Right Working Romantic Related Learning Friendly Healthy Legal Inspirational Unfiltered

Get A Handle On The Writing

, , , , | Learning | November 2, 2015

(I am a female in junior English class with a teacher who hates to admit she’s wrong. On this occasion, she is passing back a graded assignment.)

Teacher: “Boys, one of you forgot to put your name on your homework.”

(She shows the paper to each male student, and each one shakes their head: “not mine.”)

Teacher: “This HAS to be a guy’s handwriting. I swear, if this isn’t a guy’s paper, I’m not giving homework tonight.”

(She finally shows the paper to all students.)

Me: “Miss [Teacher]? That’s MY handwriting.”

(We still had homework.)

This story is part of our Handwriting roundup!

Read the next Handwriting roundup story!

Read the Handwriting roundup!

Blue In The Face Over The Dino

, , , , , | Learning | September 25, 2015

(My fourth-grade teacher is a huge sourpuss and hands out lots of busywork so she can take breaks from hands-on teaching. This time, she hands out simple prints of dinosaurs and announces that we will be coloring them in, working in pairs. I grab a blue crayon and start adding stripes on the back.)

Girl: *who I’m working with* “What are you doing?!”

Me: “I’m making stripes.”

Girl: “But that’s wrong! The teacher said that dinosaurs are brown or green. You’re not supposed to use blue!”

Me: *shrugging* “So what? It’s just coloring.”

Girl: “But dinosaurs aren’t blue! They’re green or brown! The teacher said!

Me: “How do you know what colors dinosaurs were? People have only ever seen their bones anyway, so we have no idea what color their hides were.”

Girl: “I’m telling! You’re going to be in trouble!” *raising her hand* “Mrs. [Teacher]! She’s coloring her dinosaur blue!”

Teacher: *rolling her eyes and heaving a sigh* “[My Name], you can’t color your dinosaur blue. They are either green or brown. Look, everyone else is coloring their dinosaurs the right way.”

Me: “What was the point of giving us a whole box of crayons, then?”

Teacher: “[My Name]! There is no talking back! If you can’t color your dinosaur the right way, then you can sit out the activity. It’s all right, [Girl]; you don’t have to work with her.”

Me: “Fine. There’s no point in doing it anyway.”

Teacher: “Excuse me?”

Me: “I’m not going to sit here and color in a dinosaur solid green or brown because I’m told to. It’s boring and a pointless waste of time.”

Teacher: “[My Name], go to the principal’s office now and wait there! I will come to deal with you later!”

(The other students giggle and mock me as I leave the room. I wait on the bench outside the office for a long time before my teacher comes down and goes into the principal’s office. They talk for several minutes before I am called in.)

Principal: “[My Name], your teacher here tells me that you were being very disruptive during a class activity, that you upset your classmate, and then when you were told to behave you talked back to her and called the assignment stupid. Is that true?”

Me: “Yes, but—”

Principal: “No buts! There is no possible excuse you can make for this behavior. These kinds of transgressions can be punished with suspension, and your teacher does not want you to return to the classroom and ruin her lessons. You will wait until your mother comes to get you and we will all have a talk.”

(The teacher gives me a smug look as I go back outside to wait on the bench in the hall. My mother works outside the base, so it is over an hour before she shows up, looking angry. She checks in with the secretary.)

Mom: “[My Name], what did you do this time?!”

Principal: “Oh, good, you’re here. [Secretary], please call her teacher and let her know this student’s mother has arrived so that we can discuss her behavior. [My Name], why don’t you tell your mother why you’re in trouble?”

Me: “I’m getting suspended for coloring my dinosaur blue when apparently, they’re only supposed to be green or brown.”

Mom: “Seriously?”

Principal: “And what else?”

Me: “And then, the teacher told me I wasn’t allowed to color if I wasn’t going to do it right, so I said it was stupid to even give us crayons if we were only allowed to use two colors and that it was a waste of time anyway. Then she sent me out to the office.”

Principal: *giving my mother a look* “You see? We simply cannot have this behavior. We’re afraid she might be a bad influence on the other children.”

Mom: “Are you KIDDING ME? You kept my daughter out of class for almost two hours, called me out of work, and made me go through all those checkpoint gates because SHE WASN’T COLORING LIKE A GOOD LITTLE ROBOT?! WHAT THE H*** IS WRONG WITH YOU?!”

Principal: *stammering* “Uh, w-w-well, we—”

Mom: “And how did you say you were planning to punish her?”

Principal: “Um, ahem, well, because of the way she spoke to her teacher, we are looking at a minimum of a three-day suspension.”

Teacher: *walks in, looking pleased* “That’s right. And she made the classmate she was assigned to work with cry.”

Me: *sarcastically* “Sheesh, she actually cried?”

Teacher: *smiling at my Mother* “You see what we’ve been dealing with? And then she told me I was wasting her time.”

Mom: “Good for her. She was right.”

Teacher: “I- I beg your pardon?”

Mom: “First of all, she’s ten. I don’t know about your other students who cry like babies over their dinosaur being ‘colored wrong,’ but she is way too old to be coloring with crayons as a class activity, especially if it’s just an exercise in conformity.”

