Story time, kids.
8th grade was a year when almost none of my friends were in my class. At a school where there were 72 kids in each grade, split into two classes each year, I got the bum luck of being in class with only two people that I considered friends. They were both boys, and spent most of their time trying to sneakily hurt each other, so I was bored a lot – except in science class.
To be honest, I don’t know why this guy didn’t just take an early retirement after trying to teach us. We were awful. The entire class was loud, disrespectful, and altogether uncontrollable.
This sort of behavior was certainly out of character for me, and I knew I wasn’t supposed to be doing it. Overtly breaking school and classroom rules wasn’t a thing I did. This is going to sound sad, and I suppose that’s because it is, but it was nice to feel like I was part of a group with my classmates. Even if we were acting abhorrently toward our teacher, I was at least part of the “we” for those moments. Shitty, huh?
I don’t remember how it started, but somehow we got our hands on glue sticks and popsicle sticks. The class was quieter than usual, with only hushed muttering instead of outright talking between the students. A boy sitting at my table started digging into the glue stick with the popsicle stick, pulling out a big ol’ chunk of glue. He inspected it, and without a moment’s hesitation, took aim at the whiteboard that our teacher was currently writing on, his back to us. Using the leverage from the popsicle stick, he flung it clear from the back of the room to smack into the whiteboard directly above the teacher’s hand.
If our teacher saw it, he made no mention of it. I honestly don’t think he ever knew a thing about what was going on behind his back that particular day, aside from the usual talking and giggling. Anyone who could get their hands on the materials was suddenly flinging globs of glue stick at the whiteboard, the ceiling, and each other.
My favorite aspect of this story (and I feel like an awful person for this), was when a bit of glue stick hit our teacher square in the back of the head. As we sat, horrified, watching this chunk of purple glue stick cling to the back of his head, there were several tense seconds where we thought the jig was up, and we were all going to get detention. However, when moment after moment passed without any change, we slowly realized that our poor old teacher was just that oblivious to what was going on that day.
Later on, I saw him go to scratch his head. He touched the glue, and pulled his hand back, confused, looking to see what was on it. I could barely contain my evil, juvenile laughter as I saw him look at the glue glob and mutter, “How the heck did that get there?”
It wasn’t nice at all, but to this day it makes me smile. Hopefully an old teacher can forgive some rude, ignorant children for trying to find a little mirthful joy at his expense.
More to follow.