A few decades ago, the population of my school district was in its third decade of hard growth, which had given us expansions to two high schools, a brand-new high school, and classes taking shifts at times- ‘early’ and ‘late’ sections starting two hours apart in each building, with four lunch shifts. Eventually, a referendum was passed to pay for the (planned for fifteen years) expansion of four of the half dozen high schools.

The work commenced. Often without warning. As the sitework (clearing and preparation of the area the extension would land on) was finishing, I was teaching an AP class on the second floor. About halfway through, the window was smashed out, followed almost immediately by a large air hose, an air hammer, and a demolition worker, in that order. He didn’t even wait for me to get the students out before he began chipping the block around the window.

When I asked the admin why we weren’t relocated in advance, the answer was essentially “the plans are dynamic”. When I asked if it was necessary to smash the window out, the answer was “otherwise, the worker may be hurt by the glass when removing the window”.

This story reminded me of something that happened at our school about a decade ago. I’m a teacher at the school, and one of my colleagues was a bit old-fashioned. You know the sort of thing, discipline in class, write with pen and paper rather than computers, etc. Now, her methods worked, and her students achieved good results, so that wasn’t really a problem.

One thing she insisted on, though, was that students knock on the door to the teacher’s office whenever they wanted to enter. Not so much to ask, right? Just teaching the kids normal courtesy, right? Yes, indeed. Except for one thing: one of the emergency exit paths went through the teacher’s office. I’m sure you can see where this is going.

One day, the fire alarm went off. No warning, it just started howling. I’m the designated fire safety guy on our staff, and I have drilled the students (and staff) to exit calmly whenever this happens, using THE NEAREST EXIT. This is important, otherwise we end up having 350 people all trying to leave by the main exit, which will increase the time it takes for everybody to exit the building, up to fifteen minutes instead of less than two.

Naturally, one group of students headed to the exit that went through the teachers’ office. I could see them heading in the door, and… then the queue stopped. Rushing over to see if there was a problem, I realized that they had been stopped by my above-mentioned colleague. All the while, the fire alarm was still howling away.

Colleague: “You can’t go through here.”

Students: “But the…”

Colleague: “No, no. Can’t go through here. This is the…”

Me: *Interrupting.* “Keep going, everyone! Out the back door, down the stairs, to the meeting spot!”

Colleague: “This is the…”

Me: “I said everyone. You too, let’s go.”

I didn’t give her a chance to argue. I just shooed the students through, pointing at the sign that marked the emergency exit while shooting my colleague a “don’t test me on this” look. We were all out of the building in less than two minutes. It turned out to be an unscheduled drill set up by the building’s owners, which is why we hadn’t been informed beforehand.

During our weekly staff meeting, I gave everybody a quick summary of how the drill had gone. I made a point to remind everyone, not mentioning anyone in particular, to always use the nearest exit, including the one going through the teachers’ office. My colleague didn’t say a word; she just looked sheepish.

Related:
An Alarming Lack Of Alarm, Part 4
An Alarming Lack Of Alarm, Part 3
An Alarming Lack Of Alarm, Part 2
An Alarming Lack Of Alarm

In class a couple of years ago, our teacher asked us to name all the states as an extra credit question on a pop quiz.

My classmate had interesting answers after the quiz…

Classmate: “Guys, what did you get? I only had Florida, Montana, Texas, New York, Philadelphia, Ohio, Indian, and… Canada.”

Me: “What about New Jersey, the state we’re in!?”

Classmate: “New Jersey’s a country; how dumb can you get?”

Related:
In A State Of Confusion, Part 13
In A State Of Confusion, Part 12
In A State Of Confusion, Part 11
In A State Of Confusion, Part 10
In A State Of Confusion, Part 9

Back when I was seventeen, we got a new English teacher who was from the US. She didn’t speak a lot of Swedish, but she was a native speaker of English and also a teacher, so she was considered fit to educate us.

She wasn’t great at understanding how to teach us English as a second language and had great difficulties crossing the non-insignificant cultural barrier. She (amongst many other things) required that we ask permission to go to the bathroom, that we address her with Ms. [Teacher’s Name], and that we stand up while we asked questions.

Swedes are FAMOUSLY egalitarian, so these rules were really weird and a little intrusive to us.

One fateful day, my friend asked:

Friend: “Can I go to the bathroom?”

Teacher: *Smug smile.* “I don’t know, can you?”

Friend: “Um, what?”

Teacher: *Smugger smile.* “Well, I don’t know if you can go.”

Friend: “Okay… Can I please go?”

Teacher: *The smuggest smile.* “Maybe you need a doctor to examine you if you’re so unsure.”

Friend: *Frustrated.* “As far as I know, I am capable of urinating. Am I allowed to go do so?”

Teacher: “Yes, you may.”

Friend: “Thanks.”

