(I am a creative writing major, but because I changed my major from an English one fairly recently, I am still stuck in a seminar class for English majors and have to report my readings to that professor. The education majors are also in this particular seminar class. I have just finished reporting on research I am doing for a vampire novel I plan to write. My professor is a woman who loves dirty romance novels, as well.)

Professor: “Will there be sex in it?”

Me: “I don’t know. I’ll let the characters take me where they want to.”

Professor: *fake huffs* “You creative writing majors and your developing characters!” *turns to the next student to present; an education major* “Will there be sex in yours?”

Student: “Oh, God, I hope not!”

I went to a small middle school in a small-ish building. One year on April Fool’s day, my class decided to play a prank on our science teacher.

Before class, we snuck in and left a note on his overhead projector saying that we had unanimously decided to skip his class. We then left a trail of paper footprints going down the stairs, through the gym, and up into the drama closet, which held costumes, props, and the like.

We all crowded in and waited. When he got close to the closet, we ran up through the drama classroom, and back down the stairs and into the science classroom, stifling giggles the whole way. When he threw open the door to the closet and roared, trying to startle us, he found it empty. When he got back to his classroom, we were all sitting at the tables like perfect angels.

(I’m in anatomy and physiology class, self-grading a test we just did on the cardiovascular system. Since everyone’s grading their tests as a class, the teacher is going over the questions and answers aloud. As is the case on every test, some of the answers are flexible, as long as she can understand what you were trying to refer to.)

Teacher: “Numbers 52 and 53: what instruments are used to measure blood pressure? ‘Stethoscope,’ and I’ll take, ‘blood pressure cuff.’ If you said, ‘sphygmomanometer,’ I’ll take that, too.”

Student #1: “I put, ‘blood pressure band.’”

Teacher: “Yeah, that’s close enough; I’ll take that, too.”

Student #2: *somewhat sheepishly* “I put, ‘squeezy pressure thing’…”

(Everyone bursts out laughing, even [Student #2] and [Teacher].)

Teacher: *between giggles* “‘Squeezy pressure thing’! I’ll take that!”

(I work at a daycare and am filling in for the teacher in charge of the two-year-olds. While I am pouring paint to do their art project, they get impatient. I look up and see five two-year-olds standing on their chairs.)

Me: “Get down! OH! Wait… Can you say, ‘O captain, my captain’?”

Two-Year-Olds: “O captain, my captain!”

Me: *dying*

(It may sound odd, but there is a 20-year age-gap between my little sister and me. Our dad died a few years ago, and our mom has been disabled since a car crash a couple years ago, so I take care of my sister most of the time. At the time of the story, she is six, and I am 26. It should be noted, despite me looking years younger — I am frequently mistaken for a teenager — people often think I’m her mother. This happens at a parent-teacher conference with her teacher, who I have met many times.)

Teacher: “Hello, Mrs. [Our Last Name].”

Me: “Oh, [My First Name] is fine.”

Teacher: “Ah, yes. Well, [Sister] has been excelling in reading, but her math scores are very low for a child of her age.”

Me: “Yes, I’ve been giving her extra help. Difficulty with math runs in the family.”

Teacher: “About that… I was thinking it might be due to her home life; as her mother, you’d know best.”

Me: “Oh, no. I thought you knew, I’m [Sister]’s sister. Our mom couldn’t make it, so I came.”

Teacher: “It’s okay. You don’t have to play games with me. I won’t let the secret slip to [Sister].”

Me: “Excuse me? What secret?”

Teacher: “I know you are her mother and that your mother claims to be her mother to protect you from the stigma of a teen pregnancy. It’s all right; as I said, I won’t tell [Sister].”

Me: “What?! No. I’m her sister, not her mother. I was not a teen mom. I’m here to talk about how she’s doing in school, so if we could continue?”

(She continued to make insinuations that I was my sister’s mother, and even “accidentally” used the term “mom” several more times. She had no interest in really talking about how my sister was doing in school, and I found out my sister wasn’t really thriving in her class. We had her moved to another teacher who turned out to be much better, and her math skills went up, too.)

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