(This takes place in my sociology class which has a variety of people, some of whom are very open-minded and some of whom… aren’t. Our current unit is on sex — biological, not the act — and gender.)

Teacher: “Is sex a binary?”

Me: “It’s not quite binary, but mostly.”

Teacher: “And why is that?”

Female Student: “Because of intersex people.”

Teacher: “Exactly.”

(The teacher goes on to talk about the biological characteristics and some of the issues around intersex people, primarily the fact that parents have to choose which sex to raise their child as.)

Male Student: “Okay, but something like .0001 percent of people not fitting in that binary doesn’t get rid of the binary.”

(I can’t help but wonder how he’s going to react when we talk about the gender spectrum tomorrow.)

(All the students in the school have had to eat in the gymnasium or in classrooms for the past few weeks because the cafeteria is undergoing renovations. Earlier that day, there was a walkout in memory of a school shooting, which was fairly uneventful. Now, nearly the entire student body is in the gym for lunch. Most are sitting on the bleachers, but I’m on the opposite side of the gym and can see everyone. Suddenly, there is a loud bang from somewhere in the gym. I have a great view of the bleachers, and I see every single student flinch or jump in perfect unison, thinking it was a gunshot. Everything is quiet for a few seconds. Then, the principal storms in, extremely angry.)

Principal: “WHO DID THAT?!”

(He was under the impression that someone, trying to be funny, had popped a chip bag. He spent ten minutes loudly interrogating students. After the incident, I heard that the sound was the tire of someone’s wheelchair blowing out.)

(In forensic science, we’re doing our toxicology unit. The last couple of days have been specifically about alcohol. Alcohol will go anywhere in your body that you have liquid, even crossing the blood-brain barrier. When I tell classes that, inevitably, some boy raises his hand.)

Student: “Does it get in your… y’know… your semen?”

Me: “Yes. Semen has liquid, so alcohol can get in there.”

Student: “So, is it possible for your sperm cells to get drunk and get lost and not be able to find where they’re going? Oh, is that why some babies are born messed up from alcohol?”

(I teach advanced classes at a fine arts school. The building is old, and it shows, but since it’s state property, it takes loads and loads of paperwork to get anything fixed. We’re left with buzzing lamps, cracked walls, and mirror-smooth floors and stairs with no friction whatsoever. One day, as I walk to the classroom, I find one of my students sprawled across the stairs, not moving.)

Me: “Oh, God! [Student], are you okay?!”

Student: “Yeah, doc, I’m fine. Just thinking, y’know? This place has been here for quite a while… Imagine how many scholars and artists walked on these stairs, how many other people must have been here before them, paving the way for us…”

Me: “You slipped and fell, didn’t you?”

Student: “I slipped and fell, doc. And it really hurts, so I’m just chillin’ until it passes.”

(I’m working at the enquiry desk when a worried student approaches me for help with the library computer she is using.)

Student: “I’m using Word, and the screen just keeps scrolling up even though I’m not doing anything. It’s… it’s like it’s got a ghost!”

(Suspecting I know where the problem lies, I follow her to her workstation beside two of her friends. I take one look at the setup on her desk and say:)

Me: “Your phone’s leaning on the keyboard.”

(I turn and walk away to avoid an awkward moment, but her friends aren’t so restrained. They fall about laughing while she is really embarrassed. Later, as they are leaving the library, I overhear her say to her friends:)

Student: “I really thought it had a ghost!”