(I have a math teacher who is also a Sunday school teacher at my family’s church. She is that sort who is prim and always makes us speak to her before being allowed to the restroom. This happens as I was on my monthly.)

Me: “I’d like the pass to use the ladies’ room, please.”

Teacher: “You need to finish your work. Sit down and you can go when the bell rings.”

Me: “No, I really need to go now. I can’t wait.”

Teacher: “Fine!” *hands me the pass* “But be quick.”

(I pick up my purse, but she stops me and says very loud:)

Teacher: “You don’t need your purse to head to the bathroom! Sit down and stop trying to get out of class early.”

Me: “I didn’t mean to make you think I was getting out of class early.” *embarrassed now, I pull the necessary items out of my purse* “May I go now?”

Teacher: *giving me a disgusted look and still being loud* “You should have told me you were on your period. Go and hurry up!”

(That weekend, she talks to my class about the sins of Eve and keeps giving me nasty looks as she talks about how Eve is forced to bleed and deal with childbirth. I’m furious about it, so when Monday rolls around, I approach her desk.)

Me: *being loud* “I need to go to the restroom to deal with Eve’s horrific sin. God have mercy on my soul for suffering through her misgivings as a woman!”

Teacher: *turns red and hands me the pass* “You don’t have to tell me all of that! Just to go to the restroom!”

(She didn’t bother me about the pass anymore after that, but my family soon stopped going to that church and eventually moved me to another school.)

(I come to school very depressed, as my mother has just died last week. My boyfriend knows I’m upset, but doesn’t seem to care. We go through the whole day and he doesn’t say a word. As we’re heading out to go home, he finally brings it up.)

Boyfriend: “So, why were you all sad and stuff?”

Me: “I’m still upset over last week. Sorry.”

Boyfriend: “What happened last week?”

Me: “…my mother dying?”

Boyfriend: “Shouldn’t you be over that by now?”

(I dumped him right then and there. He still doesn’t understand why.)

(After two years at one school, I’ve decided to transfer to one closer to my house so I can have a shorter commute. One of the teachers who wrote my recommendation for the new school approaches me after class one day.)

Teacher: “I wanted to give you my contact information, since I’m leaving the school as well this year. If you ever want a college recommendation, please call me.”

Me: “Thank you! I will!”

(I’m especially touched by this because for the first half of freshman year, I couldn’t figure out what she wanted in a paper. It took until my paper in the middle of December for me to get an A and after that, I got an A on every one of my papers. She is also the only teacher who looked at my social behavior and suggested that I had clinical depression. The rest just told my parents that I was unlikable. Fast forward two years…)

Me: “I was hoping you could write me a recommendation, since you were my favorite teacher.”

Teacher: “Of course! Just give me the names and addresses where you want it sent.”

(A couple of months later, I got into my first-choice school. The admissions officer that we had met mentioned that it was thanks to my personal essay on depression and the teacher’s recommendation. The teacher had left the school to teach at Harvard and got me into college by saying that I was the most talented writer she’d ever taught and if that school didn’t want me, she wanted me to apply to Harvard instead!)

(The health center at my school is notorious for being birth control pushers. I go in to get my sore throat checked out, since I am worried it might be strep.)

Me: “Hi. I’m [Name] and I’m here for a 1 pm appointment with [Nurse].”

Receptionist: “Oh, you must be here for birth control!”

Me: “No, actually—”

Receptionist: “The pill? Yeah, they can hook you up after a quick exam.”

Me: “No. I’m here for—”

Receptionist: “Or the nurse can teach you about spermicide! Or diaphragms!”

Me: “Actually I’m already on—”

Receptionist: “I think your best bet is the pill though. It’s the most effective and can be paired up with condoms!”

Me: *hoarse yelling* “STOP. AS IT SAYS IN MY CHART, I’M ALREADY ON THE PILL. I’m here for a sore throat!”

Receptionist: “Oh. OH. You’re [Name]! It’s my 1:30 who is here for birth control!”

(They examined me and told me I had mono, which ended up being wrong. On my way out, I saw a very uncomfortable-looking girl.)

Me: “Good luck.”

Girl: “Umm… thanks.”

Receptionist: “WAIT, [My Name]! DON’T FORGET A BAGGIE OF CONDOMS!”

(In my art class one of the boys is always complaining about various groups of people. It’s a very laid back class, and the teacher has never had to admonish a student.)

Student: “I just don’t like it. I mean… I don’t care if someone is gay. I just don’t like it when they act gay.”

Me: “How are they supposed to act, then?”

Student: “They shouldn’t act gay. I don’t want to hear them talking about being gay. I don’t even want to know that they’re gay.”

Teacher: “That sounds fair, [Student]. In fact, just so that it’s fair to everybody, you are no longer allowed to talk about straight things. I don’t want to hear anything at all about your heterosexuality. You can’t say anything about a girl being cute or about your girlfriend.”

Student: “But…”

Teacher: “Nope. Not a word. If you don’t want to hear about gay stuff, then they don’t have to hear about straight stuff. That was your demand.”