I work at the university where I earned my PhD. While, in general, I’m very proud of this institution, I regularly have some “I need to speak to Admissions” moments. This is one of the most memorable; it’s from a few years ago.

At the time, there was a major concert coming to campus. It was at an indoor venue, and it sold out quickly. One day, I passed a group of students who were complaining they hadn’t been able to get tickets.

Student: “I can’t believe they won’t just print more tickets! It’s not like the paper is so expensive. People want more tickets; they should make more!”

And the worst part was that none of their friends pointed out why this might be a problematic solution…

I have been a computer teacher for almost ten years in a combined middle/high school (grades seven through twelve). My classroom includes the school’s computer lab. Recently, I was supervising a group of eleventh-grade girls who were finishing a project on the computers. One of the girls is new to the school, and the other three are telling her about the classes and teachers. I was half paying attention while doing my own work when suddenly one of the girls turns to me:

Girl: “You’re so cool, Mrs. [Name]. I want to be like you when I grow up. You’re my favorite teacher.”

She was being sincere, not sarcastic! I got a little teary-eyed. It was nice to know I’d made a connection.

That night, I excitedly told the story to my family at dinner.

Me: “Something great happened at school today.”

And I told the story. When I finished, my ten-year-old looked unimpressed.

Son: “I thought you were gonna say you got free candy or something.”

Way to keep me humble, little man. He did later give me a hug, so I had two wins for the day.

I’m at the campus café with a group of friends, some American, some international. We’re all chatting between classes when the conversation turns to stereotypes.

American Student #1: “It’s so annoying. Everyone overseas thinks Americans are just fat, dumb, gun-toting rednecks.”

American Student #2: “Seriously. Like, do they even know how big the U.S. is? Not everyone’s like that.”

Across the table, our Finnish friend starts giggling into her coffee.

American Student #1: “What’s so funny?”

Finnish Friend: “Sorry, sorry, it’s just… in Finland, the biggest jar of mayonnaise we sell is 600 grams.”

Us: “Okay?”

Finnish Friend: “It’s literally called ‘AMERICAN SIZE.'”

The table goes silent. Then we all burst out laughing, especially the Americans.

American Student #1: “Seriously, though, why not just call it large?”

Finnish Friend: “We have a large! American size just needs its own category.”

American Student #2: *In a corny advertising voice.* “When we say, ‘American Size,’ we don’t mean ‘big.’ We mean ‘concerning.'”

My history class has been told by our teacher several times that there will be a test at the end of the month.

Teacher: “Alright, everyone, today we’re continuing Napoleon’s rise to power and how it reshaped Europe…”

Student: “Still? We went through this on Monday.”

Teacher: “And did it end with Napoleon in power?”

Student: “I… don’t think so?”

Teacher: “No, we didn’t. Therefore, we march onwards!”

Student: *Sighs.* “Do we need to know this for the test?”

Teacher: “No, of course not. I just wake up every morning thinking, ‘Wow, I’ve got so much free time, why not come to school and monologue about Napoleon for fun?'”

Student: “So… we don’t?”

Teacher: “If I’m saying it out loud, it’s because future-you will regret not listening.”

The teacher got back to teaching, and the student whispered to his friend, “Ugh, why can’t he just speak normal?”

That student got a 4% on the test at the end of the month.

This story took place many years ago during the first day of “real” classes of the fall semester (excluding the introductory session where the professor introduces themselves, goes through the syllabus, etc.). I was a sophomore (second year) student in a class open to both sophomores and freshmen (first-year students).

I took a seat in the second or third row of the auditorium so I could be sure to hear the professor and avoid the chatting that tended to occur in the back rows. A girl plopped down in the seat next to me and introduced herself as a freshman. We made pleasant small talk as we waited for the class to start, and she excitedly peppered me with questions about the college experience.

The class started, and the professor began his lecture. However, her excited talking did not stop. My responses to her questions and life story anecdotes dwindled to monosyllabic noises, while I furiously took notes to keep up with the lecture. I pointedly avoided looking at the girl and focused on my writing. The professor even shot a few hard glances in our direction as her chatter continued. Undeterred, the girl continued trying to make conversation with me for the entire fifty-minute lecture.

At the end of class, having stopped responding at all to her comments, I closed up my notebook and began putting it in my backpack. This seemed to bring her back to the present moment.

Girl: “Oh, can I borrow your notes?”

Me: “…No.”

I never saw her in class again.