Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 11

, , , , | Learning | September 21, 2020

I was a terrible student and a huge baseball fan growing up.

In sixth grade I have an English teacher who knows I’m not dumb, just hard to motivate. She privately offers me an extra credit assignment.

Teacher: “All you have to do is write a two-page essay on any topic you like at all, explaining why you like it so much.”

I straight-up turned down her offer, being content with my C grade. So she flips it around on me and speaks to another student in the class:

Teacher: *Loudly* “Since you’re the biggest Red Sox fan in the class, you should write a two-page essay about the Red Sox and present it to the class.”

I practically jump out of my seat.

Me: “I am a way bigger Red Sox fan than he is and I should be the one writing that essay!”

 She let us both write one. She was a really good teacher.

Related:
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 9
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 8
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 7

Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 6
Time To Assay The Essay Situation, Part 5

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Really Drumming This One Home

, , , , , | Learning | September 17, 2020

This story starts at the beginning of the first semester of my senior year. I take a music appreciation class that semester which everyone just calls “the Beatles class” because that is the band the teacher focuses on the entire semester. I had this teacher my sophomore year, as well; I took a drumline class with him where he eventually asked if I would join the school band — he was the band teacher. Originally, I was interested in it, but I later changed my mind. He did not like that.

Fast forward, back to my senior year. I miss a test due to a doctor’s appointment. The next day, I go to him to see when I can make it up.

Me: “[Teacher], I wanted to see when I could make up my test?”

Teacher: “Will you be in the [School Production] this weekend?”

Me: “Yes, I will be performing.”

Teacher: “Then don’t worry about the test right now; focus on your performance. Come see me next week to discuss when you can make up the test.”

Me: “Thank you, [Teacher].”

The weekend goes by and so does my performance. It is now Monday morning. I walk up to my teacher to discuss the test.

Teacher: “You have a test that you need to make up!”

Me: “Yes, that’s what I wanted to discuss with you.”

Teacher: “You need to come to see me after school today to make up for your test!”

I do not have my license and can’t get a hold of my parents to pick me up later because cell phones are not allowed.

Me: “I’m sorry, sir, but I won’t be able to make it up today. Can I take it tomorrow after school?”

Teacher: “Fine.”

The next day after school, I walk to his classroom and find that he has left for the day. He does not mention anything about the test later on and I end up completely forgetting about it. Fast forward again to finals. I am talking to a friend before the bell and the teacher comes up to me.

Teacher: “You have a test to make up in my class. We had a date set and I waited until 4:00 but you never showed up.”

Me: “I was there before 4:00 and you weren’t there.”

I can tell that I’ve caught him on that one.

Teacher: “You will need to take your test after your final.”

Me: “Can’t I take it before my final with [Special Education Teacher I work with]?”

Teacher: “No, you have to take it with me after your final.”

Me: “Okay.”

As you can tell, I was fed up with this and it didn’t make sense to me that I had to wait until after my final to take my test. I finally got my mom involved, who sent him an email to try to get an understanding of what was going on, especially with him refusing to let me take the test with my special education teacher; my IEP states that I get extra time on tests and I get to take my test in a different classroom.

He did not budge with his decision so I finally got my special education teacher involved. He sent my music teacher an email telling him that I would be taking the test in his classroom before my final.

I finally took my test, but because it had been so long since we went over that lesson, I did not know any of the answers. That didn’t matter, though. Just by turning it in that test, it brought my grade up to 95%. Because my grade was 95%, I no longer had to take his final.

I think the thing that annoyed me the most about the whole situation is that it took a male teacher to help me with another male teacher because the teacher would not listen to his female student or her mother. I also truly believe that this was his revenge for me not joining the drumline.

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Absolutely Despicable, Horrendous, And Dreadful, Part 2

, , , , , | Learning | September 16, 2020

I’m the author of this story. This story is not about that witch, but rather a giant whom I have the displeasure of fighting in ninth grade. I have fairly severe ADHD, and that leads to me “stimming” or using up my excess energy in various ways, such as foot-tapping, crochet, and writing ciphers.

Most teachers tolerate this because I still work hard and get decent grades. This teacher, however, thinks that if I am stimming, I’m not working, so things I do to stim are rapidly banned until all I have left is tapping my feet.

On the day of this particular incident, I have gotten these wonderful new boots that are shiny and go click-clack when I walk. I love them.

