Badass TeachersSubmitted by electrictoothsyndrome at 2004-10-23 16:42:19 EDT
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This post was inspired by this 'Pussy Teachers' post...enjoy! =)
It was my first day of 7th grade. The day had gone well considering the usual first day jitters, and disappointments that I had been placed in all the wrong classes. It seemed I was just a bit smarter than the hot chicks I desperately wanted to fuck in my young age. Maybe if I had listened to more Vanilla Ice and DJ Jazzy Jeff + The Fresh Prince it would have sufficiently lowered my IQ enough to be in the cool classes with all the hotties, but as fate would have it, my gift was a curse that would doom me to the dungeons of the public educational system with all the other dorks who knew how to count and make words.
I walked into my last period at the end of the day, still holding out hope that she would be there. Who, I wasn't sure, but I knew I needed someone onto whom I could fixate all my infatuations so that later on I could sucessfully compare all the other women in my to her and have them fall failingly short.
I looked at my schedule and drifted with the smell of new shoes and backpacks to Mr. Harkins 7th period science class. I usually tried to sit in the back of all my classes except for 7th period. In 7th period I always tried to sit as close to the front as possible so at the end of the day, I could get to my bus 2 seconds faster, so I could get the back of the bus seat, so I could, in turn, be 2 seconds SLOWER getting off the bus. (Don't ask me to try to explain the logic of a 12 year old; it's pretty much non-existent.)
Little did I know that this was no ordinary 7th period, because this was no ordinary science teacher, and my rush to be as close to the door as possible had unknowingly place me as close to the most psychotic teacher I would ever have possible.
The bell rang signalling the beginning of the end of my day... The infamous Mr. Harkins began to pass out our books, which to him were little more than pacifiers for all the asshole kids he'd be babysitting all year.
"Now," Mr. Harkins said, which with his authoritarian, ex-military, burly-man, southern drawl, came out as more of a yawping, "NEEEEOOOOOW!"
"NEEEEOOOOW, I gonna tell you all up front, my name is Mr. Harkins, and I don't tolerate cry babies. What is it I don't tolerate, BOY?" Mr. Harkins leaned over my workstation and glared me in my now quivering eyes.
"WHAT SON!? I CAN'T HEAR YEEE! SPEAK UP, BOY! WHAT WON'T I TOLERATE!?" He hadn't even given me a chance to answer really, and I sensed I was going to die as pee pee trickled down my shaking leg.
"THAT'S RIGHT, CRY BABIES! Now open your books to chapter 10 NEEEOOW!" I think that was the fastest I'd ever found a particular page in any book EVER. Chapter 10 flopped open on the desk before me almost instantaneously. Everyone else in class wasn't far behind as their books made a unanimous thud on their desks... One boy was not so lucky in his page turning because long after everyone else had long since finished finding their mark, Fat Boy Billy Johnson was still scrambling. This disturbance in the regimental force had not escaped the eagle eye of Mr. Harkins, and in a flash he was standing at Billy's desk screaming down at him.
"WHAT'S THE MATTER WITH YOU, FATBOY!? YOU HAVING PROBLEMS???"
Mr. Harkins turned back to me. "I think fatboy here's got problems what do you think, pencilneck?"
"Yes, sir." I answered, caring more for my own survival than Fatboy Billy Johnson's...
Again Mr. Harkins turned to Billy and begn screaming: "YOU'RE GONNA BE HAVING PROBLEMS IF YOU DON'T FIND CHAPTER 10 RIGHT NEEEOWW! THAT'S ONE ZERO IN CASE YOU CAN'T READ FATBOY, ONE ZERO...NEEEOW NEEEOW NEEEOW!!!" Mr. Harkins' face was completely red, and Fatboy Johnson was visibly shaking beneath Mr. Harkins' unnecessary verbal ejaculations. If any of the other classes could hear us through the walls, it must have sounded like a man alone in a room trying to wrestle with his own internal demons as he slowly went insane day by day...
At this point other than, 'Jesus, what an asshole', you might also be thinking, 'why is he opening to chapter 10 on the very first of the year'. Well, the reason he had us open to 10 was because it happened to be the longest chapter in the book.
"NEEEOW, I WANT YOU ALL TO GET OUT A PENCIL AND PAPER AND START COPYING CHAPTER 10, RIGHT NEEEOW!" he turned to me again. "NEEEOW PENCILNECK NEEEOW!!!"
I think Mr. Harkins came from the subconscious or osmosis philosophy of learning, because for the rest of the year he continued to have us copy random parts of the book and base our grade on how much of it we got copied. His grading scale was the most complex mathematical function I've yet seen devised. If we got it all done, we got an A. If we didn't, we got an F. Genius!
Once during the course of the year I was relieved of my copying duties, mainly because I tried to be as big of a kiss ass as possible in the hopes of avoiding Mr. Harkings' frequent outbursts, and was allowed to staple test packets together in the hallway. I ran out of staples, so I reloaded the stapler. Upon closing the stapler, I, in all my wisdom, forgot that the staples actually come out of one end, and stapled my middle and inex fingers together. My fingers instantly went numb, as I looked at them in curiousity. I showed my bloody fingers to Mr. Harkins.
"Mr. Harkins I stapled my fingers together, can I go to the office to get a band-aid?"
Mr. Harkins gave his cursory examination of the situation and said, "WELL, NEEEOW, look-a-there, class! Pencilneck done stapled his fingers together!" As if on cue the class looked up from their copying and laughed in perfect regimented unison.
"I guess I'm gonna have to start calling him 'Staples' ain't I BossMan?" Mr. Harkins had nicknames for everybody, mostly defamatory in nature, but 'Staples' was a step up for me.
"Yes SIR, Mr. Harkins!" Bossman, AKA Richard Harper, piped up.
"Ok, Staples...Bossman said you can go. But bring back the stapler first so Bossman can finish your job."
"Yes, sir, Mr. Harkins."
Yep, Mr. Harkins taught us many things, not least among which was the meaning of the terms Carpal Tunnel Syndrome, and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder.
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