More Than Forty-Nein States

, , , , , | Learning | January 20, 2020

A long time ago, a friend was an exchange student from Germany to the United States. On his first day in class, he was asked to show where he was from on a map… 

…of the USA… 

…by the teacher.

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Little Miss Distraction

, , , , , | Learning | January 3, 2020

(When my mother is a student teacher, her professor comes in to observe her teaching. For some reason, she brings her teenage daughter with her. Afterward, the professor discusses the lesson with my mother.)

Professor: “I’m afraid I’m going to have to mark you down for classroom management. A lot of the boys seemed distracted during the lesson.”

Mom: “You brought your daughter with you.”

Professor: “Yes, her school isn’t in session today.”

Mom: “Your cute teenage daughter.”

Professor: “Yes?”

Mom: “Who sat in the front of the room the whole time.”

Professor: “Wait, are you saying that’s why the boys were distracted?”

Mom: “Quite possibly.”

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They’re Not On Each Other’s Tempo

, , , , , , | Learning | January 1, 2020

(I get a job as a music instructor at a small music school outside a big city. About a week into working there, I get assigned a new student, who is presented to me by the student’s mother.)

Mother: “Hello, this is [Student]; she’s your new student.”

Me: “All right, thank you, ma’am.”

(I start to take the student to the practice rooms.)

Mother: “Um… I’m sorry, what are your qualifications?”

Me: “What, ma’am?”

Mother: “What are your qualifications?”

Me: “Well, I’ve played piano for fourteen years, was trained as an opera singer, and have competed internationally in musical theatre competitions.”

Mother: “Oh, that won’t do. You see, I’m a musical theatre education major, and I hold the highest standards.”

Me: “Ma’am, I assure you I am qualified for this position.”

Mother: “I assure you, you are not.”

Me: “Ma’am, you may find another instructor, or, if you desire to be so rude, you could simply teach her yourself. You are a music education major, are you not?”

Mother: “Why would I want to teach my own child?”

Me: “Because she’s… yours, ma’am?”

(The mother stormed out with her child. Two weeks later, we got a call at the academy from the same mother asking for the best instructor for musical theatre, which was me. My coworker asked what I would like my response to be. I said I would rather try and teach a stick to sing; mother nature would be nowhere near as much a b****.)

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Will Pass That Class Kicking And Screaming

, , , , , , | Healthy | December 22, 2019

Many years ago, when I am in high school, I join my local volunteer first aid squad and sign up for EMT training. The classes are largely interesting, and I learn a lot. However, EMTs have a strange sense of humor sometimes.

When we get to the maternity section, the final exam for that part of the course consists of delivering a baby. This is accomplished with a set of special dummies: one which is made to replicate the lower body of a woman, and of course, the infant doll which the instructor pushes out for the person to deliver. The proper procedure is to “catch” the infant as it comes out, clean it gently, and then lay it on the mother’s chest for her to hold.

All is going well in the exam, the students having been broken up into groups and assigned to the dummy on which they will take the exam… until, that is, one of the instructors quietly goes around the room, collecting all of the infant dummies and secreting them away.  

At this point, only one group is still testing, as there are no baby dummies to be had anywhere else. One young man approaches to begin his test, and the instructor who’d been taking the dummies steps up to administer it…   

And proceeds to begin screaming at the top of his lungs.

The instructor is wailing like he’s being murdered, which, of course, causes the entire room to look over at what is going on. Never breaking his cry, he begins to push the infant doll through. The poor student is terrified, but he still follows procedure admirably.

But the instructor doesn’t stop screaming.

Not sure what to do, the boy is standing there when another infant starts to come out. So he catches that one, too. Then, the next one. And the one after that. Each time they come faster and faster. It looks like an “I Love Lucy” routine as the poor boy is struggling to catch the dolls, clean them, and place them before the next one comes. It’s to the point where he is stacking the babies like logs on the “mother” because there is no room for them, and he barely manages to put one down before the next one is out.

All the while, the instructor never stops wailing.

The rest of the class is, of course, cracking up. We’re all laughing so hard we can’t breathe. The poor student is handling it admirably, though, never giving up or getting mad. Finally, about two dozen babies later, the instructor runs out of dummies. The test is allowed to end, and the instructor ceases screaming.

The student does pass the exam, but he is admonished that in the future he probably shouldn’t stack newborn infants like Jenga blocks.

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Not Going To Get Walkathon’d All Over This Year

, , , , , | Learning | December 20, 2019

(I attend an expensive private high school on a scholarship. My family could absolutely not afford the tuition without the scholarship, meaning I’m on a much lower socioeconomic level than my classmates. Every fall, the school holds a walkathon where students are supposed to get people from the community to pledge money to the school based on how many miles the student walks. No one in the community ever wants to donate to the rich, private school when the local public school is critically underfunded, so everyone just gets their parents to write a check. If a student fails to meet the $100 donation threshold, they’re not allowed to participate in the walkathon. However, they’re still required to come to school that day. So, instead of taking a hike through the woods with their classmates and then spending the rest of the day having fun in the park, they have to spend the whole day sitting quietly in a classroom alone. It’s basically day-long detention for being poor. Every year so far, my family has scraped together enough money for me to attend walkathon, but in my senior year — twelfth grade — money is too tight. I’ve resigned myself to a day of boredom. A few days before the walkathon, I’m turning in some paperwork to one of the school’s secretaries. She’s worked with me before concerning my scholarship, and she knows that I otherwise couldn’t afford to attend the school.)

Secretary: *adding the paperwork to my file* “Well, looks like that’s in order. Oh, wait! I don’t see your walkathon form in here.”

Me: “Oh. I’m not going this year.”

Secretary: *looks at me and then shuffles through some more papers* “I also see you haven’t used all your college visit days.”

(Every senior gets a certain number of excused absences to visit colleges, so long as they arrange it with the office first and bring proof of the visit afterward. I’ve already been accepted to my first-choice college.)

Me: “I already got into [College]. I didn’t need them all.”

Secretary: “It’s always good to know all your options. Why don’t you take another college tour? It can be on any school day. Any day at all that you’re required to be in school.”

Me: “Ooooh, I see. Can I have a copy of the college visit form? Actually, can I have two?”

(After leaving the office with the forms, I immediately went to find my friend, who also wasn’t looking forward to the walkathon since the hiking trail wasn’t suitable for her disability. Every year, she had to attend the walkathon anyway and just sit at a picnic table with a teacher all day. She also hadn’t used all her college visit days, so we both signed up for a tour of a local college on the day of the walkathon. That day, we slept in, went on the college tour just long enough to get proof that we went, and goofed off the rest of the day. We brought the secretary a fancy cupcake from a little bakery near the college as thanks.)

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