...who just happened to be this tawdry-looking wanna-be cougar with giant fucking hair and about 2 ounces worth of wit. I don't normally slump to the level of denigrating my former instructors (except maybe my college prof for "Living Lightly on the Earth"...what an outrageous buffoon she was. That's another story entirely, but I can summarize our philosophical difference by simply stating that "Although I believe in man's effect on the world's climate, I do not believe that chauvinism is the common denominator...you worthless twit").
How she got the job as arbiter of children's creativity I will never know. Her most "creative" ventures involved careless use of semicolons and the occasional trite expression..."for emphasis". This is the same lady that bestowed upon our class of 16 year-olds the assignment of a 25+ page research paper (so generously on the topic of our choosing) to be done as a final work in lieu of a test. Mine was on the history of newspaper comics. I worked my ASS off for that paper. My MOTHER worked her ass off for the paper. We had more sources than a Dan Brown novel and our bibliography was the stuff of legends. It was perfect but the fact that I handed the paper in one day past it's due date. Now, it wasn't like I got myself extra time by waiting an extra day to hand it in. No, the reason I handed it in late was because it was due WHILE I WAS IN A DIFFERENT TOWN PLAYING BASKETBALL FOR THE DAMNED SCHOOL. In other words...I had the paper done early, before I went to the tournament, and I simply waited until I returned to hand it in. No big deal right? Wrong. The fascist gave me a fucking "C" for that reason alone. I think I burned it.
Anywhooooo, a greater travesty occurred earlier on in the year. We had been assigned to write a short story from the perspective of a main character. In essence, we were told to write a John Cussack movie. Got me? Ok, so I decided I was going to write my story from the perspective of a baby. The catch...dare I say the "creative" part, was that although the story would depict a very mundane physical feat (like crawling from the living room to the patio) I was going to write the story using unusually verbose language as though the young baby were much more intelligent than he/she outwardly appeared. I thought I was a freaking' GENIUS. I was creating Stewie before Stewie was "Stewie". So I set out to pen my masterpiece. Again, I worked tirelessly on the venture. I think I may have even purchased my first thesaurus at that time to supplement my limited high school vocabulary. This time, I even handed it in when it was due. No excuses. I was money this time. Well, the comedy was evidently lost on her because that school house demon gave me a fucking "C" again. And do you know what her explanation was...written right across the top of the page in red ink? "Too Lofty".
Well no shit it was too lofty. I did that on purpose. As if an 11th grader is going to describe a young child's reaction to a closed screen door like "I was accosted by the transparent aperture and the precipitous encounter left me flummoxed"? I wanted to pull my hair out.
She ruined my life. Well, not really. At that time, I was more interested in boobs and basketball than I was my future as a novelist. In fact, that thought had never entered my mind. Too much work. That research paper was a BI-TCH. But it did piss me right off. A "C" my ass.
The next year I decided against the AP offering she was instructing and settled for British Literature. I figured even reading Macbeth was better than listening to her stomp my ego's guts out. Plus, college chicks might dig a kid who knew what "Out Damned Spot" meant. Right?
Yeah, I didn't have many girlfriends in college.
