Sucks To Your A**-Mar!

, , , , , | Learning | June 23, 2020

I am asthmatic. It’s not the worst case of it in the world, but it’s not exactly mild, either, and I’ve gone to hospital for it more than once.

I’m also not particularly well-liked at this school, for various reasons, the main one being that most students are very homophobic, and I have a very stereotypical “lesbian” haircut and wear a rainbow pin on my school blazer. I get bullied a lot as a result.

Students at this school like to spray deodorant a lot, just in the air. They claim it’s because the classrooms smell bad — they’re not that bad, really. This could set off my asthma and even send me to hospital. For this reason, I always ask them politely to stop and explain my asthma and medical history. Most people apologise and stop, as they recognise the gravity of this situation. Some don’t.

On one occasion, we have a substitute teacher in class, and I am sat near one of my biggest tormentors. He decides to spray deodorant, under the table as if he’s trying to hide it, but he’s making it very obvious. I tell him to stop and take my inhaler, pointedly, just in case he’d forgotten I’m asthmatic.

He looks at me, taking my prescribed medication, whispers to his friend, giggles, and does it again.

And again.

After about a minute, I can feel my breath getting worse despite having taken my inhaler, so I look him in the eyes and ask, “Do you want to be tried for manslaughter?”

He looks confused, so I continue. “Yeah, if you keep doing that you could kill me. Did you know that?”

At this point, his eyes are pretty wide and he’s gone slack-jawed. I wait for him to say something, perhaps an apology, but he doesn’t make a sound, so I leave the room to get away from the deodorant air.

Later on, I learn that some girls from another of my classes had told him I “get annoyed” when people spray deodorant. I think they forgot to mention that it could send me to hospital, too!

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The OP Said It Best: Karma’s A B****

, , , , , | Learning | June 15, 2020

This happened during my uniform group camp when I was in my early teens. The uniform groups of about five schools were camping together in a school for four days and three days.

At the end of the first day, my groupmate’s shower cubicle couldn’t open, leaving him trapped inside. His response was to start pounding on the cubicle door and hollering, “I’m trapped in the toilet! I’m trapped in the toilet!” The boys all found the whole thing beyond hilarious and didn’t help the trapped boy, though he eventually got the lock open and escaped.

He was the butt of all the jokes that night. Thank goodness everyone was too busy laughing at him; I had accidentally packed my mother’s pyjamas and would not have lived it down if anyone noticed.

We expected the mockery to end by the next day, but there was this one schoolmate of mine that just insisted on rubbing it into my groupmate’s face. Every joke about being trapped in a toilet, he cracked, and he laughed non-stop. He was always a jerk, but this was on a whole new level.

And then, on the second night, guess who got trapped in that defective cubicle? My schoolmate, that same boy who kept mocking my groupmate, was now hopping behind the cubicle door, flapping his hands like a chicken and screaming, “Get me out of here! Get me out of here!”

I really couldn’t help myself. I burst out laughing until I started to cry before I ran off to get the teachers. I found them having a coffee break in the canteen, right as one of them said, “Ah, peace and quiet at last.”

I gleefully ruined their peace and quiet by telling them how [Schoolmate] got himself trapped in the toilet. The look on their faces was priceless. One of them actually said, “You just had to jinx us!” to Mr. Peace And Quiet.

The four of them followed me into the washroom, where all the boys were now out of their cubicles in varying states of nudity, laughing at [Schoolmate]’s chicken flapping and jumping. Seeing that nobody was showering, I snuck into one of the opened cubicles and began showering right as the teachers made themselves known.

There was a shriek of “Why are there girls here?” — one of the teachers was female — and then sudden pounding on the shower door as the guy I stole the place from tried to get in and get clothes on.

I ignored him, and he started angrily shouting that he’d kill me. It was about this point that the teachers realised that they couldn’t open the cubicle door no matter how they tried, so one of the teachers returned with an actual crowbar, which the four of them used to force [Schoolmate]’s cubicle open. While everyone was distracted by the crowbar, I snuck out before the guy I stole the shower from could notice.

