Category: Staff


Conspire Against Attire

| Australia | Ignoring/Inattentive, Lazy/Unhelpful, Staff

(I have graduated with an honours degree and I am picking up my robes on the day of the graduation. My friend, who is also an honours graduate, is in line just before me. I approach the counter and provide my student ID.)

Lady At Desk: “Okay… Bachelor’s degree in [subject]?”

Me: “No, honours degree.”

Lady At Desk: *types something* “Okay, proceed to the robe fitting.”

(I move to the next station. As I’m getting fitted with my robes, I notice my friend getting fitted with his hood and leaving. After he has left, I approach the man fitting the hoods and he goes to put a bachelor’s hood on me.)

Me: “No, I need the hood for honours.”

Man: “They’re the same.”

Me: “No, they’re not; please give me the honours hood!”

Man: “They’re the same!”

(This goes back and forth for a bit before I leave, feeling upset and defeated. My parents meet me outside, see that I have the wrong hood and insist I go back and complain. Upon returning…)

Me: “Hi, I’ve been given the wrong hood; can you please give me the honours hood instead of bachelor’s?”

Lady At Desk: “Our systems tell us you need the bachelor’s hood.”

Me: “But I’m an honours student – not bachelor’s!”

Lady At Desk: “I’m sorry, I can’t help you.”

Me: “Can I speak to someone else?”

(I ended up speaking to another staff member, who was very helpful and called the graduate centre to confirm I needed the honours hood. I ended up graduating in the correct attire. Upon speaking to some of the other honours graduates, there was another who experienced the same problem!)


You’re All Sixes And Sevens

| USA | Ignoring/Inattentive, Staff

(In my middle school, the seventh to ninth graders each have their own lunch period. My friend had a crazy growth spurt the summer before we started seventh grade, and at the age of 13 he’s already almost six feet tall. It’s our first day of middle school, and while waiting in line to pay for my lunch, I see the lunch lady confront my friend.)

Lunch Lady: “Put the food down and get out of here.”

Friend: “Wh-what?”

Lunch Lady: “You don’t belong here. Get out of here and go to class.”

Friend: “I’m— this is my lunch period. I’m in seventh grade. ”

Lunch Lady: “You are NOT in seventh grade. Get out of line and go to class.”

(My friend, who was VERY shy, didn’t know what to do, so he just left his food at the counter and wandered off. I found out later that he didn’t eat lunch for three days, until one of the teachers finally found out what happened and managed to convince the lunch lady that he really was only 13.)


Giving You A Sporting Chance

| MD, USA | Ignoring/Inattentive, Sports, Staff

(I have always hated gym class, less for actual content and more because every teacher I’ve ever had has run it horribly. In freshman year, my high school gym credit consisted of me standing in a gym for forty minutes three times a week while the school jocks hogged the ball in every sport, with me standing still, bored to tears, so I’m pretty sour on the whole thing. At the end of my freshman year I’m transferring to another school and I’m talking about classes with the counselor. I don’t actually get to make my schedule, I just give input.)

Me: “At this point I don’t really care which class you fit me in. I’d like to take music or art, though, since we don’t have much of that at my school. I just don’t want to take gym class.”

Counselor: “Okay.”

Me: “I’m serious. I have my gym credit and I’m not doing that again, so don’t you dare try to put me in one.”

Counselor: “Don’t worry, I promise you won’t have to take gym class.”

Me: “Great. Thank you.”

(School ends, summer goes by, and before I know it, it’s the first day of school. Schedules are handed out in homeroom, and when I get mine, it says the first class after lunch is called “Today’s Sports,” in the gym.)

Me: “I don’t think this is my schedule.”

Homeroom Teacher: “It has your name on it.”

Me: “Then it’s wrong.”

Homeroom Teacher: “Well, you can talk to your counselor later. Right now, get out your journal and answer the question on the board.”

