My grade went on a field trip to a national park. We were split into several groups, each supervised by a different adult. Most of these groups managed to follow their assigned trails, break for lunch, and get back to the buses within the assigned time frame.

Not my group. Things started going wrong immediately. Our adult let us vote on which path to take, and we chose the longest hiking route — one that simple math showed would be impossible to complete before pick-up time. Not that anyone listened to me trying to point it out.

Then, a few kilometers in, we took a wrong turn. I’ve hiked before, and I was familiar with the path markers. The adult in charge was not. I tried to tell him it was the wrong route, but he didn’t want to listen to a little girl.

The new route we were on did not circle back to the parking lot at all.

Our adult did, at some point, figure out that something was wrong. Unfortunately, his solution was twofold: he refused to let us stop for a lunch break, and he took us off of the marked paths.

I tried to tell him that we should either sit and wait until rescued or turn around and follow the path back, and that eating lunch would help us feel and think better. I think that made him more convinced his idea was correct. He did not like the idea of listening to a little girl.

Long story short, the sun was starting to set when the park rangers found us and led us out of the park.

The kicker is that our group’s adult wasn’t a teacher and didn’t have any wilderness or educational training. He was the adult layabout son of the vice principal and had been voluntold to lead a group. He’d mismanaged other events for the school in the past, but none to this extent.

I don’t know what punishment he suffered as a result of his repeated mistakes (I cheerfully told the park rangers everything he did wrong as we were walking back), but he never showed up to participate in a school event again.

I used to work at an outdoor education program that involves middle schools bringing their students to stay overnight for three to five days. One week, we had a slightly more affluent group, and one of the girls was having a birthday during the week. This happens all the time, so we’ll usually sing for the kids, and their parents can pack a card and treat for them.

This girl’s dad did not find this celebratory enough. He asked the school to ask my boss if he could fly his plane over the field and drop bags of candy for the kids. The camp owner obviously said no because this was a huge safety issue and he didn’t want to get sued. The teachers told us that it would not happen.

Then, during the week, we started to hear murmurs from the teachers that maybe the dad was planning to do it anyway. My boss confronted them and they assured her that it definitely wasn’t going to happen, that they were just talking about how they would have done it if they could have. My boss was very suspicious, so on the day of the girl’s birthday, she warned us to drop off our kids with the teachers for our break and go straight back to our cabins so we wouldn’t be around and liable just in case.

Sure enough, a few minutes later, the dad flew by and started dropping trash bags full of candy out of his plane. He clearly was not well-practiced in this because the majority of the bags ended up landing in trees and getting caught there.

My boss was furious and the school was banned from ever returning. I think the camp director also tried to get the dad fined for littering because of all the trash bags in the trees, but I’m not sure if that ever went anywhere. Luckily, no kids were hurt.

During PE (Physical Education or gym class) in my senior year of high school, the teacher decided we’d spend a couple of weeks learning about and playing baseball. I’d always enjoyed PE, and this particular teacher was great. He’d lay out the rules of various sports, have us practice drills for a few days, and then run two sets of games: one competitive and one for fun. We students were allowed to choose which we did; that way, we could be with classmates on our own skill levels. For example, during our volleyball session, I played on the fun side as I’m terrible at volleyball. When we did soccer, I played on the competitive side because I was on the school team.

When it came time to actually play baseball, the coach said that just for the first game, we would all play together (he split us into teams with equal amounts of “new” players and “experienced” players) so that he could pitch. He stressed that he wanted everyone to be able to hit the ball, so he would be very generous with pitching and calling a fair ball versus a foul or strike.

I approached him as we headed out to the baseball field and explained that I was especially terrible at hitting a ball. I literally struck out multiple times in tee ball, a younger child’s version of baseball where the ball is set in front of the hitter on a stationary tee. It’s hard to strike out as much as I did; I actually found out in adulthood that I have a mild eye condition that makes things like hitting baseballs and volleyballs difficult. But I had a solution! One of my classmates was on the school’s baseball team but had a sprained ankle. Meanwhile, I was captain of the school’s track and field team and had previously captained the cross country team; my classmate could hit for me and I’d be his designated runner.

It made sense to my classmate and me, but the teacher said he really wanted everyone to feel good about being able to hit the ball. So, when my team was at bat, I got in line and waited. All my classmates hit the ball in four or fewer tries, so I thought maybe I’d have a chance. The teacher was pitching well, and very gently for us new players.

But when I got to the plate, I couldn’t hit the ball to save my life. After about ten strikes, I suggested that we go with my plan to be my injured classmate’s designated runner. After twenty, I suggested it again and assured him that my self-confidence in sports and otherwise was fine. I had multiple varsity letters in five different sports; I just wasn’t good at baseball.

Finally, after — and I’m not exaggerating — thirty-two strikes, the teacher saw how bored everyone else was and how non-existent my hitting skills were, so he let my injured classmate up to the plate. My classmate instantly hit the ball deep into the outfield, and I sprinted to second base. With the game finally moving again, I was even able to score! I was a designated runner for the rest of the baseball session.

Even in the moment, I appreciated that he was sincerely trying to help. He didn’t want me to be embarrassed at being the only one to strike out. It just took him a bit to realize that not only was I unbelievably bad at hitting, but I also wasn’t embarrassed by it. More than anything, I was amused by the whole situation, and it still makes me laugh years later.

Classmate #1: “I can’t wait for break. We’re going to Nepal.”

Classmate #2: “What are you going to do there?”

Classmate #1: “Dunno yet. I’m trying to find things to do, but I can’t find it on the map.”

Classmate #3: “[Classmate #1], Nepal’s in Asia. That’s a map of Mexico.”

Classmate #1: “Nonsense. It’s somewhere here on the west coast.”

Sometime later…

Classmate #1: “Told you! Here it is.”

Classmate #3: “That’s still not… You know what? I hope you enjoy your vacation. You should learn all about Nepal before you go.”

[Classmate #1] triumphantly showed us his map. He was pointing to Naples, on the coast of Italy.

Years ago, my Scout troop did a weekend bike trip. Part of the route went through an old railway tunnel. There was literally no risk of a train. The track had been closed for years if not decades, and that tunnel was officially part of a walking and biking path.

But that didn’t stop the Scoutmaster from being a smart aleck. He waited until we were halfway through and then pulled out a surprisingly loud wooden train whistle.

Any panic was very short-lived, as he only got two toots out before succumbing to laughter.

It was pretty funny in hindsight.