This happened in 2003. I am male and had one male boss who was in his sixties and about 1,50 meters — five feet — tall. We were the IT-guys at a school.

One day we got a trainee, a lovely and beautiful girl about 18 years old who would be helping us for the next ten months. My boss was notorious for his sexist and creepy “compliments” he gave to women. He already had received several warnings but sadly, there was no way to fire him because his behaviour was just annoying but not considered sexual harassment at that time.

My boss began hitting on the trainee with all sorts of cheesy remarks. The first time I heard it, I immediately told him to shut up or I’d tell his wife. Visibly embarrassed, he left the room and I thought that was the end of it.

A few days later I found the trainee in tears behind her desk. You’ve already guessed it: the boss wasn’t planning on stopping his creepy behaviour. I really felt sorry for the girl because as far as I could judge she could become one h*** of a sys-admin.

That evening I spoke about this to my wife. She had some creepy and sexist remarks from my boss when she sometimes came to school to pick me up, so she could imagine how the girl must feel. Suddenly she began to laugh, took some paper, and wrote some lines down.

She gave it to me and said, “Have your trainee learn these lines by heart. The next time he’s bothering her again, she must say them in a very loud voice.”

The next day I gave the paper to the trainee and told her what to do. She read the lines, began to laugh, and said she couldn’t say those things to the boss. I told her that if she wanted to stay here without the crap my boss was giving her, she had no other options. We could report my boss, and he would get another warning, but nothing would change. The trainee wanted to stay at our school so she began to memorize the lines.

It was Friday, and she said she would study the lines over the weekend. The next Monday we started work and my boss phoned that he wouldn’t come in until lunchtime. Fine. Lunchtime came and the trainee and I went for a coffee in the break room. Most of the teachers and the principal were there, too, so we had to wait in line.

The trainee poured herself a coffee, and as if on cue there was the boss, saying, “Oh, such a hot girl shouldn’t drink hot coffee. I can’t handle you if you’re too hot.” The trainee turned around and yelled at him:

“Now, you listen, you oversexed, over-aged, undersized albino smurf! I don’t want to hear your foul mouth ever again. I’ve had enough of you, creep. Leave me alone or I’ll drown you in the first toilet bowl I can find. It would take just one flush to get rid of the body.”

The room went silent for a moment, and next, there was hysterical laughter and clapping.  

The boss made an exit and the principal went after him. When we came back from lunch, there was a note on my desk that the boss had decided to take some time off to evaluate his career.

The last we heard was that he had applied for early retirement without a goodbye party. I asked my wife where she got those lines from.

She said, “You know how sometimes you only come up with good lines long after the fact? I’ve had these lines prepared just in case I ever met your boss again. I never expected them to work so efficiently.”

(I have glasses, and sometimes when they get dirty I close one of my eyes and look to see if it’s that side of the glasses or the other that’s dirty. I am walking to class and I see some blurriness, so I do the thing I mentioned. I close one of my eyes and look. Then I notice a boy looking funny at me. I brush it off because not everyone does what I do. It is later that day when I am waiting in the hall and browsing NotAlwaysRight. The same guy I saw sits down next to me and starts to lean in and play bad music on his speaker. I just keep sitting there, still reading.)

Guy: “Soooo… a couple of hours ago…”

Me: *looks up and waits for him to continue*

Guy: *raises eyebrow*

Me: *still waiting*

Guy: *starts to lean in, probably for a kiss*

Me: “Uh. You okay?”

Guy: “Yeah? Why? You scared?”

Me: “No, just confused.”

Guy: “What’s confusing? You were winking at me just a while ago!”

Me: “…” *remembers this is the same dude as before* “Sorry, I was just looking through my glasses.”

Guy: “Yeah, right.” *stands up and starts to leave*

Me: “Well… good luck to the next girl you want to randomly kiss in the hall.”

Guy: *looks at me surprised and hurries away*

(Peeps, if you think someone is winking at you, that doesn’t mean you can just kiss ’em.)

(My sophomore year of high school, I end up with two study hall periods. One of these periods takes place after lunch, in the guidance office. There are computers for students doing online courses; however, since I have none, I usually either get a pass to the library or I sit at a table and do work from other classes or read my book. This day, as the lunch bell rings, I enter and sit at my usual seat in the small office. After a few minutes, another student — a year above me — and who I assume is his sour-faced mother come storming in and sit at my table. The student looks nervous, so I give him a half smile, nod, and go back to my book.)

Mother: *sharply* “Nuh-uh. No games, [Student]. This is not the time to flirt.”

(I keep my head down, as does he. But since they’re in such close proximity I can’t help but overhear. A counselor and a history teacher come by and sit down on the other end of the table.)

Counselor: “Hello, Mrs. [Last Name], [Student]! So, what’s going on?”

Mother: *pulling out a stack of papers* “I was on [Student]’s [online grade book portal] and this is completely unacceptable. Look at this! *jabs at something on the top piece of paper* “An 84? In history? Is this the latest updated grade?”

(She glares at the history teacher while her son seems to shrink in his chair. It’s worth noting that our school uses a basic grading scale: 100-90 is an A, 89-80 is a B, 79-76 is a C, 75-70 is a D, and anything below is a failing grade.)

Teacher: “Yes, it’s the most recent grade. However, what is probably bringing it down is our [project] that has three sections, and we are now working on the second section. The third, uncompleted, section currently shows up as a zero because we haven’t gotten that far yet. Since projects generally make up about 15% of the overall grade, yes, it has brought everyone’s grade down. However, once we go over the materials to complete each section, everything should go back to normal by the end of the nine-week grading term. [Student] is one of my best students, and he’s doing very well. I don’t really think there is any reason to be concerned.”

