The Teacher

Creative Forums Creative Writing
1

It’s funny how I hate for one i’ve never met
Com’n wipe the slate, I’ll win your heart i bet
You’ll tell me that you can’t while I rave and rant
Your words are a shoe and my heart is an ant
How can we talk? When my intentions are clear
You can prolly see my thoughts if you look in my ear
You’ve stolen my heart…like the burgler in town
Still I can’t frown… no not when you’re around
Please get off my glasses cause you’re all I see
When I rest for a moment, when I cross my T’s
I guess I’ll call it even, Or even a deal
You disrupt my thoughts… but you teach me to feel

2

Teacher’s Pet.

“Feet off the desk ! - would you do that at home…?”
“It’s not break-time yet ! - you moan I’ll moan.”
“Newspapers away ! - chuck that gum in the bin.”
“Keep the noise down !!!” - [size=75][Kee-rist what a din.][/size]
“Open your books at page 25 -”
[size=75][Come on you assholes][/size] - “look alive…”
“Gimme a sentence - in context please.”
(Vacant stares, embarrasment - brains sieze)
“Hallah-hallah - I’ve taught better monkies,”
[size=84]“Hey teacher - Whydoncha fuck off t’ yer country !!!”[/size]
“Who said that - you, you - Jingoistic churl !!!”
Angry eyes darting - a book poised to hurl.
“WAS IT YOU WAS IT YOU WAS IT HIM WAS IT HER -”
Downcast eyes - shuffles - [size=75]“It wasn’t me Sir”[/size]
“Nobody move !!! - not a bleat not a whimper…”
“And you can stop that - I’m immune to simper…”
The bell’s been and gone - the minutes tick by…
Sigh-fidgit-rustle-look shifty-sniffle-cry.
[size=75]“It was me.”[/size] “It was you…? But-but-but - why…?”
“Yes Sir - it was me, do you think I would lie…?”
“But I thought you liked me - you always smile…!”
“Well Sir - sorry, you see - I got thinkin’ a while…
You eat pig, you’re dirty, infidel unclean -
you’re not of our kind if you see what I mean…”
:astonished:

And, do you know something…?

The above has never happened to me in all the ten years I’ve been here. :smiley:

3

“Mitchell, I want you to play the E-flat in the second measure.
Not with the fourth finger, but with the third.
That was a four, try a three.
That was a three, but it wasn’t flat.
That one was a natural.
Try it again, sweetie.
This time it was the right note, but you played the E-flat with a two instead of a three, which would make it a D sharp, not an E-flat.
Okay, this time take your third finger and instead of flatting it, make it a natural.”
“What’s a natural?”
“A regular.”
“Not with the left hand, Mitchell, but with the right hand.”
“What?”
“Try the right hand three. The three.
Good.
Now flat it.”
“What’s a flat? And that reminds me, Mrs. G., I may get the wishbone.”
“The what?”
“The wishbone.”
“What’s the wishbone?”
“Remember? It’s Thanksgiving next month.”
“Oh, right, right. The wishbone.
Okay, Mitchell, let’s play the E-flat in the third measure.”
Pause, pause, pause…
“Hey Mrs. Goldman, I still have chocolate cake stuck in my jaw-expander from yesterday.”
“The third measure, Mitchell. Play the third measure.”
“What’s a measure?”

Is it any wonder that I am in dire need of an Internet pastime? My life is a sideshow of the absurd. :astonished:

4

Second piano student arrives.
“How are you Megan?”
(no answer)
“So did you get much practicing done this week?”
“No.”
“OK, let’s hear what you did do.”
(Long pause, longer pause, she puts music up on piano; it falls off; puts it up again; it falls off.)
“I have to go to the bathroom.”
“It’s across from the kitchen.”
Megan gets up and searches for the bathroom.
(Long pause, long pause, longer pause.)
“Do you need any help?
Are you sure you don’t need any help Megan?
Megan?”
(Megan walks back in.)
“OK, Megan, Let’s play your song.”
(Blank look from Megan.)
“Why don’t you put your right thumb on middle C.
Good try, but that was your left thumb.
Honey, you have to take your foot off the pedals, OK?”
“I need a Kleenex.”
“I am out of Kleenex but I will get you some toilet paper.”
(I walk out to the bathroom and returns with the toilet paper. Megan fiddles with blowing her nose and hands me a wet tissue.)
“OK, let’s put your right thumb on middle C… no, that was your left thumb.
Yes, Megan, you did tell me that your dog, Terri, was groomed yesterday, but let’s play middle C. Why don’t I put a sticky star on middle C so you know where it is.”
“Do I have to play anymore?”
“Yes, sweetheart, we have twenty-five minutes to go.
Let’s try middle C again; how about with the left thumb because you like that thumb.
Good try, Megan, but that was your right thumb.”

I’ll take a Bloody Mary with my usual xanax please. :wink:

5

Teachers eh…? We’re all bloody martyrs - that’s what we are… :wink:

6

Bessy, those music lessons are keepers… especially the one about Megan, I couldn’t help but chuckle the entire time…

7

Sagesound

Then you may share my pitcher of Bloody Marys, but I get the big glass.

:smiley:

8

Bessy, you’d love my g/f. She’s the exact opposite of that, someone who does so much practice you are worried that she hasn’t already learnt the instrument and is just playing a game to see if anyone notices.

Thanks for the dialogues, I’ve enjoyed them immensely.

Although I’d advise you not to drink Bloody Maries by the pitcher, it won’t make you feel better in the long run.

9

You are right. No Bloody Martyrs. Jack out of the bottle would be best here. :wink:

10

I have many friends who occasionally own up to being teachers. My brother is one of them. I steadfastly maintain that each and every teacher has a messianic complex. Somewhere in their twisted minds, they want to climb up on the cross and die for those ungrateful little %$&*#. I have nothing but admiration for these people. (even the unclean infidels)

JT

11

Ah, not only is tentative answering my post now, but a compliment, no less! Much more yummy for Bessy than the kind offer of pie and ice cream.

Then again…