During my sophomore year of high school, I had a particularly difficult time in my algebra honors class. Our teacher had a tendency to provide notes and assign homework that rarely matched the assessments given in class. There were often questions that looked nothing like the problems we had practiced, meaning that we typically found ourselves stumped.

Matters weren’t helped by the fact that our teacher was not very receptive to students that asked for help during work time in class. She would usually say something almost identical to what she had said during lessons (which was often precisely what students would ask about for clarification) and then not elaborate any further. Most of the time, she sounded frustrated and vaguely irritated that students would ask her for help. As the year progressed, students stopped asking her for help altogether and tried to band together when stumped by a problem or concept.

She also seemed to be annoyed whenever we expressed our frustration with the tests, saying that we needed to study harder and apply ourselves more. Our teacher said that the class was supposed to be challenging, and implied that perhaps we weren’t able to meet those challenges.

I became increasingly distraught as the year continued. Math is not my strongest subject, but I’ve always worked and studied very hard to make up for my lack of talent in that area. Learning that the majority of my studying was meaningless in the face of completely different (and often more difficult) problems was very discouraging. No matter how many detailed notes I took, or extra homework problems I attempted, I barely managed to score above a C on most tests. I only scored higher on our projects, which most of my classmates disliked. I didn’t mind them as much because I could use them to more accurately demonstrate my understanding than on the baffling tests.

At the end of my sophomore year, she announced to the class that she was moving to a new city and thus not teaching again at our school next year. I was privately relieved, but otherwise thought little else of her departure.

It wasn’t until earlier this year when I learned from some old classmates that there was more to the story. Apparently, a large number of my peers became upset with their grades on one of our aforementioned projects and wanted to hear our teacher’s reasoning. (I was unaware of this because for once, I was actually content with my grade and had no desire to change it.) So many students approached her that she said she didn’t have enough time left to listen to all of them, and asked for them to return tomorrow. They agreed to this plan and left.

When they approached her the next day, she informed the group that this day was the end of a marking period and that their project grades were now locked in. She couldn’t change them anymore.

Understandably, my classmates were ticked. This incident set off a series of events that snowballed into a meeting in the school auditorium with administrators. Students and their parents finally aired all of their complaints towards our teacher, both regarding this specific incident and what had been occurring in class all year.

The end result was that our teacher was asked to leave at the end of the year and seek a job elsewhere. While learning this knowledge hasn’t undone all the damage from that year, it has made my frustration feel both validated and recompensed in some sense. If she is still teaching, I hope she is doing well for herself and that she changed her teaching methods after that experience.

(Long ago, when I was 15, I collapsed from horrid menstrual pain and had to go to the ER. Turned out all I had to do was take a pain pill beforehand to stop me from getting sick and blacking out. However, my periods are show up whenever they want, so I don’t have a warning at all. One morning, I wake up with a very bad feeling in my guts, I go to the bathroom and check my underwear, yup it’s here unannounced as usual. I know I just have little time before it really shakes me, so I search in my purse for my pills, but they are not there. I start to panic. Note: I’m usually very calm and quiet sort.)

Me: “OMG! My pills aren’t anywhere! Where are they?!?!”

Brother: “What’s wrong?”

Me: “My horrible THING is here and I’m gonna be throwing up soon and fainting—” *I start to hyperventilate*

(My poor brother starts panicking too, looking for them, and my dad comes out, looking worried.)

Dad: “What’s all the fuss?”

Me: “My pain pills are missing! I’m gonna be sick and puke again! I’ll have to go to the ER! What’ll I dooo?”

(If you’re wondering why I don’t just go and buy some more, once I tried that, and got sick while driving, it was awful. Finally, dad asks my stepmom for some pills and she gives me some. I still get too sick to move though, but at least the pain isn’t as bad. Later, when I’m okay again, my brother comes up to me.)

Brother: “You really have to make sure you have your pills for your thing. Me and dad got all upset by your panicked yelling.”

Me: “Sorrrrry. I thought I had it in my purse.”

(I didn’t mean to scare them, but at least they don’t have to worry about fainting every month!)

I’m a high school teacher chaperoning a school trip to Panama. We’re flying out of Newark with a connection in Atlanta, but we miss the connection because the first flight is delayed. The next flight to Panama isn’t until the following evening, so the tour company sets up a sightseeing tour for the day we’ll spend in Atlanta. One of the students is writing an article for the school newspaper and is interviewing the other kids about the situation. The responses I overhear are as follows:

Student #1: It sucks that we’re missing a day in Panama.
Student #2: It’s nice that we’ll get to see Atlanta.
Student #3: As long as I get to eat…

(I work for a bath remodel company that sometimes sends it’s employees to a certain big box home improvement store. We pretty much stand at a display all day and ask people if they’d like to sign up for an inspection. To entice people we have baskets full of candy. Ontop of that, this literally just happened and it’s not even 10:00 a.m.)

Location:
(I’m standing at the end of the plumbing section when this lady and her husband walk past me.)

Customer: “Oh, are you just handing out candy?”

Me (jokingly): Essentially!

(We both chuckle at the remark and we don’t say a single word to one another afterwards. I later look down the plumbing section and see this lady and her husband sword fighting with pieces of PVC pipe. They break them of course, and when an actual employee of the store comes to speak to them, the refuse to pay for them and proceed to leave.)

In Muscat, Oman, a few years back I’m killing time wandering through the mall when a woman in a cosmetics store steps out to try to sell me a moisturising face cream, especially designed for men. Despite telling her I have literally no money or credit card on me – this was true; both were in the hotel room safe – she insists I should try it, no obligation.
Me: “Okay, but as I said, I’m not buying anything today. My money is back at the hotel”
Saleswoman: “No problem. No pressure. Just try it.”
Me: “Okay, I’ll give it a go. But as I said, I won’t be buying today”
Saleswoman: “That’s fine. Follow me”
She leads me to a chair, sits me down and starts applying the moisturiser, telling me it’ll make me look so much younger.
Saleswoman: “Do you usually moisturise?”
Me: “Sometimes. Not usually, no.”
Saleswoman: “I can tell. How old are you, 38, 40? Because you’re not moisturising you look 45.”
Me: (holding in the urge to laugh as I was actually 55): “Hmm, are you sure you want to go with that line of sales talk?”
Saleswoman: (ignoring me) “This product is only [some ludicrously high price]. And today I can give you a discount so it’s only [some still ridiculously high price]. Let me wrap up one for you.”
Me: “Um, I thought I was clear that I’m not buying anything today. My money is back at the hotel.”
Saleswoman: “Today’s price is today only. You have to buy it now if you want that price. You can pay by card!”
Me: “I told you I don’t have my money or my card. So, no, that’s not going to happen”
Cue hurt expression, blocking my way as I attempted to leave, and multiple attempts to implore me to change my mind, as I walked off.

I have to wonder why anyone would think ignoring what the potential customer is saying and/or assuming they’re lying were viable sales tactics.