Maybe She’s Jealous

, , , , | Learning | November 23, 2020

At my school, we really aren’t technically allowed to bring drinks unless it’s water in a clear bottle. But most teachers don’t really care.

Usually, if I want to eat breakfast or have a coffee, I’ll go to one of my teachers’ classrooms before first period.

My teacher isn’t in there today, so I don’t get a chance to drink very much of it. And honestly, it isn’t that special, just plain black coffee, so I don’t mind having to throw it away. I just don’t want to throw a full cup of liquid into a garbage bin where it’ll make a mess.

I’m walking down the hallway and the ONE teacher who gives a s*** sees me with it.

Teacher: *Hostile* “You can’t have that; you need to throw it away.”

Me: “I know. I’m just looking for a place to—”

Teacher: “No. You need to put it in a trash can now.”

Me: “Yes, but can I—”

Teacher:Stop arguing with me! If another word comes out of your mouth again, I’m giving you an office referral and detention.”

Okay. I take the full cup of black iced coffee and drop it in the garbage can sitting in her classroom. It makes a giant mess, and I walk away. She’s pissed.

Teacher: “The next time I catch you with a drink, you’ll be placed in in-school suspension.”

I go to the main administrator and ask him about this.

Administrator: “You can have drinks, just as long as they’re gone before first period.”

I brought another iced black coffee the next day and sat in my usual teacher’s classroom, and when she walked in and started griping at me again, I drank the whole d*** thing in front of her.

Source: Reddit (Credit: hayjaybirk, Original Story)

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Unfiltered Story #216074

, , | Unfiltered | November 23, 2020

When my dad was growing up, my grandpa grew marijuana in the backyard. He wasn’t a dealer, just had some pretty bad anger issues, and smoking pot helped him keep it under control. My dad and his siblings didn’t know what exactly he was growing until they were in their teens, but oh boy, others knew exactly what it was.
On day, police officers came to my dad’s class for a routine presentation, and at some point, the topic of theft came up. The offices said that if anything of theirs was stolen, to call the police. My dad, being a naive child, raised his hand.
Dad: “Someone stole my dad’s plant!”
There were a lot of snickers from the adults in the room, but I don’t think my grandpa ever got in legal trouble for it.

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Unfiltered Story #216038

, | Unfiltered | November 21, 2020

(I run into this girl I know at the playground, and we get to chatting. We’re both 10 at the time, and she understands English ok, but wasn’t raised here.)

Girl: “So, how’s your school going?”

Me: *grimace* “Ok.”

Girl: “Do you have any problems with anybody there?”

Me: “Well, there’s this weird boy that teases me. I don’t like him.”

(I tell her all about what he does to me, which includes staring at me and making bizarre faces at me.)

Girl: “Really. What’s his name?”

Me: “Jeremy. Ugh.”

Girl: “Germy?! Ew, is he germy?”

Me: “No, haha, actually, maybe.”

Girl: “I can’t believe someone would name their kid that. Germy.”

Me: “Haha!”

(We said goodbye and next day in class, I had to courage to call him that! Everyone heard and he was being teased. He never bothered me again, thank goodness.)

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Nothing Makes You Better At Math Than Pressure!

, , , , | Learning | November 18, 2020

This happens in math class.

Teacher: “Okay, guys, here’s today’s assignment! Take your time.”

Me: *Thinking* “Whew! Normally, we have to finish it in, like, thirty minutes.”

I work hard and quietly for about forty-five minutes, getting toward the end of class. I am only about three-quarters done, and the teacher comes by to check our work. She stops at my desk.

Teacher: “[My Name], why are you not done?! It’s an easy assignment!”

Me: “Oh… I’m just slow at math. And you said we could take our time, so I didn’t try to rush.”

Teacher: “So you have questions on how to do it? You should have just asked me!”

Me: “Um… No, that’s not what I said. I understand the math; I’m just slow at it. Okay?”

Teacher: “Talking back now?”

Me: “…”

Teacher: “You’d better be done in five minutes.”

Me: “You can threaten me all you want, but that doesn’t magically make me faster at math.”

I didn’t finish during class and got in trouble for “talking back” and “disrupting the class.”

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Unfiltered Story #215227

, , , | Unfiltered | November 16, 2020

In 2009 I went through police academy training. I was only one of three females in the class. When it came time to practice firearms, I thought it would be fun. My father had taught me how to use and shoot a gun when I was younger. He was a believer in “stopping power” so I only ever learned how to shoot .45 or larger. I had no experience with shotguns. For the academy you had to buy your own gun and select the caliber from 9mm, .40 or .45. Given my past, I bought a Sig Sauer .45. Once on the shooting range, I quickly learned that I was going to suffer from “big gun, little girl” syndrome. The other two women bought 9mm. So my uphill battle began.

First the so called instructors, couldn’t figure out that I was cross-eyed dominant (meaning I shoot right handed but sight with my left). Luckily, I knew law enforcement training instructors I could talk to and they immediately knew what the problem was. I couldn’t stand in a normal position but rather had to “square up” to the target given my sight. Now I’m a little girl with a big gun and a different stance.

The pressure from the crap instructors and my own inner frustration resulted in a mixed bag of scores. It wasn’t my best work but I owned up and kept pushing forward. Even my fellow cadets were arse****s. A rather short male once claimed I pointed my muzzle at him when all I had done was shifted the gun, still pointing down range, to accommodate my smaller hands to eject a magazine. In practice, I was often told to repeat drills far more times than my fellow cadets even if the scores were passing or better.

However, I got vindication when it came to speed shooting. Here there was no time for instructors or my own head to mess with me. Instead it was pure action. I destroyed most of the class hitting nearly every target that popped up.

I was on a roll until shotguns. I had no previous training here but remember that I’m cross-eye dominant. I knew from my friends in law enforcement I would have to shoot left handed. The instructors tried to force me to shoot right handed but I refused upon learning that I couldn’t see the target this way. I knew, if you can’t see dear god don’t shoot! Eventually they “allowed” me to shoot with my left. The next problem was the given my size the standard stock of a shotgun is too long. I could manage it, but for safety I preferred the adjustable stock. I learned on this gun and practiced with it. When it came time for testing I asked if I could use this gun instead of the standard. I was told “ok”.

The final target in this drill is a “bad guy” you are supposed to hit with a slug. (In shotguns, you can have either pellets which produce a bunch of tiny projectiles often called bird/buck shot or one massive slug.) No one but me hit this target.

After this portion of training wraps up I get my performance review. It isn’t great. I see a discipline note where I “refused” to use the standard stock shotgun. Not only was it not true but this looks bad for possible recruitment. I go to speak to the academy lead, a woman. I explain that I preferred the adjustable and was training exclusively on it. So in testing I naturally preferred it. I would have used the standard if no such option existed. She tells me that this was the least of the notes on my firearm performance and if I argue this one it would only get worse for me. Basically I’d have to accept it.

And I did.

I was never happy about it. There was a lot in academy training that showed me how misogynistic law enforcement could be. It soured me quite a bit but the friends I had in law enforcement reminded why I put myself through it.

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