(It’s finals week, and we’re English majors in a 200 level class.)

Professor: “You may bring any notes or texts you wish for the final; it’s open book. I’m not here to make you memorize random facts. I’m trying to teach you how to find the answers you’re looking for. Anything in the room is fair game.”

Classmate: “Can we use the Internet?”

Professor: “That would not be in the room, so no. Review your texts, take notes, and feel free to help each other out. Anything in the room can be used. See you tomorrow for the test.”

(I go home and do a quick review, tabbing a few pertinent facts in my book, and come to take the test the next day. Most of the test is fairly simple, or at least easy to look up with over 20 people working together. Then, we hit a snag.)

Classmate #1: “Anyone got 23, yet?”

(There is a chorus of “No,” after which we all start searching for the answer, with no luck.)

Me: *after a good five minutes, and realizing that we won’t have time to finish if this goes on much longer* “Hey, [Professor]?”

Professor: “Yes?”

Me: “You said we could use any resources in the room, right?”

Professor: “I did.”

Me: *screwing up my courage* “Well, you’re in the room. So, what’s the answer to number 23?”

(The whole room falls silent, with everyone staring at me while I blush and fight to maintain composure. The teacher blinks a few times, as if she had never considered that possibility, and then looks down at the book in her lap, turning the pages. I figure she’s not going to answer, and go back to hunting through the text.)

Professor: *after a minute* “Page 143.”

(I immediately flip to said page and start skimming; the answer is in the second paragraph, barely mentioned and without a single other reference in the entire book. You’d have to go page-by-page to find it, if you didn’t already know where it was.)

Me: “Thanks, [Professor].”

Professor: “Don’t make a habit of it. I’m administering the test, not taking with you.”

Me: “Yes, ma’am. Thank you.” *to the class* “Twenty-three is .”

(We all passed, and yes, we got number 23 correct. The professor now specifies that she and her TAs are not testing resources.)

In year nine of high school, I had a really great maths class, with a super cool teacher. He was a bit of a joker and made maths classes actually enjoyable.

One of the things he had us do, near the end of the class, was a competition where we answered various math equations in an elimination competition. I was pretty good, and in this case, managed to get right to the final round against another guy.

Both of us are named Jack, and as soon as the teacher noticed it was down to us, he said without thinking, “Let’s have a Jack-Off.”

To a crowd of teenagers.

His face immediately went bright red, as everyone in the class exploded into laughter, after which he ended the lesson a little early.

(I am a teacher. We are lining up for a fun field trip, and my kids are having a hard time listening up.)

Me: “You know, guys, if you don’t listen up, then we won’t go.”

Student: “You wouldn’t actually do that.”

(I shoot a look to the student that says this, taking him by surprise, as he obviously thought I wouldn’t hear him.)

Student: “I just mean that it wouldn’t be fair to us if we didn’t go, so we should go even if we’re not behaving well.”

(I continue to stare at him. Other students notice how I’m reacting and start to quiet down to see what’s going on.)

Student: “I mean, you should care about us having fun on the field trip. Not about listening.”

(Finally, he stops talking as I continue to stare at him. The entire class is now silent, wondering how I’ll respond. I then gesture to the classroom we just left.)

Me: “Do you see this classroom, [Student]?”

Student: “Uh, yes.”

Me: “The inside of this classroom represents all the cares I have about that statement you made. I hope you notice that it’s empty.”

During my freshman year writing class, we have a fire drill. We probably couldn’t even tell you the name of our classmates or our professor, so we try to just find who we have been sitting next to and gather as a group. Trained from earliest school days, we form a group around our professor. Our professor gives us strange looks, and seems distracted. He doesn’t try to look to see who is there or whether he has the same number of students he left the building with. He actually seems to be trying to avoid us. We notice at the end of the fire drill that we are missing a quarter of our class, but don’t think too much about it, figuring we’ll find them in the end, or that they’ve used it as an excuse to leave class early.

Suddenly, we see another man, who looks very similar to the one we are gathered around, walking up to our group. Following him is the rest of our class. It’s our professor! He is very annoyed with us for not being with the rest of the class, until he looks at the man we’ve been standing next to. Except for the fact that they are wearing different clothes, the two could be brothers!

It turns out that the man who wasn’t our professor was there to interview for another position, and got caught in the building when the fire alarm went off. We still have no idea why he didn’t say anything when he saw twenty or more teenagers following him as a group, but we had a good laugh over it when we were let back in the building.

(I am in a concurrent education program, and I am about to start my last year at the school. As we are all excited for the upcoming teachers college program, I see a lot of new status updates about it. One catches my eye:)

Friend: “Tomorrow will be the last first day of school, ever, for me. I am so thankful to have made it this far, and so excited for what comes next. #teacherscollege”

Me: “You do realize that, as teachers, we are going to have many more first days of school to come; don’t you?”

(She quickly deleted the post.)