By the time I take psychology class in high school, I have already had a regular physics course and am now taking an advanced AP physics course. We have just gotten a test back that covered the senses and psychological effects on them. I go to my teacher at the end of the class.

Me: “[Teacher], you marked this question as wrong but I’m pretty sure it’s correct.”

Teacher: “No, violet light is a lower wavelength than red light.”

Me: “I’m pretty sure it isn’t. Radio waves have the longest wavelength; that’s why we use them for long-distance communication. Then, they get shorter, going up to infrared, followed by red light, up to violet, then ultraviolet and x-rays.”

Teacher: “That’s not what it said in the book.”

Me: “Regardless of what the book said, I’m pretty confident about wavelength; we’ve covered it numerous times in science classes. I could get [Physics Teacher] to check the question if you want.”

Teacher: “If you think the book was wrong, why didn’t you say something when you read it?”

Me: “I didn’t notice. I already knew plenty about wavelengths so I wasn’t paying as much attention to that section, and it always takes me half a second to remember which is shorter wavelength and which is shorter frequency. I probably wasn’t worrying enough about it to think through whether it was right or wrong while scanning over it.”

Teacher: “Well, we were testing if you learned by the book, so you need to give the answer in the book.”

Me: “But not if the book is wrong. I’m sure my answer is correct. I can get you proof if you want.”

Teacher: “It doesn’t matter. If you had a problem with the book, you should have brought it up before now.”

More than half a year later, it was the end of the year. During our last class, the teacher asked if anyone wanted to share their favorite and least favorite parts of the class. When it was my turn, I gave my favorites before moving on to my regrets.

Me: “My least favorite part is that you still don’t believe me that red light has a longer wavelength than blue light!”

Teacher: “Well, you’re in luck, then, because I believe you now.”

Me: *Hopeful voice* “Does that mean I get my point back?!”

Teacher: “No.”

Honestly, in the grand scheme of things, one point on a test hardly mattered. I still aced the class; it was quite easy compared to some of my other courses. But the sentiment of refuting the truth coming from a teacher has always bothered me.

What I found most confusing, though, was that supposedly, only one other person came to the teacher to refute the incorrect question, which implies most of the students gave the answer the teacher expected. We were all in our last two years of high school, so everyone should have had basic physics, not to mention chemistry and middle school science — courses where they learned about light. How could an entire classroom of students memorize the book’s incorrect answer without any of them realizing it conflicted with everything they had been taught previously?

When I was in first grade, my school organized a long series of events where each class participated in downscaled versions of typical farmer activities. One of the activities involved families cooking a typical dish from the area. One day, a classmate brought a chestnut cake to class for this exact purpose. The teacher invited everyone in class to cut a slice each, but being a bit of a picky eater still, I took the thinnest slice I could manage and tasted it. Whether because it was done badly, or because I didn’t like chestnuts yet, I didn’t like the taste and sat out from taking more.

When everyone had taken a second slice each, there was still some left.

Teacher: “All right, class, can anyone who has already taken two slices raise their hands?”

Everyone but me raised their hands. The teacher brought the plate to my desk.

Teacher: “[My Name], would you like to finish it?”

Me: *Crossing my arms* “No, thanks. I didn’t like it.”

Teacher: “You didn’t like it? Why?”

Me: “It tastes weird, there’s no chocolate in it, and—”

Teacher: “But do you wanna make your celiac friend over there cry? She can’t eat chocolate cake; it would make her happy to see you eat this.”

If you are thinking this is a non-sequitur or something is missing, don’t worry: she actually jumped directly to random allergy guilt-tripping.

Me: “I don’t care. I don’t like it.”

Teacher: *Sounding irritated* “Oh, c’mon, do it for her. You can’t only eat chocolate cakes; you need to learn to eat other things.”

Me: *Upset* “But it tastes bad. I did try it. Why do I have to eat it two times?”

I, and by extension my parents, got a warning letter for “Uncooperative Behaviour”. Even in hindsight, I fail to understand what she was trying to accomplish with her charade.

My mother told me this story. It was teacher training day at the school where she’d been a teacher for a long time, around 1970. A couple of police detectives were running a training session about illegal drugs. They passed around some marijuana so the teachers could learn what it smelled like.

Young Teacher #1: “This doesn’t smell like marijuana at all.”

Young Teacher #2: “I agree.”

Police Officer: *Sheepishly* “The sample really isn’t marijuana. We couldn’t locate any in time for the training session.”

I have two German shepherds that I take to obedience training at the local kennel club. My state is coming out of the first lockdown, and the club has permission to resume classes if we maintain social distancing and are masked. The training hall is quite large so staying six feet apart is not a problem.

Before class one evening, the club secretary announces that, due to a change in state guidance, we no longer have to wear masks as long as: one, there are no more of ten of us in the hall, and two, we are all vaccinated.

Senior Trainer: *Chuckling* “This has to be the first time in club history you’re going to be asking if the humans have had their shots!”

This was back in 2002 when I was in eighth grade. My science class had a pet iguana that lived at the school. He had free range of the classroom. My teacher was retiring and wouldn’t be able to care for him anymore. She brought him to a pet store that promised to find a good home for him. The name of the pet store has been changed.

Classmate: “What pet store did you bring him to?”

Teacher: “A place called Renault’s Pets in [Local City].”

It bugged me because she pronounced it “Rey-nawlts” when it’s actually pronounced “Rey-nose”.

Me: “That’s not how you pronounce that name.”

Teacher: “Yes, it is. How else would you pronounce it?”

Me: “‘Rey-nose’.”

Teacher: “You’re wrong.”

Me: “No, I’m not.”

Teacher: “Don’t talk back. It’s ‘Rey-nawlts’.”

Me: “You’re saying it wrong.”

Teacher: “What makes you the expert?”

Me: “My great grandfather opened that store in the early 1940s.”