Short but sweet, happened to my brother, not me…
Once, he was hanging out at the house of a friend, smoking an illegal herb-like substance. The friend was, shall we say, a purveyor of said illegal substance.
Who should walk in to make a purchase, but our uncle…
I just remembered another thing in High School Fench class. My senior year and I hated French. It was my 4th year of it and I didn’t need it to graduate so I just couldn’t be bothered. I noticed that the teacher took roll every day except when we had a test. She would use the tests handed in as attendance. The make-up tests were always the same as the original. Well that gave me an idea. What if I went to class got the test and didn’t hand it in?
I would go to class and get the test but when it came time to turn it in I slipped it in my notebook and walked out of class. I would go home and fill it out of course making sure I missed a few here and there. The next day I would show up to class and take the make-up having already memorized the answers. I would fill it out in minutes and then for the rest of the time pretend to be struggling over a couple questions.
I did this so much that the teacher called a parent teacher conference with the pricipal there because every time there was a test I was absent. She knew I was up to something but couldn’t figure out what. Luckily my mom stood up for me saying, “Well, he has been out sick a lot this year.” 
We got out of there and my mom asks “What are you up to?” I said “Nothing I just don’t like French class so I don’t go sometimes.” She just shook her head and said “Don’t get caught again.”
In my mom’s defence I should mention I was a straight A student and rarely in trouble before this. I told her a few years later what I had really been doing and at first she was a little pissed but then she laughed and said “At least they didn’t catch you doing that.”
Our class was studying for a High School Calculus final. The teacher was going over what he claimed “might” be on the final. It was obvious he was reading off of some notes that he had in front of him, probably a rough draft of the final (so we thought).
He left the room for a few minutes when another teacher came to the door. While he was out one of the guys in the class peeked at the teachers notes and pretty much told the class what was going to be on the test.
Needless to say, those of us that took the final pretty much just studied what we thought was going to be on the exam.
He slipped us a Mickey. Nothing on the actual exam even remotely resembled anything that he went over that day in class, or what the student read off of the teachers notes.
Can you say Flunk?
My best friend and I used to skip classes all the time in our senior year of highschool. We’d usually head to the mall, which was a short bus trip away.
So we’re wandering the mall, laughing about something, not looking where we’re going, and we smack right into someone. Our very strict and scary physics teacher. The guy who locks you out of the classroom if you’re more than 5 minutes late. The guy who makes you sit up front at HIS desk, so he can keep an eye on you, if he catches you goofing off in class!
Nobody says anything for a few seconds, and my friend and I are turning red and feeling very stupid. He looks down at us and asks “So, girls, what class are you skipping?” Embarrassed, wearing our best “we’ll never do it again, we swear” faces, we admit that we’re supposed to be in French class. Then he gives us a big smile and says “Well, as long as you’re not skipping my class, have fun shopping.”
Huh. Well now I don’t feel so bad about recording a game with only implied oral consent.
My grades in school are pretty chronically sucky - I can’t quite motivate myself to work. This year (senior year), it’s been pretty bad. The Mother Unit has not been happy.
Back in Febuary, Senior Cut Day rolls around. I am told by my mother that I Will Not Cut School. She drives me to school in the mornings, and wasn’t working that day, so I was stuck. She finally consented to let me go in late, in time for my first academic class (second period).
Right before we were about to leave, one of my friends called. She wanted to know if I wanted to do the mall/movie thing with her. My mom was standing, literally, two feet behind me the entire time. “Yeah, I’m going,” I said. “Just leaving now, actually.” She caught on pretty quickly, and asked if I wanted her to pick me up. “Yeah, I’ll see you there then, I guess.” She said she’d meet me in the student parking lot shortly.
Mom drops me off. I walk into the school, through the halls, out into the student lot, hop in my friend’s car, and off we go. We’re going to make a coffee stop at 7-11, only, as we’re pulling into the parking lot, my mom got out of her car and walked into the store. I was dead sure she’d seen me. She didn’t. Friends and I hung out at the mall for a good while, then went to see a movie. It ended at 4:30, and I realized that school ended at 2:30. Shit.
Borrowed a book that my friend had in her car, had her drop me off, told my mom we’d gone to the library after school to work on History. She has no idea.
Thanks to the Air Travel Tips thread, I remembered the second time I ever flew. My carry-on bag probably should have been checked but it did fit under my seat. The fact that nobody said anything about it might have been due to the bag itself: a big, green, military-issue duffel bag.
I checked it on my return trip, though.
My older brother moved in with our parents the summer after he graduated from college, which was between my second and third years. One week, my parents took off for the beach, and my brother decided to have several of our friends over for a cookout/mini-kegger. I had stayed in the fraternity house that summer, but came over and helped in the clean up. The house was spotless after the party, except someone was filling up an old tupperware pitcher from the keg. This pitcher had, at one time been used for orange juice, but hadn’t been used for a number of years.
For the rest of the week, my brother kept seeing this pitcher in the fridge, and assuming it had OJ in it. Our parents came home. My Mother opened the fridge, saw this pitcher, and wondered what it was doing in the fridge. She took it out and immediately noticed it was full of week-old, flat beer.
I immediately get a phone call, instructing me to “get my ass the hell home.” I drove home, knowing the jig was up. When I got there, my brother is at the kitchen table, having just had a new one torn into him, and my mother looked at me, with a look only a mother can give, and demands to know whether I knew my brother had thrown a party.
I immediately went into CYA mode, the way only a little brother can. “Robert told me you all said it was okay,” I lied.
You could have heard pin drop. I looked at my brother; his jaw is on the floor. His look was telling me just how much of a bastard I truely was. He nodded, and just accepted the string of verbal abuse that had been succesfully deflected his way.