The Chip Bag Incident

Yesterday I was jokingly reprimanded by a colleague for not squashing a box lid before putting it in the recycle bin (exciting stuff, I know.  Our office is rockin'!) and I was (mostly jokingly) piqued because I knew I hadn't put the box lid in there in the first place (and would have squashed if I had!). She assumed it was me because the box lid had my name on it - and I was suddenly reminded of an incident, which still rankles, from my primary school days.

I've always been one of those people who thrives on positive feedback and hates being told off. If I did something wrong which I thought might result in a telling off, I would lose sleep, my heart rate would increase and adrenaline would start singing round my body as I imagined the anticipated reprimand.  These days I'm aware of how much of a ridiculous overreaction this is, and can talk myself down most of the time. As a manager, I have to put my neck on the line for my team sometimes, and I know that sometimes there is good reason for doing something which might antagonise someone in authority.  Still, it's deeply entrenched.

Anyway, when I was at primary school we could order our lunch from several of the shops over the road from the school, one of which was a fish and chip shop.  We would write our name, room number and order on an envelope, put the money inside the envelope and post it through the shop door before school.  Then, just before lunchtime, the lunch monitors would go and collect all the lunch orders and distribute them.  One afternoon, when I was about seven, after a very satisfying hot dog (this kind) and chips (fries) for lunch, I was back in class when a note arrived - "Could Renee please come and see Mr Allen in Room 12".

I was not the kind of kid who got summonsed places very often, except to receive accolades (yes, I was THAT kid at school) so I was confused but not too worried.  But when I entered the classroom full of very big and scary-looking Form Two (eleven and twelve year olds) kids, my heart began to thump in my chest.  I made my way to the front of the class where Mr Allen, a large balding man with a booming voice, stood waiting, holding an empty and crumpled-looking paper bag.  I can't recall the exact conversation, but I imagine it went something like this:

Mr A: Is this your lunch bag? (holding up the ketchupy bag with an envelope stapled to the front, displaying my name in big, bold, 7-year-old handwriting)
Me: Yes.
Mr A: Well why didn't you throw it in the rubbish bin?
Me: Um, what do you mean?
Mr A: I found it blowing around the playground.  We don't tolerate littering in this school.  Why didn't you put it in the rubbish bin?
Me: But...I didn't drop it.  I gave it to my friend because there were some chips left that I didn't want.
Mr A: Well it has your name on it.  You need to make sure your rubbish goes in the bin.  Make sure you do next time.

At this point my knees were shaking, I could barely breath and it's a miracle I didn't wet my pants, so horrified was I at being thought a litterer and a Bad Child.  I knew it wasn't my fault, but this didn't seem to make any difference to the large scary man in front of me.  I heard several sniggers as I fled from the classroom and I could feel the laughing eyes of the very grown up (in my mind anyway) Form Two kids, my idols, on me as I went.

I still remember the name of the girl who was the actual littering culprit, and I'm pretty sure I never let her finish my chips again.  I'm sure Mr Allen would be horrified to know that this one experience is so firmly burned into my brain (or maybe he'd be pleased; some teachers are quite sadistic), but I think this was also the first of a number of experiences that started to show me that authority figures are not always right. I didn't fight back that time, but it put me on the right path to challenge in the future.

Do other people have such a horror of being told off, particularly when it seems unjustified?