I’m sitting in the lesson, trying my best to pay attention without stimming, when my knee starts bouncing, the heel going “click-click-click,” not particularly loudly. My teacher, on the other hand, stops his lesson and turns around.

Teacher: “If you don’t stop tapping your foot, I’m getting the sponge.”

Me: “Sorry, sir!”

He goes back to the lesson. I’m quiet for about five minutes, and then my knee starts bouncing again. 

He doesn’t even say anything; he just goes and fetches a bright pink sponge and puts it under the foot that was tapping.

This happens with my other foot, as well. I’m embarrassed and I can hear the people in the class whispering about me, so my feet start bouncing again, hard enough that the sponges aren’t stopping the noise.

My teacher turns around again, glaring at me.

Me: “I’m really sorry. I just need to move and I’m trying not to make noise, I promise; it’s my shoes!”

Teacher: “Boots off, then. It’s annoying.”

So, I took off my boots and planted my feet on the sponges and started bouncing my knee again. Somehow, he could still hear that, and I ended up with three sponges under both my feet by the end of the class.

In his defence, I suppose the shoes were overkill, but at a certain point, I just needed to not sit still for the double-length math/science class. There had to be something he could do other than stacking sponges.

Related:
Absolutely Despicable, Horrendous, And Dreadful

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That’s Mister Doctor Professor [Last Name] To You!

, , , , | Learning | September 15, 2020

I’m attending my first ever class on my first ever day of university, an 8:00 am general chemistry class. My professor makes some things very clear very quickly.

Professor: “My office is in [Building], but be careful asking for me by name! There’s another Doctor [His Last Name], and, naturally, his office is also in [Building]. He’s on the third floor with all the other biologists and I’m on the fourth with the other chemists. Remember, my first name is [First Name] and his is not. I repeat, my name is [First Name] and his is not, so just call me Doctor [First Name], instead.”

After this, he pauses before adding:

Professor: “One of us is good and one of us is evil, but I’ll let you figure out which of us is which on your own.”

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Beanie, Beanie, Burning Bright

, , , , | Right | September 14, 2020

It is 1997, and I’m a high-school student, working in a fast food place that serves kids’ meals to make them ‘happy,’ via a small promotional toy. This season, it’s beanie babies, and hoo boy…

I’m walking into work, via the back employee entrance on the morning that the promotion starts, to see my manager talking to a group of security guards, as a large pallet being moved from a truck to the back of the store.

Manager: “Ah, [My Name]. This is [Security Guard]. He’ll be overseeing the installation of the security cage.”

Me: “The what?”

Manager: “The security cage, for the beanie babies.”

Me: “Why would we need a security cage?”

Manager: “You haven’t been following the news, have you?”

Me: “What did I miss?”

Manager: “You’ll see for yourself when you see the front of the store.”

He chuckles ominously as I go to sign in, walking past the front of the store as I do. I have to stop and do a double-take; there is a line of customers wrapped around the parking lot, and it’s still half an hour until we open! The manager gives us a quick update about the craziness of the situation, how we have to have a cage for the toys, and why they were delivered with a security escort!

Eventually, we open, and the floodgates pour in. The customers run up to the counter, and my literal first customer says:

Customer #1: “I want a hundred happy meals! No food!”

Me: *Blinking* “Uh, I am afraid it’s a maximum of two per order, and I have to serve the food. Would you like—”

Customer #1: *Screams* “Ugh! Give me the leopard and the frog! I’ll line up again, but save them for me!”

Me: “I’m not supposed to select a specific toy, but I will grab those for you this time.”

The customer screams again, but still purchases two happy meals. Even as I serve the next customer, I can see them dump their perfectly good food in the trash, and go outside to start lining up again.

This continues all day! I eventually take my (very late) lunch break but hear a loud commotion when coming back on shift. I see my high-school English teacher, screaming at a coworker mere inches from his face.

English Teacher: “What do you mean you’re out of the Siberian tiger! I have been waiting… in… line… for…a… f****** hour!”

Me: “Mr. [English Teacher’s Name], please show us the same respect you expect from me in your class.”

My teacher looks over at me, glaring, but then recognizes me, looks sheepish, and drifts away.

Coworker: “Thanks! I was trying to explain to him we ran out of the tiger early this morning!”

Me: “No worries, I’m just not looking forward to my poetry reading on Monday.”

Coworker: “Why?”

Me: “It’s The Tyger by William Blake!”


Tell your tale for us! Ever encountered a customer who should know better? The NAR community would love to read it! Submit your story and vent those frustrations!

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