(I try to see the counselor, but nothing comes of it before lunch ends and I go to the gymnasium where the gym teacher gives us a standard “welcome to class” introduction.)

Gym Teacher: “For the rest of the day we’re going to be splitting into two teams and just play a friendly game of basketball.”

Me: “There’s been a mistake. I’m not supposed to be in this class.”

Gym Teacher: “You’re on my list.”

Me: “One of the things they agreed to when I was transferring to this school was that I would not take gym class again. I was promised I wouldn’t have to.”

Gym Teacher: “Well, you’re here so you might as well participate.”

Me: “No. I’m sitting out.”

Gym Teacher: “If you sit out, you’ll get a 0.”

Me: “I already passed gym with an A+.”

(The teacher tries several more times to get me to participate, but I refuse and he eventually gives up. I sit against the wall and read. This goes on for several more days before I finally meet with the counselor about my schedule.)

Counselor: “What’s wrong? It says here you haven’t been participating in one of your classes.”

Me: “The one thing I said I wanted for my schedule this year was to NOT take gym class. You signed me up for gym class.”

Counselor: “No, I didn’t.”

Me: “Yes, you did!” *I point to the class on my schedule* “See?”

Counselor: “That’s not gym class. That’s Today’s Sports.”

Me: “It’s the same thing!”

Counselor: “No, it isn’t. Gym class is for health credit. This is for your elective credit.”

Me: “That’s not even CLOSE to the point!”

Counselor: “I don’t understand what the problem is.”

Me: “The problem is I refuse to take this class.”

Counselor: “You’ll get a 0 if you don’t participate.”

Me: “I don’t care.”

(She relented and transferred me to music class, which to my surprise was taught by the music director for my church. I had three great years of classes with her, and come my senior year there I only needed to take two more classes to graduate, leaving six empty slots I could have used to make up the 0 elective if they really hadn’t transferred me. I was, and still am, much happier getting my exercise solo, with friends, or at least people who don’t muscle me out with a teacher who doesn’t care and just passes everyone.)


One Key Problem

| UK | Bad Behavior, Staff

(I’m the front-desk administrator, signing-in a visitor who has just arrived for an interview. The deputy head, who looks young and wears casual clothes to cycle in the mornings, comes in to borrow a set of keys.)

Deputy: “Morning, [My Name].”

(The deputy reaches over the counter for the keys.)

Visitor: “EXCUSE ME! You do not interrupt. You should have respect. Don’t speak to an adult like that. And don’t even think about answering back. Do you think you can take those keys without permission? What do you say?”

Deputy: “I say whatever I feel like.” *tosses keys into a pocket and walks inside*

(Visitor continues muttering as he takes his seat in the waiting area. Minutes later, the deputy, now wearing work attire, and assistant, come to take him for interview.)

Deputy: “[Deputy], Deputy head. Now, you can talk to me however you desire, but if that was any clue to how you plan to treat my students, then we have a serious problem.”


Graduated On A Knife-Edge

| VA, USA | Staff, Teachers

(I work part-time as a computer technician for my former school district while attending a local college. This job sends me to all 19 of our schools, including the schools I attended as a child, where most faculty still know me. On a Monday morning I respond to several work orders at my former high school, from where I graduated less than two years before the day in question. While working in the library workroom on student tablets, the Spanish teacher that I had as a freshman comes in to use a copier. I see her take a toner cartridge box down from the shelf.)

Me: “Is the copier out of toner?”

Teacher: “Yes, but [Librarian] has taught me how to put a new cartridge in, so I’m doing that now.”

Me: *noticing teacher having difficulty breaking the tape with her fingernails* “Here, let me help you with that.” *pulls out pocket knife and cuts the tape on the box*

Teacher: “Oh, thank you!”

Me: “You know, five years ago, you would have written me up for pulling that out here.”

Teacher: “Five years?! It’s been that long?!”

Me: “Yes, five years ago I was a freshman in your class. And now I’m allowed to carry a knife. Now you have a good day.”

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