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.

This story reminds me of a history teacher I had. He was SO strict, everyone was terrified of him. And his wife — a French teacher at the same school — was worse. Terrible bullies, the pair of them. But, for some reason, he REALLY hated me.

We had him for the first period after lunch, in a “terrapin block” — a set of “temporary” classrooms, set up on brick plinths on some waste ground beside the main school buildings. To access the classroom, you had to go up a set of steep concrete stairs. Because we couldn’t be trusted — naturally, as we were school children — the school mandated that these classrooms must be locked at break times. The first teacher in the room after break had to collect the key from the office and unlock the classrooms.

One day, [History Teacher] was very late. We were all queued up on the steps but stood to either side to allow him free access to the door. He made us line up with girls to the left (because they should be LEFT out of his lessons) and the boys to the right (because they were always RIGHT in his lessons); his reasons, as stated to us, are given in parentheses.

I happened to be at the front. Some of the other girls in the class were pushing each other forward, and therefore into me. I was using the door handle to anchor myself to push back against them, so as not to get in trouble with [History Teacher] by being on the right. He eventually came along.

History Teacher: *Very snappily* “I can’t possibly access the lock if you have your hand on the door handle.”

The lock was readily accessible. I tried to explain, but he cut me off.

History Teacher: *Angrily* “Remove your hand from the door!”

So, I did.

And just at that moment, one of the girls gave an almighty shove to the girl in front of her, who barrelled into me, causing me to barge into the teacher, knocking him off his feet, as he was completely unprepared.

He tried to give me a detention for that one, but the teacher in the adjoining terrapin confirmed my story — that I had tried to warn him and then done exactly as he told me — so that went nowhere. I don’t think it made him like me any more than before, though.

Related:
When You Wish They’d Cool Off A Bit

My boss used to be a teacher in IT at university. He had the weirdest quirk for a teacher — at least compared to my own student experience.

During any written (noted) assignment, students were allowed to ask him any question they wanted, and he would answer them legitimately and correctly. In exchange, he would dock an amount of points depending on the importance of the answer.

His reason: in IT, when you are locked, you pay for a consultant. So, in order to prepare his students for real life, he applied the same principle.

I had a similar interaction to the one in this story with my senior-year English teacher. She hated me. She once pulled me aside after class to accuse me of doodling the entire time. We were reading “Hamlet” at the time, and even though her interpretations of everything were always way off, I knew that if my answers didn’t match hers, I’d be “wrong”. So, I made a point of taking copious notes that day.

This was in 2000 or 2001, so the days of black notebook paper, which I was using. She couldn’t read it, but she could tell she’d been wrong, and she looked like I’d made her eat s***. She very grudgingly let me off with:

Teacher: “Well… as long as you can read it.”

Me: *Happily* “I can!”

And I mentally flipped her off on my way out the door.

Related:
When You Wish They’d Cool Off A Bit