need the printer reloaded.”

She just printed over 200 pages. I reload the printer, and the printing continues. Another 200 pages. Rinse and repeat: reload the printer, and another 200 pages are printed.

Finally, after another 100 or so pages, she’s done. She packs her 700 papers and with an, “Until tomorrow!”, she leaves the room. For reference, on a normal day, the entire staff and pupils don’t print more than 300 pages.

I mention this to the principal.

Principal: “We made a deal with the municipality; the school offers them access to our Internet connection and the printer, and in return, the municipality will pay for the Internet connection.”

It’s quite clear that with a customer like that lady, the school is going to lose a lot of money on the deal. But the principal decides to uphold the deal for the time being.

The next day, the lady returns, but she also brings a friend along, and they both start to print like crazy. By the end of their session, they’ve managed to print over 2,000 pages between them.

And with an, “Until tomorrow,” the ladies say their goodbyes.

Of course, the principal isn’t happy with the way things are going. She asks me what I can do.

Me: “We could rename the printer so it can’t be found by the four computers and adjust the login script for all the school computers, and the bulk printing will be done.”

The next day, the lady returns. Today, she has three friends with her.

It doesn’t take too long before they call me over to complain about the printer not printing.

Me: “Due to the excessive amount of printed pages in the last three days, printing is no longer available.”

Of course, that isn’t to her liking.

Lady: “Turn on the printer or I’ll have you fired!”

Me: “No. Go ahead and have me fired.”

She immediately grabbed her phone, called her husband, and pushed the phone in my face, motioning that I should talk to her husband.

It turned out that her husband was someone high up in the municipality, and he seemed like a very reasonable guy. I explained the situation and why the school wouldn’t be paying for his wife’s printing habits. When he heard the number of pages his wife had been printing, he agreed that that was an abuse of the privilege. He asked for his wife on the phone.

In a matter of minutes, the wife and her friends left the room. I don’t know what was said, but I think that the wife will be having an interesting conversation later.

Years ago, I was about to begin attending secondary school. We were viewing different local schools to see which one would be the best to send me to as there were quite a few options. We went to view one private school which my mum’s coworker had recommended to her.

When we entered the school grounds, we both got the impression that this school had a superior vibe going for it. The grounds were big and well-maintained, and all the parents and other students seemed to be turning up in very expensive cars.

The students who showed us around the grounds came across as quite rude and snooty and talked about the school as if it were the cream of the crop. They gave particular attention to how good the school was at sports and made us gaze upon the large trophy cabinet for what felt like an overly long time.

Both Mum and I were getting put off by this place, and in the back of my mind, I was hoping not to get sent there.

At the end of the tour, there was a little reception, and we noticed the headmaster talking to different families. I took the opportunity to go to the toilet. When I came out, Mum started taking me toward the exit.

Mum: “Let’s go! I’m not sending you here!”

I was relieved to hear that but also confused as to why she’d made up her mind so quickly.

While I was in the toilet, the headmaster made a beeline for her.

Headmaster: “Hello, I’m [Headmaster]. Welcome! Did you enjoy the tour?”

Mum: “Well, it was certainly impressive. I had some questions about—”

Headmaster: *Interrupting* “So, what sport does your son do? Football, rugby, cricket, swimming, athletics?”

Mum: “Well, my son isn’t really sporty. He’s more keen on doing drama or—”

Headmaster: *Interrupting again* “Then I suggest you find another school!”

Mum: “Excuse me?”

Headmaster: “This will not be the right school for your son. Sport is an integral part of school culture, and every student is required to represent the school in at least one! All the best with your search!”

With that, he rudely turned away and started talking to another family. I later found that despite presenting itself as some kind of elite institution, the school had a horrible local reputation. Bullying was not only rampant but allowed!

Three students from that school later attended my school and told some pretty horrific tales. One said that he was threatened with a knife, but when his parents complained, the headmaster refused to take any action because the bully’s parents were wealthy and considered “Good friends of the school!”, so zero was done! 

I’m very glad that the tour did not go well because my life at school could’ve been far worse if I’d attended that horror show!

I have an even more “neverending detention” story. I was sent to detention from an English class to a vacant classroom for that period by the principal for an unstated period of time. It suited me fine; I could read a book in peace, and since it was the period before the noon break, I could easily skip out early and head to the cafe and pool hall.

Many weeks later, at least six weeks, the principal wandered in to drop off some supplies and saw me sitting there.

Principal: “What are you doing here?”

Me: “You sent me here.”

Principal: *Throwing up his arms* “Oh, my God! Oh, my God!”

And he ran out of the room. Since I had missed a large chunk of the English class, I was ordered to go to the study hall for that period for the rest of the semester. I could just sit and read my books there, too, so that was fine, but I couldn’t take an early lunch anymore.

Related:
The Neverending Detention

One of my kids is allergic to peanuts, tree nuts, sesame seeds, and their oils — oh, and garden peas — but not other legumes.

One school wanted to keep their EpiPens locked in a secure cabinet. Which was locked in a secure walk-in cupboard. Which was accessed via a secure strongroom that was always kept locked. Which opened off the Head’s Study. Which was locked whenever they weren’t in the room.

When I — and other parents of children with EpiPens — went and asked the Head and the Bursar how much the school was worth, they wanted to know why.

Me: “So we know how much to sue you for when one of our kids dies because people can’t find the keys in time.”

Suddenly, every classroom was issued with a secure medications cabinet, which was accessed either by entering a code on the pin-pad or hitting the big, red medical emergency alarm button above the cabinet. (It was beyond the reach of little kids, very loud and scary, and designed to summon help QUICKLY. It couldn’t be switched off without the special key, which was only issued to the Head, the Bursar, and the Secretary.)

I was a new teacher at a middle school and was trying hard to balance work, home, and young children. I never did “homework” (the rest of my teaching duties) until my children were in bed. Then, I would routinely stay up until midnight refining lesson plans, grading papers, and scoring tests.

One morning, after being up most of the night with a fussy child, I was exhausted. I had a planning period for first period, so I put my head down on my desk “just for a minute” and promptly fell asleep. It was an open-classroom school, so my principal wandered in, observed me for a minute, and then put his hand on my shoulder.

Principal: “Go home.”

Me: *Protesting* “I’m fine!”

Principal: “You look exhausted, and you need rest. I will handle things here.”

I will never forget him for that kind gesture, and I have tried to have the same compassion for my students.