Mother: *almost screeching* “An 84 is unacceptable! We are not trying to teach our son that failure is okay! There has to be something we can do! Is there any extra credit work or tutoring?!”

Teacher: “Well, I don’t usually offer extra credit until the end of the semester, but I am here Tuesdays and Thursdays for after school tutoring. [Student] is welcome to come by if he’d like. However, he seems to grasp all of the material, and I’m not really sure of any places that he needs additional help.”

Mother: “He will be there Tuesdays and Thursdays. What about in the morning? If he gets to school early, can he do more tutoring then?”

Teacher: “If I’m here, yes, I don’t mind.”

Counselor: “We open the doors for students as early as 7:15. The bell rings for first period at 8:15. The school day ends at 3:30, and students are allowed to stay for tutoring, but must be under the supervision of an adult. Most of our teachers leave about 4:30.”

Mother: *firmly, icily* “He will be there. How does this affect his football and academic scholarship prospects?”

Counselor: “Well, he has an A in everything else, and this one B- which admittedly is temporary. It shouldn’t be a problem. Usually, there are no red flags until a student starts getting Ds. He is a very good student, and many teachers speak highly of him. It’s just a slight bump, but I don’t think there will be any damage to his record.” *winks at student and smiles*

Mother: *stiffly* “Thank you.”

(The teacher and mother shake hands, and once the counselor and teacher have walked away, the mother starts hissing at her son, who has been silent the entire time.)

Mother: “An 84. An 84! I did not work my a** off for you to be running around with your little friends, flunking school, and embarrassing me! I’m taking your car, your phone, and your TV privileges. And don’t expect to be going out anywhere until your grades meet par! This is absolutely ridiculous that I have to take off of work to come and get you in line. You are risking your college prospects and your future! No decent job is going to want to hire a good-for-nothing high school dropout! I have half a mind to have your coach start giving you laps to run every day! Then maybe we’ll see…”

(She continued to berate him as they leave the office. Her venom had even startled me. I’m not really sure what happened after that, but the student was named valedictorian when he graduated.)

(I am in eighth grade. The Family and Consumer Sciences teacher is in her mid-60s, and to be honest she is probably too old to be teaching. She is a short, almost frail woman, and she holds no authority over the students. A small group of us — myself included — are seated at the large tables closest to her desk, listening and attempting to complete a sewing project for our final grades. The other 25-odd students have completely ignored her instructions and are either grouped up and talking, or they have gotten on the computers. I have my back to the individual desks when suddenly there is a scream. As I turn around, I see two students — a girl and a guy — fighting, pushing each other, and pushing into the desks around them. The girl quickly falls to the floor, and the guy turns around and storms towards the classroom door.)

Teacher: *yelling* “What is going on?! Where are you going?!”

(The door to the classroom slams shut. Within seconds, the girl stands up. At this point, the entire class is quiet, focused on what’s going on. As the girl turns around and faces the class, I see that the entire right side of her face is completely covered in blood. She looks like a two-faced comic book villain. But the shocking part is that as she disentangles herself from the desks and moves to the center of the room, she is smiling. Then, she begins to cackle gleefully. She has a large build, towering over the teacher. She doesn’t look at anyone, but leisurely strolls toward the door.)

Girl: *in a sing-song voice* “Oh, I’m going to f****** kill that b****!”

(She disappears into the hallway and a second later the door slams again. I notice a bloody handprint along the edge of the wall. The entire class just sits there in stunned silence. After a moment, the teacher speaks.)

Teacher: *sharply* “Everyone back to their assigned seats, NOW!”

(There is a momentary scramble, and everyone is suddenly where they should be.)

Teacher: “I don’t know what just happened, but that is not acceptable!” *her voice begins to rise until she is screaming* “I have told you guys a million times to listen to me! None of you ever listen! None of you care! You’re all going to kill each other and you’re all going to jail! You hear me? YOU’RE ALL DELINQUENTS!”

(At this moment, a student that has spent the entire class in the front office comes waltzing in. He immediately stops when he sees how quiet the room is, sensing the tension. All eyes turn to him.)

Student: “Uh, hey, guys, what’s up?”

Teacher: *completely explodes* “AND YOU’RE A DELINQUENT, TOO!”

Student: “What? What did I do? I wasn’t even here!” *quickly finds his seat and sits down*

(The teacher continued to tear us a new one, pretty much until the final bell rang. As I stiffly left the classroom, I saw many bloody hand prints and smears of blood all the way up to the end of the elective hall. Once I got home, I deflated and cried to my mother about what had happened. I later found out that both students were arrested and taken away in police cars. The girl had a small cut on her eyebrow, the result of the guy throwing a pair of scissors at her. Though the cut was not very large, it was deep, and required a couple of stitches. Had the scissors been about half an inch lower, she could have lost her eye. I’m not sure if charges were pressed, but both students were suspended. My best friend was neighbors with the guy and said that she didn’t think he spent more than a night in police custody, as she saw him the following morning. I later found out that the girl sought help for some underlying issues and within a year, she was doing much better. She and I were fairly acquainted, but we never spoke of that day. The teacher also retired a year or two later. A few students from that class are actually in jail now.)

(I’ve been working as a cab driver for a few months now, but I’ll never forget my very first ride. I pick up two dark-skinned, African-American, fifteen-year-old girls from their school.)

Girl #1: “I have to do the genealogy project on my family, but not on me since I’m adopted.”

Girl #2: “You’re adopted?!”

Girl #1: “Yeah…?”

Girl #2: “You never told me that!”

Girl #1: “Dude, are you serious!? My parents are white!”