Elementary, hellementary.
I attended a hellementary school that was the breeding ground of some of the worst bitches anyone could have the pleasure of meeting. And they were there to teach and we were there to learn.
One of those was my kindergarten teacher, the sumo wrestler in a dress. During recess you could always get an impressive panoramic view of the hem of her muumuu sweeping gracefully as her elephant-feet tramped along the grass.
She showed her ability to work with 5-year-olds, just so she drove us kiddies to tears with her enduring impatience and loving obnoxiousness. We were fortunate to have her for our first life sentences of primary education, weren't we?
One day we had an assignment-- do the math problems and color the fishes. The other kids finished it and turned it in with no problem. By the end of the half hour, I was the only one with the crayons still out. I glanced over at the bulldog in puffed sleeves. She was growing impatient.
Finally I slid out of my seat and dropped the worksheet into her bear paws. First a grunt, then a roar that sounded like my name. Then a loud rip.
I watched as the magenta hippopotamus tore my paper into colorful ribbons of crayola flesh and force fed them to the trash can. Then she thrust at me a fresh new paper. "Do it again," she mooed.
I returned to my seat, unable to discern what the wooly mammoth had just done. But I blindly began again. Soon I was back in the elephant's realm, staring at her staring at me.
She trumpeted something and mauled my paper into a dead rainbow. Again. A few monkeys from the back tittered. This was classic entertainment for them.
Third time: Tear, tear, rip, rip, rubbish can slam dunk. "How many times do I have to keep ripping up your paper?"
"Oh, that Christine!" screeched one of the chimps as I trudged back for round 4.
"I know!" the pink Chewbacca crowed.
I don't remember if I ever finished that damn worksheet. But I do believe that the moment was one of the rare times that Jesus would say that using the "f" word was okay. What I regret the most is not knowing the fucking "f" word at that time. I was only five, for fuck's sake.
And that's my first hellementary memory-- a scenario that could have been in an Animal Planet Safari special, complete with graphic desecration of abnormally large predator upon tiny helpless prey with indifferent species looking on, available on pay-per-view.
Six years later, I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance again, as a school library assistant. The hairy elephant had gotten a shit-colored perm, and was still in the same pink ruffles. She barked at me all afternoon as I shelved books and she sat on her lard ass.
Mrs.________, just to let you know, when I find your obituary, I'm framing it in gold. But if before that happens, I happen to be visiting a close friend or relative who's on life support and I happen to see you there, I'm pulling the plug on you myself.
But according to records, she passed away on March 2007, and she's buried at the same location my grandfather's buried. So all the vengeful shit I wrote above is void.
Well, wherever you are, I hope there's a bunch of hapless kids for you to torment for all eternity. Just to let you know, all the children's lives that you've touched, as probably mentioned in your eulogy, are probably now troubled, distrusting adults. So we thank you kindly for your tireless years of service. We'll remember you, just not fondly.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
One day we had an assignment-- do the math problems and color the fishes. The other kids finished it and turned it in with no problem. By the end of the half hour, I was the only one with the crayons still out. I glanced over at the bulldog in puffed sleeves. She was growing impatient.
Finally I slid out of my seat and dropped the worksheet into her bear paws. First a grunt, then a roar that sounded like my name. Then a loud rip.
I watched as the magenta hippopotamus tore my paper into colorful ribbons of crayola flesh and force fed them to the trash can. Then she thrust at me a fresh new paper. "Do it again," she mooed.
I returned to my seat, unable to discern what the wooly mammoth had just done. But I blindly began again. Soon I was back in the elephant's realm, staring at her staring at me.
She trumpeted something and mauled my paper into a dead rainbow. Again. A few monkeys from the back tittered. This was classic entertainment for them.
Third time: Tear, tear, rip, rip, rubbish can slam dunk. "How many times do I have to keep ripping up your paper?"
"Oh, that Christine!" screeched one of the chimps as I trudged back for round 4.
"I know!" the pink Chewbacca crowed.
I don't remember if I ever finished that damn worksheet. But I do believe that the moment was one of the rare times that Jesus would say that using the "f" word was okay. What I regret the most is not knowing the fucking "f" word at that time. I was only five, for fuck's sake.
And that's my first hellementary memory-- a scenario that could have been in an Animal Planet Safari special, complete with graphic desecration of abnormally large predator upon tiny helpless prey with indifferent species looking on, available on pay-per-view.
Six years later, I had the pleasure of making her acquaintance again, as a school library assistant. The hairy elephant had gotten a shit-colored perm, and was still in the same pink ruffles. She barked at me all afternoon as I shelved books and she sat on her lard ass.
Mrs.________, just to let you know, when I find your obituary, I'm framing it in gold. But if before that happens, I happen to be visiting a close friend or relative who's on life support and I happen to see you there, I'm pulling the plug on you myself.
But according to records, she passed away on March 2007, and she's buried at the same location my grandfather's buried. So all the vengeful shit I wrote above is void.
Well, wherever you are, I hope there's a bunch of hapless kids for you to torment for all eternity. Just to let you know, all the children's lives that you've touched, as probably mentioned in your eulogy, are probably now troubled, distrusting adults. So we thank you kindly for your tireless years of service. We'll remember you, just not fondly.
Stay tuned for Part 2.
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