Chapter 6 - LRA #5: Mr S.A.
Submitted December 2, 2004 Updated September 3, 2005 Status Incomplete | A series of vignettes that depict a small portion of my life through a lunchroom setting.
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Miscellaneous » Writing |
Chapter 6 - LRA #5: Mr S.A.
Chapter 6 - LRA #5: Mr S.A.
A/N: PG-13 for a little crudeness
Mr S.A.
It had been a week since the incident, yet I was still reeling with anger. My history teacher had accused me of plagiarism.
We were asked to write an essay in class, but you see, I'm terrible at composing words under a time limit. That was unfortunately made clear when I earned 1 out of 9 on my paper. Mr. Edery told us to take our essays home and re-write them. My new one was a considerable improvement; so much, in fact, that he didn't believe it was my own work.
"I'm an honors student," I thought to myself, "I don't fracking cheat." Within in a month I was out of that class.
He used to tell us that he taught honors/AP students because he would never become a college professor and we were the closes thing to that level. I never felt sorry for the man though. He was after all, an @$$ who cared more about his Masters Degree than his students. More often than not, he was absent from school. He did spawn many great new names for himself though: The Hobbit, emasculated Napoleon, Ernest Hemingway wannabe. But my favorite was created shortly after his accusation.
During lunch, my friends and I were making fun of Edery's high pitched pre-puberty boy-like voice; it was infamous, after all, and the butt of many jokes (the fact that he was short didn't help either).
I looked to Jen and asked, "What's another good name for him?" She looked at me in a pondering sort of way, squinted one eye, and proceeded to say, "Squeaky @$$."
Mr S.A.
It had been a week since the incident, yet I was still reeling with anger. My history teacher had accused me of plagiarism.
We were asked to write an essay in class, but you see, I'm terrible at composing words under a time limit. That was unfortunately made clear when I earned 1 out of 9 on my paper. Mr. Edery told us to take our essays home and re-write them. My new one was a considerable improvement; so much, in fact, that he didn't believe it was my own work.
"I'm an honors student," I thought to myself, "I don't fracking cheat." Within in a month I was out of that class.
He used to tell us that he taught honors/AP students because he would never become a college professor and we were the closes thing to that level. I never felt sorry for the man though. He was after all, an @$$ who cared more about his Masters Degree than his students. More often than not, he was absent from school. He did spawn many great new names for himself though: The Hobbit, emasculated Napoleon, Ernest Hemingway wannabe. But my favorite was created shortly after his accusation.
During lunch, my friends and I were making fun of Edery's high pitched pre-puberty boy-like voice; it was infamous, after all, and the butt of many jokes (the fact that he was short didn't help either).
I looked to Jen and asked, "What's another good name for him?" She looked at me in a pondering sort of way, squinted one eye, and proceeded to say, "Squeaky @$$."
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