So at my school, there is a teacher whom I shall from here on out refer to as “Mr. P.” Mr. P teaches World History and Humanities, the latter of the two I took last year. When he is not teaching, Mr. P frequently wanders the halls of the school, ducking into classrooms to harass kids he knows and sometimes other teachers. It just so happens that he is friends with my current math teacher, who will be known as Mr. V. Nearly every day, (seriously, the whole class, teacher included, once had a mock betting pool set up for what time he would arrive) Mr. P will at some point come into the room, mess up the hair of the couple of kids sitting closest to the door, and then talk for a bit to Mr. V about either teacher-ly things or something completely irrelevant. On Friday, something close to the following exchange took place.
Mr. P walks into the room and, after getting his obligatory hair-tousling ritual out of the way, asks, “So what are you guys learning?”
“Quartic functions,” replies a classmate.
“Oh yeah,” Mr. P says, “‘Cuz the last time I did my taxes, I thought to myself, ‘Man, this would be so much easier if I knew how to do quartic functions.’”
Mr. V says something that I can’t remember in response, and Mr. P calls him a nerd. At this point, one of my classmates says something to the effect of, “Oh, and you aren’t?”
“I’m not a nerd,” Mr. P says, “I think I’m probably more of a dork. But why do you think Mr. V and I are even friends? It’s because I need a nerd like him to do stuff like hook up my PlayStation for me.”
Mr. V retaliates with a jab at Mr. P’s subject: “And the whole time I was doing that, I was thinking to myself, “I wish I knew more about the Revolutionary War. That’d just be so helpful right now.”
Mr. P turns to the rest of the class. “Do you guys know why Mr. V is bald? It's because he's a neo-Nzai. See, if he knew his history, he would know better that fascism is bad.”
“I'm not bald; I shave
my head. And unlike Mr. P, I’m a nice person. I don’t have to put down other people to feel good about myself.”
“Yeah, Mr. V’s right; I am mean. You know why? Because when I was in school I had a math teacher who was so mean to me. She was always saying stuff like ‘you’re so stupid, can’t you do anything right?’ She just made me feel so bad about myself that it ruined my self-esteem and it’s thanks to her and math I’m so mean now.”
After this, Mr. V takes advantage of the fact that this is his classroom after all, and tells Mr. P to skedaddle so he can teach his class. Mr. P finally shuffles out to lurk the halls, ruining the hair of any poor sap he encounters on the way who isn’t careful.
For bonus points, Mr. P is actually married to a lady who teaches math at the same school. And next semester, I’ll be in her
-::h e l i o m a n c e r::-