I stop at a food stand I haven’t tried before. The guy serving me looks familiar but I can’t place him. I order anyway and wait to the side. When my food is ready, I go back up and the employee starts to hand me my food.

Me: “Wait, [Employee], isn’t it?”

Employee: “Oh, yeah.”

Me: “I knew I recognised you. I wasn’t sure earlier.”

Employee: “Yeah, I thought you were just blanking me.”

Me: “No, not at all. Sorry, it’s been a while; I didn’t recognise you. How are you? How have you been?”

Employee: “Yeah, good, thanks. I, err, let me just remake your food.”

Me: “What? Why?”

Employee: “I think I made it wrong.”

Me: “Wrong? How could it be wrong? Wait. Did you spit in my food?”

Employee: *Laughing unconvincingly* “What? No!” *More nervous laughing*

Me: “What the h***? You’re in your thirties and still acting like a child?”

Employee: “Yeah, well, no one liked you at school.”

Me: “Mate, you’re in your thirties. School was a long time ago. Grow up.”

I thought long and hard about reporting him and about how he may do this same thing to someone else. But what proof was there? Would they believe me or even do anything?!

In the end, I didn’t think it was worth it. I avoided the stall for a few weeks, and then, after all that, I never saw him working there again anyway. Sometimes the best revenge is just being happy despite them.

Growing up, I can remember having more sleepovers than nights I slept alone. I thought I was super popular. What I didn’t know then was that my parents were providing food and shelter to some of my less fortunate classmates.

One evening, when I was eight or so, one of my classmates was over, doing homework, when we got hungry. I was allowed to use the stove under supervision.

Me: “Mom, can we make grilled cheese and tomato soup?”

Classmate: “Yeah! I’ll help.”

Mom: “Okay, let’s go.”

I started buttering the bread and putting the cheese on, while [Classmate] opened a can of condensed tomato soup. He dumped the contents in a pan and then filled the can with water. 

Me: “[Classmate], what are you doing?”

Classmate: “Making soup.”

Me: “With water?”

Mom: “Honey, let him make soup his way. It’s okay, [Classmate].”

[Classmate] dumped the first can of water in the pan and then filled it a second time.

Me: “Mom, what—”

Mom: “[My Name], we are trying something different tonight.”

Classmate: “This is how my mom makes soup.”

Dad: “Do you have a big family, [Classmate]?”

Classmate: “Yeah, I have six brothers and sisters.”

I’m an only child.

Me: “What?! Why?”

Dad: “That’s a lot of siblings! What do you like to play?”

[Classmate] pours yet another can of water in the soup.

Classmate: “Oh, we have Monopoly and cards and stuff.”

Me: “[Classmate]! It’s one can of milk, not—”

Mom: “[My Name]. Stop.”

Dad: “[Classmate] is our guest. We will eat what he wants to eat.”

Me: “Okay.”

[Classmate] ate three sandwiches and two bowls of soup. I remember wondering how such a small boy could eat so much, but my parents never batted an eye and I knew better than to say anything.

It took me years to understand how privileged I was. [Classmate] stayed over a few more times before I realized why he was there. When I did, I stopped complaining about his soup and thanked him for sharing his family recipe with me.

I walk into class to see several classmates gathered around the teacher’s desk. There are several packages of animal crackers on the desk, and my classmates are trying to cajole the teacher into letting them have some. After a few moments of consideration, I decide to make an attempt, as well.

Me: “Could I please have some?”

The teacher promptly grabs a package and hands it to me. My classmates are shocked and begin whining, begging, and so on. I just eat my crackers happily while I listen in on their further attempts to get some for themselves. One classmate pauses for a moment.

Classmate: “Could I… please have some?”

The teacher handed him a package. Because of the way that classmate had emphasized the word “please,” the others quickly figured out that the way to get the crackers was to ask politely, and soon the teacher had handed them all out.

In college, I’m taking a class on the history and cultures of North Africa with a professor who was born in Algeria. We have a typical aggressive, argumentative know-it-all in class who regularly questions our professor when he thinks something is wrong.

The next class after our first test, our professor asks if anyone has any questions about their scores. Mr. Know-it-All raises his hand.

Professor: “Yes, what is your question?”

Mr. Know-it-All: “You marked my answer for question number six as wrong, but I don’t think it is.”

Professor: “Please remind me what your answer was?”

Question number six was something like, “Why is the African coast of the Mediterranean Sea known as the Barbary Coast?” It should be simple, but…

Mr. Know-it-All: “I wrote that the Barbary Coast was called that because of the pirates that used to be there. The pirates had a reputation as barbarians, so that’s why they called it the Barbary Coast. Barbarian, Barbary.”

Professor: “Ah, I see. The Barbary Coast was not named after simple barbarians, but after the Berber people who lived throughout North Africa. Do you see?”

Mr. Know-it-All: “That’s not right, though. The people who lived there were Tuaregs, like the Volkswagen Tuareg that was named after them.”

Professor: “The Tuareg were only one group of Berbers. Think of it like this. In Europe, all people are known as Europeans, but there are several different types of Europeans, like French or English or German. In North Africa, it is the same way; all people together are Berber, but there are many different groups of Berber, like the Tuareg or the Kabyles. Do you see?”

Mr. Know-it-All: “Well, no. I’ve never heard the word Berber before. I just think…”

Professor: “Then perhaps you need to come to class more often? All this month has been about the Berber people, and I have told you several times that I myself am Berber, of the Kabyle people. Now, you may please be quiet, or you may leave for the day and return when you are ready to learn about my people and others in North Africa. That is all. Does anyone else have questions?”

Mr. Know-it-All sat back and pouted for the rest of the class and continued to pout throughout the semester, but he never tried to openly challenge our professor again. Meanwhile, the rest of us students couldn’t help but be impressed by how our professor shut him down so completely, and he quickly became a favorite professor for many of us, me included.

I’m taking my GCSEs (General Certificates of Secondary Education). My school, being the run-down and underfunded place it is, apparently doesn’t have the budget to fix the clocks in the exam hall, so we’re all encouraged to bring watches into the exam hall to help us keep track of time. I borrow my dad’s old watch and bring it to my exams.

Once the first exam is over, my class and I head down to the canteen where we kill some time before the next exam. [Classmate] notices my watch and asks to see it.

I hand it over and make small talk with a few other classmates. Suddenly, [Classmate] exclaims.

Classmate: “Dude! This is an [Expensive Brand] watch! It’s worth like, four or five grand. At least!”

The entire class gasps.

Me: *Shrugs* “My mom gave that to my dad as a wedding gift. He retired it when he got his new smartwatch last year, so I got it.”

Classmate: *Offended* “He retired it? You don’t retire an [Expensive Brand] watch for a mere smartwatch. That’s like using a Bible as toilet paper!”

He shakes his head in disgust. I take my watch back.

Classmate: “Dude, why are you bringing this to school?”

Me: “Uh, why wouldn’t I? It’s a watch. It tells the time.”

Classmate: *Deeply offended* “What type of savage are you? That’s not how you treat an [Expensive Brand] watch!”

Me: “Then please explain to me why you would buy a watch like this.”

Classmate: “To look good at parties and business meetings! To show everyone that you are rich and successful! It’s a status symbol!”

Me: “So, basically, jewellery.”

Classmate: “Now you get it! Telling the time.” *Scoffs* “Utterly ridiculous. Who actually buys watches for that?”