When I was about 11 years old I was really into reading, and I would use every chance I had to do so. After finishing a test we were supposed to sit in our desks until the time was up, so naturally I used the extra time to read a little instead of staring at the ceiling or something.

One day, the new history teacher got angry at me for doing so and confiscated my fucking HISTORY book. I was absolutely perplexed. Maybe if I was reading something completely unrelated to our subject I'd understand, but come on, it was a history book! I was quite the passive aggressive cunt at the time so I just got another book (a history book too, I loved it back then) and basically defied him to confiscate it as well. Well, fuck me, he did. Other kids were still doing their test so I wasn't going to make a scene (I most likely was, looking back) but said to myself something along the lines of "game on then, motherfucker" and got yet another book (a novel this time, I wasn't that weird) from my backpack. Either I run out of books or he runs out of patience, I thought. Well, I wasn't carrying a 10kg backpack for nothing so he finally decided to call for the principal and end the madness.

He told my teacher to give me my books back and just let me read, and that he would call my parents to get my "attitude issues" sorted out. I was like wtf, that doesn't make any sense. Which, funnily enough, the same thing my mother said when she got the call.