Share Your Best Tales of Back-to-School Triumph and Humiliation

After Labor Day, students and teachers across the country will be headed back to classrooms for the beginning of a new school year. For some, this time of the year is brimming with opportunity. (What will you learn? Who will you meet?) For others, it’s a time of dread. (What WILL you learn? WHO will you meet?) The first day of school is always exciting and we want to hear your best stories—whether you were a teacher or a pupil—of classroom woe. Or joy! (But mostly woe.)

Here are a few anonymous submissions from the staff of Gawker Media:

On my first day of kindergarten, I pooped and I asked my teacher to wipe me and she said, “We don’t do that here.”

First day of school: “Where are all the black people?” -me

This lucky duck:

I went to a new school and a girl from my old school sent a girl from new school a note saying that I was great and the girl was really popular and I became instantly popular.

This less lucky duck:

My first day of american school, I called a girl greedy because she wouldn’t share the ball and it was one of the three English words I knew. She told the teacher I had called her the n-word, so i was up in the office crying and trying to explain myself in Russian.

And this wunderkind:

I was four when I started first grade and there was a bathroom in our classroom and I sang myself an extended song in it and when I left the bathroom, the teacher had to remind me that other people could hear me singing, not just me. I don’t think my brain was developed enough to understand that concept, which is proof that I should not have been in school.

But before we get into your classroom stories, here are the winners of last week’s Pissing Contest, Your Most Bizarre Experience at a Funeral or Wake.

As a Former Fetus, I Oppose Abortion (Funeral Ceremonies) by Green Pig:

Shortly after I moved to Atlanta, one of my co-worker’s daughters got pregnant at age 16 and somehow managed to have an abortion without parental knowledge or consent.

When my co-worker found out she hit the roof; she didn’t even realize her daughter was pregnant, let alone had an abortion on the sly.

My co-worker arranged for a memorial service at her church for her aborted grandchild – flowers, tiny casket, priest delivering a eulogy – the works. I went through the receiving line, but did not stay for the service.

Regardless of your stand on abortion, the memorial was over-the-top creepy, and personally I think was done to shame the daughter.

Mortician’s Delight by PRD:

FTW: my husband and I went to our former boss’ mother’s funeral. After his sister read a ‘poem’ about their mother—which was just a ten minute long list of things she liked (She liked the color blue. She liked smoking cigarettes…)- our former boss stepped to the front of the room and hit play on a small, old school boom box.

He had recorded a free style rap for his mother, which he performed and sang the chorus for, and played it for all the mourners. She has passed of lung cancer, and the most shocking line was something to the affect of “I told you to stop smoking but you didn’t, look at you now-six feet under.” Haven’t seen him since.

Thou Shall Not Steal Your Parishioner’s Eulogy by MEtheBarbarian:

This story is one that happened to a friend’s family. My friend’s father is an incredibly well-spoken, intelligent guy, so when his father died, he was chosen to give the eulogy.

On the morning of the service, the priest comes up to him and asks to see his speech, so he “won’t go over any of the same areas”. He gladly hands it over, and the preist later returns it.

Fast forward to the service. The priest gets up and word for word STEALS THE ENTIRE EULOGY. My friend’s poor father had to scribble down a whole new one in a few minutes while this horrible man laid claim to his original. They were PISSED.

They Eat Your Eyes, They Collapse Your Nose by thesquarerootof:

I am going to keep this one short and sweet.

My uncle died when I was 9. He was only 36. He was in a horrific car crash and frankly it was odd that there was an open casket viewing for the funeral, because it required extensive reconstruction for it to work, but my papa insisted, so we did it.

While it was uncanny enough that he looked like a weird combo of post nose job Michael Jackson and Mel Gibson, he looked enough like himself to bring those who viewed him closure.

That is, until my 12 year old cousin Holly (name changed), unable to control her impulses, reached down and squeezed his nose, causing part of it to collapse.

She honked his nose like a clown nose. And it collapsed. In front of me.

20 years later, I’m still traumatized.

CONGRATS, EVERYONE.

Now grab your books, straighten your knee socks, and sharpen your pencils. We’re going back to school!