I am a middle school librarian in the days before widespread Internet access. One day, a group of students comes rushing into the library.

Kids: “Mr. [My Name], Mr. [My Name]! What does ‘impotent’ mean?”

Me: “Um… weak and powerless. Why?”

The kids didn’t believe me and rushed for the dictionaries. It took me a while to figure out what was going on, but eventually, I got the story. 

A kid had accidentally written “impotent” instead of “important” on an assignment. The English teacher apparently had an absolute fit, publicly berating the kid for using bad language and making him repeatedly copy the definition of “important.”

So, instead of blowing off a simple spelling error, this teacher had a bunch of seventh graders convinced that “impotent” must be the filthiest word in the English language and determined to find out what it meant.

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At my school, we really aren’t technically allowed to bring drinks unless it’s water in a clear bottle. But most teachers don’t really care.

Usually, if I want to eat breakfast or have a coffee, I’ll go to one of my teachers’ classrooms before first period.

My teacher isn’t in there today, so I don’t get a chance to drink very much of it. And honestly, it isn’t that special, just plain black coffee, so I don’t mind having to throw it away. I just don’t want to throw a full cup of liquid into a garbage bin where it’ll make a mess.

I’m walking down the hallway and the ONE teacher who gives a s*** sees me with it.

Teacher: *Hostile* “You can’t have that; you need to throw it away.”

Me: “I know. I’m just looking for a place to—”

Teacher: “No. You need to put it in a trash can now.”

Me: “Yes, but can I—”

Teacher: “Stop arguing with me! If another word comes out of your mouth again, I’m giving you an office referral and detention.”

Okay. I take the full cup of black iced coffee and drop it in the garbage can sitting in her classroom. It makes a giant mess, and I walk away. She’s pissed.

Teacher: “The next time I catch you with a drink, you’ll be placed in in-school suspension.”

I go to the main administrator and ask him about this.

Administrator: “You can have drinks, just as long as they’re gone before first period.”

I brought another iced black coffee the next day and sat in my usual teacher’s classroom, and when she walked in and started griping at me again, I drank the whole d*** thing in front of her.

We have a substitute in seventh-grade band class, as the regular teacher is out for unexplained reasons. It’s pretty obvious from the beginning that the substitute doesn’t know anything about music and is either having an off day or just bad at teaching.

After attendance and housekeeping stuff is done, we start practising. The first piece we practise has a bunch of rests — periods of no playing. She doesn’t count in the right time signature, which throws us off, along with her general attitude.

When we get to one of the lengthy rest sections:

Substitute: “YOU GUYS! YOU NEED TO PLAY! START OVER!”

We comply.

We get to that part again.

Substitute: “WHY AREN’T YOU PLAYING?! PLAY!”

My Section: *Mumbling* “We don’t play there.”

We repeat starting over and getting to that part.

Substitute: “I’M GETTING TIRED OF THIS! Y’ALL NEED TO PLAY!”

My Section: “LADY, WE DON’T PLAY THERE! RESTS EXIST AND YOUR KNOWLEDGE OF THEM APPARENTLY DOESN’T!”

She shut up about us not playing after that, and we got another student to conduct the band.

This happens in math class.

Teacher: “Okay, guys, here’s today’s assignment! Take your time.”

Me: *Thinking* “Whew! Normally, we have to finish it in, like, thirty minutes.”

I work hard and quietly for about forty-five minutes, getting toward the end of class. I am only about three-quarters done, and the teacher comes by to check our work. She stops at my desk.

Teacher: “[My Name], why are you not done?! It’s an easy assignment!”

Me: “Oh… I’m just slow at math. And you said we could take our time, so I didn’t try to rush.”

Teacher: “So you have questions on how to do it? You should have just asked me!”

Me: “Um… No, that’s not what I said. I understand the math; I’m just slow at it. Okay?”

Teacher: “Talking back now?”

Me: “…”

Teacher: “You’d better be done in five minutes.”

Me: “You can threaten me all you want, but that doesn’t magically make me faster at math.”

I didn’t finish during class and got in trouble for “talking back” and “disrupting the class.”

I’m in high school. It’s mid-October. I’m in Spanish class, and my teacher is talking about holidays. I’m Puerto Rican and my teacher is Mexican. By a quirk of the schedule, I’m the only student with any kind of Spanish/Latina heritage in the class. My teacher knows this.

Teacher: “…and Dia de Los Muertos. Anyone heard of it?”

We all look at each other and shrug. No one has heard of this holiday.

Teacher: “Okay, we’ll start at the beginning. Señorita [My Name]. What is Dia de Los Muertos?”

Me: “Um… it literally translates to Day of the Dead.”

Teacher: “Good. Now, tell us about it.”

Me: “But I don’t know what it is.” 

Teacher: “Very funny. What does this holiday celebrate?”

Me: “I really don’t know.”

She stares at me expectantly. I shrug.

Teacher: “You’re Mexican and you don’t know?”

Me: “Señora, I’m Puerto Rican. I’ve never heard of this holiday in my life.”

Teacher: “Catholics in Puerto Rico don’t celebrate Dia de Los Muertos?”

Me: “I’m a Protestant, Señora.”

Teacher: “Oh.”