(I’m in my third class of the day, with a teacher who doesn’t really like me. I start to feel terrible. I go to the teacher and ask if I can go to the office. This teacher looks at me, practically pale as a corpse, and says no, and that I’ll be fine. I manage to get to the next building over for my next class, where my teacher sees me before I even get to the classroom. She is horrified by my zombie-like appearance and immediately asks if I need to go to the office. I miraculously make it to a bin and proceed to vomit, hard. I finally get to the office, still feeling queasy.)

Receptionist: “If you want the bathroom key, you’ll have to wait. You should have gone at recess.”

Me: “Actually, I think I might puke on you.”

Receptionist: *looks up, eyes go wide* “I’ll just call your mother.”

(She calls my mother, who says she’ll come to get me. Meanwhile, I’m feeling more and more like I’ll vomit again.)

Me: “Can I please use the office toilets? I think I might be sick again.”

Receptionist: “No, but here’s a vomit bag.”

Me: “That’s not going to hold enough; I threw up a lot before. Please let me use the toilets.”

Receptionist: “No, you’ll have to go outside.”

(So, I trudge outside, out to the front of the school, and proceed to vomit all over their flower beds while cars drive by to witness the spectacle. By the time my mother arrives, I’m still outside, not puking anymore, though I still feel very sick.)

Mum: “What are you doing out here?!”

Me: “They wouldn’t let me use the toilets when I told them the barf bag wouldn’t cut it.”

(I could see she was mad as she walked into the office, but unfortunately, I have no idea what she said. We made it home without me being sick all over the car, but I still threw up a couple more times that day and had to take the next few days off school. When I went into the office on my first day back with my doctor’s note, the ladies were MUCH nicer to me, so I’m guessing whatever my mother said worked!)

(We are in middle school.)

Teacher: “Your body is constantly creating new blood cells.”

Student: “So, would you, like, explode if you never cut yourself?”

(I have just started college, and all the freshmen have to take a “How to Succeed in College” course. My name is Aileen — pronounced “I-lean” — which is an unusual spelling of an old-fashioned name. The first week of class is the only time my teacher takes attendance. She does so by passing out the attendance sheet while going over the syllabus and having us all mark our names. The next class, she tells us that she is going to give us all numbers, and to put those down instead of our names on everything. I enjoy school, and while overall I am fairly shy, I do like to participate in class. As long as I know the subject being talked about I can talk your ear off. As soon as something flusters me, or I don’t know the correct response, I clam up. During the fourth class, I raise my hand to answer a question.)

Teacher: “Yes, Ellie?”

Me: “It’s ‘Aileen.’”

Teacher: *laughing* “Oh, Ellie, you have such a sense of humor.”

(I’m not really sure how to respond, and so far my schooling has taught me not to talk back to teachers. I let the subject drop and answer the question. From then on my teacher only calls me Ellie. I try a few times to tell her my name is Aileen, not Ellie, but each time she just laughs and calls me silly. She hands back all of my tests and assignments just fine and I get good marks on everything. So, I drop the matter and just let her call me whatever she wants. At the end of the semester, I look up my grade and find that I have failed the class. I email the teacher in confusion, asking her what has happened.)

Teacher: *via email* “I’m sorry that you are unhappy with your grade, Ms. Aileen, but my records show that you never participated in class. Unfortunately, I cannot give you a grade you did not earn. Please re-enroll next semester. You must finish this class before you are able to take your major requirements.”

(I go to my school counselor, not sure what to do. They set up a meeting with the teacher and me to try to figure out what is going on. I go to the meeting at the appointed time and walk in to find the teacher and counselor talking. The teacher looks up at me.)

Teacher: “Ellie! What are you doing here?”

Counselor: “Her name is Aileen, not Ellie.”

Teacher: “No, that’s just a joke between us. I thought we were here to discuss…” *she pronounces my name A-lean*

Me: “The A is silent; it’s pronounced ‘I-lean.’”

(The meeting was very awkward after that, but the teacher did fix my grade. It turned out there was an Ellie in the class who never showed up. The teacher gave her my grade. I never really figured out what was going through that teacher’s head. Thankfully, I never had to deal with her again.)

