What the Hell Was He Thinking?

Before permitting you to read this piece, I feel that I must communicate a few things in order for the piece to make sense.  Primarily, this event actually did happen.  Secondarily, I, the student mentioned, am an education-nut, being originally from Massachusetts, where education is the main industry.  (Ahem, Harvard and MIT.)  I always want to learn more and am completley devastated if I'm not learning all that I possibly can.  Most importantly, it should be noted that my main interest lies in English, which should explain the heavy use of language through this piece.

Yet another reason to hate my fat, old, mumbling-with-a-southern-accent geometry teacher appeared.

Here’s how it went down:

Class was passing once again intolerably languidly; the teacher was addressing something we already understood.  Again.  He wanted to make absolutely sure that we were aware of what the parallel postulate was.  Of course, we underestimated students had figured that out from the name of the postulate.  After the most sluggish first five minutes of any class in the history of the world, the class was interrupted.  The interlude was marked by the sound of heads being lifted from desks and other kids nudging their sleeping peers, urging them to wake up and see the only interesting event that would ever transpire in room 318. In came a student, quite obviously sent from the office by the awkward stance she took, unsure of how to act in her particular circumstance.  Thoughts were weaving themselves like threads through my head until I had sewn a quilt of conclusions.  Was someone in trouble?  Probably.  Who was suspended?  Someone stupid and annoying. Or expelled!  That would be interesting. Oh please let it be Tyler!  His obnoxious flair just makes me loath him beyond reasoning!  It has to be Tyler, who else would be in trouble? 

Alas, no.  Tyler had managed to escape the notice of the obviously blind faculty for another day.  She was just a post man today.  “This is for Maya, please.”  She handed the teacher a rather large brown paper bag, wrapped tightly around something rectangular.  Taking it, he brought the package to his nose, and sniffed strongly. 

“Mmmmm. Smells good,” he said, trying to strike up a conversation with an otherwise jaded student who would never have any intention of saying more than “x equals 13” to him.  The package was passed back from student to student until it reached Maya, the lucky one who stole the seat farthest away from the teacher’s desk.  She took it avariciously, hoping for something on which to snack.  Something to keep her awake during the most dreadfully monotonous class of the endless day.  Eager, something never before seen in that geometry room, flashed from her eyes as her fingers wrapped themselves around the package and she covetously peeked into the bag.  But promptly the eagerness deserted her eyes as she held loosely in one hand her English book for next period which she had apparently left at home. 

“It’s a book,” she announced to the class, her words utterly clothed in contempt for the teacher.  And though we laughed, we were all thinking inside, dear God, this is our geometry teacher.  We are so screwed.