Teacher: “Uh, well, that’s not the point! The lessons are about following steps and instructions—”

Mom: “Pfft, give me a break. It was COLORING, not science. Don’t give my daughter crayons if you don’t want her to be creative, don’t waste her time with crayons and call it teaching, and don’t waste my time and call me out of my job because you can’t do yours. I’m taking my daughter back with me today, and I will be looking into a new school for her.” *to me* “I can’t believe you have to put up with this.”

Me: “Me, neither.”

(We left the teacher and principal red-faced and speechless, and later, my mom bought me a giant box of crayons.)

This story is part of our Crayon Roundup!

Read the next Crayon Roundup story!

Read the Crayon Roundup!

You African’t Say That

, , , , , , | Learning | September 1, 2015

(It’s the first class of the year. We’ve got a drama teacher who’s completely new to the school and makes a big deal of having studied drama at a prestigious performing arts school in Perth, a city in the country’s west with a significant South African population. My girlfriend, who moved to Melbourne from Johannesburg two years ago and still talks with a noticeable Afrikaner accent to this day, is reading out some lines from a short acting scene the teacher brought in with him.)

Classmate: “But now, my dear, I must go.”

Girlfriend: “You can’t!”

(With her accent, it sounds like something completely different. Quite a few of us, me included, have a bit of a laugh at this. The teacher puts a halt to the acting and walks up to her on the stage.)

Teacher: “[Girlfriend], what did you just call him? That word isn’t appropriate for people your age to say.”

Girlfriend: “Um, I was just reading off the script. See here? It says, ‘You can’t!'”

(She points it out to the teacher, but her repeating of those words triggers another burst of laughter from the class.)

Teacher: “But that word isn’t pronounced like that. You’re getting the vowel sound all wrong.”

(At this point, my girlfriend starts looking like some bizarre combination of embarrassed and offended. The laughter stops. One of our friends, who’s just been laughing along with the rest of the class thus far, interrupts the teacher.)

Friend: “You do realise she’s not swearing at [Classmate], right? It’s just her accent. She’s from South Africa.”

Teacher: “Really? It doesn’t sound like any accent I’ve heard.”

(By this point, the classmate with whom she was acting at the start of the class has had enough, and he goes off at the teacher.)

Classmate: “Hey, [Teacher], you said you studied at [Arts School], right? If I’m correct, that’s in Perth. How the h*** can you spend that long living in Perth and not be able to recognise or understand a South African accent?”

(The teacher just dodged the question and ordered us back to our work. He was easily the worst drama teacher at the school, and I don’t think anyone was sad to see him go when he left the school at the end of the year.)

This story is part of the South Africa Roundup!

Read the next South Africa Roundup story!

Read the South Africa Roundup!

Needs To Go On A Pop Culture Odyssey

, , | Learning | July 30, 2015

(I am doing homework in the lobby while my sister is doing her class; namely, she’s reading the Odyssey. My karate teacher notices this, and talks to me about it while we’re stretching.)

Teacher: “So you’re reading The Odyssey?”

Me: “Yup.”

Teacher: “What part are you on?”

Me: “The part where Odysseus goes to the kingdom whose name I can’t pronounce.”

Teacher: “Are you at the part of the sirens yet?”

Me: “No. Don’t spoil it for me!”

Teacher: “That’s like the oldest book! Asking for no spoilers is like asking for no spoilers for The Lion King!”

Me: “…”

Teacher: *face turns to shock* “You haven’t watched The Lion King!?”

Me: “Nope.”

Teacher: “You had a sad childhood. Did you at least watch Toy Story?”

Me: “Nope.”

Teacher: *stares* “…You had a dark, sad childhood…”

Me: *attempting to make him stop mock-pitying me* “I watched Toy Story 3, though.”

Teacher: “…You mean you watched it without watching the first two?”

Me: “Yeah…”

Teacher: *makes some sort of plus sign with his fingers, or perhaps an X, and shakes his head disapprovingly*

Me: “What’s that supposed to mean?!”

Teacher: *walks away* “Don’t talk to me.”

Teaching Me To Feel Normal

, , , , , , | Learning | July 1, 2015

(My service dog goes to school with me. My medical issues leave me with a specialized schedule in a dark classroom with my teachers rotating out instead of me moving. My favorite teacher is on his way when I pass out. This happens when I come to.)

Teacher: “How ya feeling?”

Me: “My head hurts.”

Teacher: “Well, you did fall out of your chair and it seemed like you made it your goal to hit everything on the way down. I thought you’d died. Spent fifteen whole minutes trying to bribe the dog not to tell anyone if I buried you behind the football field and denied knowledge of your existence. He’s a tough negotiator. Demanded a lifetime of royal treatment for his silence.”

Me: “Doesn’t sound too horrid. He’s a good boy: goes to the bathroom on command, even knows how to do laundry.”

Teacher: “My wife would have killed me if I brought home another dog. I would have had less of a fight bringing home your corpse.”

Me: “Then I guess it’s a good thing I’m not dead, unless you wanted to add a corpse to the living room.”

Teacher: “Nah, you’re not wearing anything that would match the decor and she’s a stickler for that kind of stuff.”

(He was my favorite because he never made a huge deal about my medical issues. Everyone else freaked and made a scene while he was perfectly comfortable joking about it with me and making me feel normal.)

This story is part of our Service Animals roundup!

Read the next Service Animals Roundup story!

Read the Service Animals Roundup!