The very first thing I proceeded to do was to find [Groupmate]. When [Schoolmate] finally stumbled out of the showers, the two of us stood there and threw every single toilet joke he made back in his face. [Schoolmate] then snarled at me, “I mocked [Groupmate] and then I was trapped. Tomorrow will be your turn.”

On day three, I didn’t get trapped. I wasn’t an idiot, and the teachers had declared that one cubicle off-limits anyway.

And to add insult to injury, someone made a play about the whole situation and had it performed in front of the entire uniform group the next year, forever preventing [Schoolmate] from living it down.

Moral of the story: karma is one h*** of a b****.

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No Body Knows What That’s About

, , , , , | Learning | May 31, 2020

I’m a new secondary school student. Our school is holding a fair where all the clubs advertise themselves to the new students the next day.

This happens right at the end of the school day. A student dashes past our classrooms with what looks like a bunch of bodies with their heads and limbs dangling out of the sack slung over his shoulders.

Student: *Bellowing* “Out of the way, out of the way! Guy with a corpse coming through!”

Half a dozen other students run right behind him, each carrying what look like body bags with heads sticking out of them and shouting the same line.

Classmate: “What the f***?!”

That basically summed up our reaction to those corpse-carrying students.

The very next day, I found the club that had done that. Apparently, it was a school tradition for the Saint John’s Ambulance Brigade to run through the corridors with their CPR dummies slung over their shoulders and shouting that line while carrying them from the storeroom to their assigned classroom the day before the fair — especially in front of the secondary one classrooms — both to amuse and to serve as advertisement.

Their advertising worked. I signed up, and for the next four years, I got the honour of being one of the corpse carriers and the leading corpse bearer — the guy in front that carries the big four-bodies-in-one dummy — in the last two.

In fact, the original corpse-carrying student that I first saw became my best friend.

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Peer Pressure Can Break You

, , , , | Learning | May 28, 2020

In seventh grade, I fall and break my shoulder and thumb at a school dance. Because this happens at the very beginning of the year, I’m not moved out of my PE class because I should be out of the sling and mostly able to participate in the latter half of the semester.

The first sport I’m able to participate in is volleyball. The doctor warns me not to overexert myself because the bone is still delicate. This is fine for the first week. We only practice underhand moves.

Then, one day, we’re learning to serve overhand. This is a sharp, snapping motion that I can tell will hurt my shoulder. The teams rotate positions, so I start as far away from serving as possible and hope class will end before it’s my turn. It doesn’t.

Me: “I can’t serve. That’ll hurt my arm.”

Classmate #1: “Come on, [My Name]. it’s what we’re doing today. You have to do it.”

Me: “Let me ask [Teacher].”

Classmate #2: “She’ll just tell you the same thing. Hurry up.”

I try and fail to get my teacher’s attention because she’s on the other side of the room. After a few minutes of my classmates insisting I have to try, I succumb to peer pressure and give it a shot.

As soon as I do, I hear a crack, and I fall to the floor in pain. The other students play for a minute before they realize I’m actually hurt. The teacher comes running over.

Teacher: “You didn’t need to serve if it was going to hurt your arm! Go to the nurse.”

The nurse sent me home, and I returned to the doctor with instructions to go back in the sling for a little longer. I did rebreak my shoulder, but it healed relatively quickly. At least I learned not to listen to peer pressure.

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, , , , , | Learning | May 18, 2020

My freshman year in college, there is a foreign exchange student from Kenya also attending the school. After a while, the two of us strike up a little friendship and hang out from time to time. She tells me about Kenya, and I answer questions about the US.

One day, I notice she is looking a bit annoyed.

Me: “Is something wrong?”

Friend: “I have been trying to get people to stop calling me African-American. I am not American! I am Kenyan! I’d like it if people would just call me Kenyan. Or call me black. But not American!”

Me: “I can see how that would be annoying.”

Friend: “And today, someone called me African-American-African!”

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