And off he went. Now, we figured out that she wanted us to use the word “may” instead of “can” after the next similar incident, that one was solved by:

Friend #2: “If it pleases your grace, would you grant me the right to visit the loo?”

Teacher: “Yes, you may go to the bathroom.”

The distinction can/may exists in Swedish, but is mostly seen as insufferably pedantic in this context, like answering “could you please tell me the time” with “yes”. So, the game was on.

We quickly drove her mad by using ever more flowery language to ask her any questions. It spread to all her other classes, so all her students insisted on addressing her with royal titles and using increasingly flowery language to her increased annoyance. It all culminated one month later:

Me: Ms. [Teacher]?”

Teacher: “Yes?”

Me: *Stands up, does a proper 18th-century bow, and rattles off my rehearsed speech.* “Your Grace, it has come to my attention that my body is failing me. I am currently possessed by the devilish urge to expel unmentionable substances from my corporeal form. Do I have your permission to journey to the great realm of porcelain—”

Teacher: “—THAT DOES IT! EVERYONE, SIT DOWN!”

Everybody sat down.

Teacher: “This has gone on far enough! You will stop asking to use the bathroom this childish way, starting now! Can I ask this simple thing of you, or are you all too DUMB to understand?”

A long pause followed.

Friend: *Raises hand.*

Teacher: “Yes?”

Friend: *Stands up.* “I don’t know, can you?”

The teacher yelled at us for a full eight minutes.

It was centered around that we were unteachable idiots and calling us names to that effect. We, of course, reported the incident to the principal, who laughed until he literally cried when he heard how we protested her “strict” methods. He did however, take it very seriously that she called us dumb, unteachable idiots, just for being very annoying (because that is just a working hazard) and promised to do something.

I don’t know much about what happened after that, but we got a new teacher the very next English lesson, and the old one decided to quit soon after and teach adults instead of teenagers.

Back in vocational school – a school you attend alongside the more hands-on training while learning a trade job – I, alongside a small handful of other students from my class, were excused from certain lessons/classes due to having prior higher education. Whoever made my class’s new lesson plan obviously didn’t take this into account. I am also a few years older than most of my classmates and thus legally an adult with all the mental capabilities to make informed decisions of my own – something that this school is/was evidently not used to.

Me: “Excuse me, Mrs. [teacher], our lesson plan shows that after your class ends on Monday, we have an hour of lunch, then four hours of [class I am excused from] and then one hour of [class that is mandatory (but completely pointless) for everyone with a teacher that is known for always arriving at least 15min late] as the very last class of the day. That can’t be right.”

Teacher: *Checking the lesson plan.* “Oh, well, I guess it is. It’s okay, though, you can just sit in the cafeteria during your free time.”

Me: “With all due respect, I am not going to be twiddling my thumbs in the cafeteria for five hours every Monday. I have better things to do with my time. And I’m sure so do [other students that are excused from the Monday afternoon classes].”

Teacher: “Well, [last class] is mandatory, so you’ll have to figure something out.”

Me: “…Alright then. May I step outside real quick to make a call to my workplace?”

Teacher: “Yes, yes, but be quick.”

So figure something out I did – by calling my really chill boss/trainer at work, explaining the situation to him, and getting his permission to skip class on Monday afternoon since I had straight A’s anyway. His exact words were “The f*** do they expect you to get done in that one lesson anyway?”

Two weeks of skipping Monday afternoon class later, my teacher calls me to her office.

Teacher: “So [other teacher] told me you’ve been skipping his class on Monday afternoon. I know you’re by far our best student, but that doesn’t mean you can just not follow the rules. I will have to call your workplace about this to let them know.”

Me: “Sure, go right ahead. I’ll wait.”

The teacher makes the call, looking noticeably unhappy upon being told that they gave me their okay to skip class and to not interrupt my boss’ work for ‘something so trivial.’

Me: “So, was there anything else you needed me for?”

Teacher: “…No, you may leave. But I will still have to give you in-school detention for missing three hours of mandatory class so far!”

Me: “You mean like all the detention [notoriously late classmate] has noticeably never gotten so far, even though he has missed at least half of every single lesson we have had first thing in the morning for… how many months now? That must add up to a lot more than my three hours. I’m sure you’ll want to stay after class to make up all that lost time with him too, considering his grades, if you’re so adamant about me skipping three pointless lessons of a class I’m acing.”

Teacher: “That’s enough. Get out.”

Me: “Gladly.”

I never got that detention, nor did the notoriously late classmate I mentioned. And that one late Monday afternoon class was cancelled altogether, another three weeks later.

Turns out I wasn’t even the only one who had skipped it, just the only one who had gotten permission by their boss beforehand, and yet the only one who had gotten a talking to like this.

It took a few more similar scenarios to this before my teachers stopped bothering me and just let me do my thing. I was still acing every class and finished school as the top student, of all classes of all years.