This story takes place back in the late 90s, when things at the high school level were very different. For context, I was a senior in high school and technically had enough credits to graduate after my junior year. I’d earned extra gym credits early through martial arts, and my test scores and coursework were solid. However, I decided to stick around for my senior year to graduate with my friends.
Since I didn’t need any particular classes, I filled my schedule with a mix of things that looked good to colleges—AP courses like U.S. Government, Physics, and Anatomy & Physiology—alongside some random electives like Jewelry 2. But after realizing I didn’t care about certain classes and didn’t want to risk lowering my GPA, I dropped Physics, Government, and the jewelry class. This left me with three open periods surrounding lunch. It was glorious.
Because both my parents worked, no one realized something was amiss—until we discovered our answering machine was broken. Back then, schools would leave messages for everything, and apparently, mine had been calling three times a day to inform my parents that I wasn’t attending a “study hall” class I’d been assigned to after dropping my other classes.
In previous years, dropped classes would just result in free periods, so this was new. Oddly, no one at the school mentioned it to me directly or sent anything home. But the woman making the calls was relentless—and not exactly pleasant. After the first few days, her messages became increasingly nasty, accusing us of irresponsibility and making ominous comments.
When my mom started taking some time off from her job as a hairstylist, she was home to answer the calls. She calmly told the woman that it wasn’t a big deal: my grades were good, I could technically graduate already, and my college applications were submitted. That didn’t go over well. The woman lost it, berating my mom about how irresponsible we were and even threatening to ruin my college applications. She escalated her efforts, calling every single day and every single period I missed—even after repeated phone calls and in-person meetings where my parents tried to clear things up.
Turns out, the school claimed they were legally obligated to report every instance of “unapproved truancy,” even though my parents had made it clear they were fine with my open periods. The school demanded a written statement from my parents acknowledging that they knew I was skipping and even wanted them to write bizarre, over-the-top things like admitting they were bad parents. Naturally, my mom refused.
But then she got an idea.
She played along and told the woman to call her every single time I missed a period. Every. Single. Time. When the calls came in, my mom would pretend to deliberate. “Hmm, do I approve of him missing this period? I don’t know, let me think about it…” Then, she’d finally say, “Okay, just this one time. But make sure to call me again if he misses anything else.”
This went on for five months. My mom dragged it out, knowing full well I’d be missing three periods a day until graduation. The school eventually gave up about a month before I graduated, and the relentless calls finally stopped.
To this day, my mom looks back fondly on the months she spent driving that woman—Sarah—up the wall. It was a masterclass in petty revenge.
