Ah, math class. I have a bunch of great stories from math. I'll tell them too. Later. The embarrassing one first. Well, not for me, but for another classmate.
So, this guy (we'll call him Ralph, his real name is actually on a similar tone of silliness) is notorious for being late. Like, 15 minutes late. Calc is first period for us (there's a 1st, 4th, and 8th period, second semester there was 4th and 8th), and we had the smallest (and strangest) class. High school btw. So Ralph is usually 5-10 minutes late every day, so that it has become a running gag almost. In fact, we didn't even know something was up until 20 minutes into class and he hadn't shown up. So 35 minutes into class here he comes, and class is about 5 minutes away from being done, so we're wrapping up. He then regales us with the story of why he was late: he got into a car accident. Not just any car accident, his jeep was too powerful for his brakes. Basically, his gas got stuck in the 'floor it' position as he came to a stop attempting to turn left. He applies full brakes, and still moves forward. Into the car coming the other way. The kicker? He was going to be on time. Of course. He was the silly one in the class (you all know the types, but it would be hard to figure out in this class which one was which), and we all joked about it for the rest of the semester. Or, rather, until his next hi jinks.
Next I'll tell you about the demonic math teacher who's older than the dirt she sleeps in.
So one day she's writing on the board in math class and puts down the marker mid-equation and just leaves. Just up and leaves. 10 minutes later she returns....with batteries. A lot of batteries. A good size box of batteries. And throws them away. Then goes straight back to finishing the equation. Another time, she spit on my arm while talking....it left a mark for days, and it burned. To this day we don't know whether she is a robot, a demon, a demon robot, or what. Whatever she is, it's very scary. And I do not want to meet it down a dark hallway.
I do remember as well when Ralph in an earlier class (junior year I believe..at least I think it was him) tried to chug (well, drink) two gallons of water. It...did not go well. It was kind of amusing to watch, since he was doing it while class was going, and trying to do it without the teacher noticing. By the time he got up for his third water break, she knew what was going on....and encouraged him. He couldn't finish the 2 gallons, but got one down, and promptly went to the bathroom.
Ooh! This one time at band camp (I played a trumpet) me and the rest of the last year's seniors who were cool enough to do it carried on the tradition of raiding the camp with water weapons. Guns, balloons, you name it, we got everyone wet. Including the directors, much to Ewan's dismay (impressive shot, btw, he's standing on a podium a good 30 meters away and up quite a distance, square in the chest). At the time we raided, brass, drums, and woodwinds were doing sectionals, so we had to split up after the initial push. Down by the brass, I got knocked flat on my butt. Blindsided, actually, by the best trumpet we had that year (I was better....no...no I wasn't....also, marching trumpet, there's a diminutive girl who blows him away in concert, two actually by now (was a freshman when I left, now a senior, she's amazing by now I bet), that seems to be the trend for good trumpets: small girls concert, tall guys marching). He then promptly took my gun and went to town on me. And the rest of them. I was dazed by the blow, he hit me that hard. We were good friends, so it wasn't that bad, but still. WE are supposed to be raiding THEM, not the other way around.