(I am a teaching assistant for a freshman core American History course that everyone has to take, regardless of major. For the most part, the teaching assistants actually teach the courses with professors overseeing us. A freshman in my course thinks that he is smarter than everyone else, in general, but especially within the course, and has been a snot all semester. On the last essay, he affixes a fantastically entertaining letter about how I am stupid. He tells me, in short, that he hates my guts, and that he knows I am going to give him a bad grade on the essay because I am not intelligent enough to grasp the complexities of his thesis. Knowing that no matter how I grade it, it is not going to be an unbiased score, I give it to the professor. The professor demands the student apologize or he will fail him in the course. He gives the essay a fair score of a B-minus, because it isn’t actually that groundbreaking. Fast-forward a few years. I’m working with a professor in the life sciences department in their research lab. This same student comes through the lab one day with my professor. Apparently, he is interviewing to work with the professor in the research lab also, and is being shown the lab. The student has a complete deer-in-the-headlights look as he recognizes me.)

Me: “Hello, [Student].”

Student: “You work with Dr. [Professor]?”

Professor: “Oh, this is [My Name]. She’s quite indispensable around here. Her scientific work is superb, and she’s a very organized lab manager. She does all the ordering, purchasing, and administrative work for me. Do you know each other?”

Me: “Oh, briefly. He was a student of mine in [Course].”

(After the student leaves, I tell my professor all the details. This is the email that he then sends to the student:)

Email: “Dear Mr. [Student],

After careful consideration, and a candid conversation with my current research assistant, [My Name], I will not be extending an invitation for you to join my lab team at this time, or at any time in the future. I do not welcome toxicity in my lab.  

Let this be a lesson to you. Never burn bridges. You don’t know when you might need them again.“

(I work as a freelance tutor. Most of my students are at the local community college. On this day, I am meeting a student in the early afternoon, but I’ve arrived early and am eating lunch in the cafeteria. A student I’ve worked with before sits down at my table.)

Student: “Hey, [My Name]! What are you up to?”

(I’m a little suspicious, since we don’t know each other well and I’ve never liked her. She’s very demanding, tends to whine rather than even try to do her work, and doesn’t always pay me. But I figure I should be polite.)

Me: “I’m meeting a student after lunch. What have you been up to?”

Student: “Well, actually, I have a C programming project that’s giving me trouble.”

(C programming is my best subject, and I’ve tutored her in it before. I assume she failed and is retaking the class.)

Student: “It would be great if you could take a look!” *gives me puppy-dog eyes*

Me: “Okay, when is it due?”

Student: “Tonight!”

Me: “Well, I have a student I’m supposed to meet, but she tends to run late. You can come with me to the room where we’re meeting, and I’ll help you until she shows up, all right?”

Student: “Okay!”

(We go to the classroom and the student turns on the computer.)

Me: “First, can you bring up the class and show me the assignment, so I know what you’re trying to do?”

(She opens the assignment on the computer and shows it to me.)

Me: “I thought you said you were taking C programming? This is C++.”

Student: “Oh, yeah. I guess it is C++.”

Me: “Well, I can Google the shortcuts that I don’t know; it’ll just take a little longer. Can you show me what you’ve done so far?”

Student: *blank stare, not even guilty or scared, just uncomprehending*

Me: “Have you started this assignment?”

Student: “No.”

(We start the assignment from scratch, and I am able to Google what I need, but the student is being uncooperative as usual. Whenever I ask her a question, whether it’s about course material, how she would start to solve a problem, or even basic knowledge like how many days are in a year, she just gives me a blank look and says she doesn’t know. Finally, when we’re about halfway done…)

Me: “Look, this isn’t something you would have memorized in class. You just need to think about it for a second.”

Student: “I shouldn’t have to put up with this! I’m really trying and you just give me this attitude all the time!”

Me: “Let’s review. This program was assigned to you a week ago. You have done no work on it. You have made no effort to get help; it was pure dumb luck you ran into me in the cafeteria. You don’t even know the name of the class you’re taking. I agreed to work you, cutting my lunch short, on zero notice, and to help you write a program from scratch in a language I haven’t even taken a class in, knowing the odds are only about 50-50 that you’re even planning to pay me. I’ve sat here for the last half hour doing far more of the work than I should have, while you have refused to make any effort whatsoever. You know what? You’re absolutely right. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

(I packed up my stuff and walked out without another word as she tried to backpedal. Don’t worry about my original student; I texted and arranged to meet her in another room. The next day I mentioned the incident to one of the computer science professors, and his only comment was, “She got halfway through that program?”)