When I was in Spanish 3, one of our assignments was to translate a children’s book from English into Spanish. She suggested we get a book that’s a beginning reader level. My teacher’s only rule was we couldn’t use a Dr. Seuss book because the rhyming structure and the made-up words would be too difficult to translate. This was an in-class assignment we would be doing all the next week.

I will say, I was not a fan of this teacher. There were times I felt like she singled me out. I didn’t like her teaching style, and her personality clashed with mine. She also kept calling me a name that wasn’t my name, and I insisted she call me by my name, and that didn’t help things. I feel like the only reason she didn’t give me a harder time was that I was quiet, I did my work on time, I got mostly As and Bs, and I actually paid attention in class.

I went home and looked through my old children’s books and settled on a book about a bunny who had an identity crisis. It wasn’t written by Dr. Seuss and it was a beginner reader level, so I thought I was good to go.

The next time I had class, I brought in the book so I could do the assignment. I placed the book on my desk and, while I was getting paper out, one of my classmates saw the book on my desk and said, way too loud, “You’re not supposed to have a Dr. Seuss book!”

On the top right corner of the cover was a small picture of the Cat in the Hat with a seal that said, “Beginner Books: I can read all by myself!” The back cover of the book had some information about the Beginner Books, as well as a bigger picture of the Cat in the Hat. 

Beginner Books was created by Dr. Seuss, and most — if not all — Dr. Seuss books are Beginner Books, but not all Beginner Books are Dr. Seuss books. All it means is that it’s easy to read.

I tried to explain this to my teacher and I pointed out the extremely feminine author’s name, but my teacher refused to listen and made me pick another book.

A different classmate had brought in three or four books in case someone else couldn’t find a book to use, and she offered to let me use one for the assignment. I agreed, only because my teacher wouldn’t give me an extension and I would be wasting classtime doing nothing otherwise. 

I ended up with a B on the assignment. I still feel like if it had been anybody else, she would’ve let them translate the original book. This teacher was the reason I gave up studying Spanish and switched to Latin for my last two years of high school and took ASL in college.

Once, when I was in elementary school, the teacher took us all outside near the playground and told us to find four-leaf clovers. She said the first one to find one would get a treat. Then, she sat down, clearly expecting us to take hours.

I immediately saw a big clover poking out into the sidewalk and grabbed it. I counted the leaves — yup, there were four! — and shyly presented it to her. She looked very surprised and said that I had found one. She then asked where I had found it and I told her.

Many students said that I probably had it in my purse; at the time, pressed four-leaf clovers were popular to buy. But the teacher said no, this was obviously freshly picked and my family was poor and had no use for decorations.

She gave me the treat and I hoped for some luck. Sadly, none came and I figured it was only for Irish people. Oh, well. Maybe it was because I broke a mirror later in middle school.

For some reason, my twelfth-grade English teacher has trouble noticing I’m in the room. She was also my teacher for tenth and eleventh grade English without issue, just to add the confusion.

And I’m not imagining things either: I end up accidentally marked absent a few times because she fails to see me raising my hand or hear me calling out, “Here!” when she says my name during roll-call.

I end up having to ask the student next to me to answer for me for the rest of the year. He also takes it upon himself to point out to the teacher when I have my hand raised to answer questions in class. It’s not uncommon for the teacher to ask a question about whatever we’re discussing, me to raise my hand, her to ask incredulously if really no one knows the answer, and the student next to me to raise his hand to say that mine’s been up the whole time. The absences always get fixed and my grade is unaffected, so it’s pretty funny that I’m “invisible.”

The icing on the cake came the last week of school before graduation. The class president gave our English a picture frame with several pictures of our class, explaining that it was for her to remember us by. However, there was an oversight…

I took every single picture in the frame. The other sixty-eight students in my class were each in at least one picture, but I was in none of them. I really am invisible to that teacher!

At the start of my final year of high school, the school makes us all undertake a week of work experience. As I want to study law at university, I go to a local criminal solicitors’ firm. On my last day, one of the solicitors suggests I might be interested in going to a sentencing with him. On the way to the court, he tells me the client’s name and that they’re being sentenced for mugging someone. He parks the car, and we get out and start to head up the steps outside the court.

Solicitor: “Ah, that’s the family on the steps. Come on, we’d better go say hello. It’s polite and, you know, we’ll have to lend a bit of emotional support. I’ll also check they’re okay with you shadowing.”

Me: “Got it.”

I obediently follow him to a huddled group. As we approach, they fan out and say hello. I glance at them and then frown because one woman seems weirdly familiar. The woman is staring at me, as well.

Solicitor: “Hi, all. I just thought I’d come over and–”

Woman: “Don’t you go to my school?”

Everyone pauses and looks at me.

Me: *Very meekly* “Hi, Mrs. [Woman].”

It turned out that the client was the nephew of a teacher at my school. I hadn’t had any classes with her, so the surname hadn’t really rung a bell. Her family was incredibly lovely about me being there, saying it was at least nice that one of the teacher’s students could get some good out of it, but the teacher didn’t come into the courtroom — I think because I was there. For the remainder of the year, whenever we passed each other in the corridor, we couldn’t quite look each other in the eye.

I am tasked with taking a video inventory of my entire school. This worries the other teachers, as a lot of their classroom supplies are their personal property, not the district’s. I assure them that this is just for insurance purposes, and they have nothing to worry about. The day before I’m to begin the inventory, I send this email.

Email: “I know I’ve previously stated that the video inventory will not affect anything you personally own in your classroom. However, I have received word from the central office that anything on the recording will be considered district property. Please remove all personal furniture, books, posters, supplies, etc., from your rooms by the end of the day. See me if you have any questions.”

A few minutes later a teacher, who’s probably been in the same classroom for twenty years, comes storming into my room. She’s livid.

Teacher: “Do you have any idea how much personal equipment I have in my classroom? Do you have any idea how impossible it’s going to be for me to move it all out? Do you want to go down there right now and have a look?”

Me: “Look, let’s deal with this logically. First of all, what’s today’s date?”

Teacher: “April… first.” *Pause* “You son of a b****.”

Another teacher left a pile of feathers on my desk, with a note saying the tar was coming soon.