((anyone who's gone to my school will find this really funny. Anyone else will too. You'll know who he is if you know him))
***
It's 8th period; the last hour of school. Mr.Moody, who has just gotten back from a 5 week vacation due to a new addition to the family, is feeling rather moody again. He has only gotten back a day ago, and has acquired a mustache that in my humble opinion makes him look like a walrus. The bell rings and the last few stragglers rush back to their seats and wait for the lesson to begin.***
Most people are getting out their agendas, notebooks, or just talking with a neighbor (or a "neighbor" across the room) but I, my friends, am sitting at my desk with my head back gasping for breath. It may seem like an odd sight how I am describing it, but it's no surprise that I'm having difficulty breathing, as I am pouring sweat and may very well be drowning in it.
The cause of this unpleasantness is Mr.Moody. Not Mr.Moody himself, but his motives. The point of passing periods is to give us time to get from point A to point B without having to barge into the classroom and make a scene of getting to your seat. With the few minutes we are given it shouldn't be a problem, but sadly not as easy as it looks on paper, especially when point A is P.E., and when B just happens to be Mr.Moody's classroom. Simply getting there is easy enough when A and B are a few feet away, but when point A and B are on completely separate sides of the campus, we get out a bit late from point A, and in between lies many people who are oblivious to the rush I am in it suddenly doesn't seem very easy anymore.
I soon am back in control of my breathing, and we move on with the daily routine. I am staring at Mr.Moody, imagining him with walrus tusks, when he starts it off. "I am horrified," never a good way to start a speech, "at the behavior of this class." I frown slightly. The walrus tusks have gone away. He points to the wall where he has a big poster entitled "State Standards" and pauses dramatically before continuing, "The tax payers aren't paying me to babysit. They aren't paying me to sit here and let you do nothing! The tax payers are paying me..." another dramatic pause, "to teach you."
We all stare at him silently for a few minutes. He has won over our attention again, for I don't think I've ever had a teacher with a louder voice than his. "Mr.Moody?" I inquire quietly, "Where's our teacher?" I quite miss our substitute. He was nice, and did impeccable voice impressions. He doesn't respond, and instead continues. "Just be cause the state doesn't say we should learn about this stuff- waves, and optics, and things like that- doesn't mean we don't have to learn it. But apparently none of you care weather or not you learn this stuff."
I have no idea where he's getting any of these ideas. "But you..." he says, a bit more softly but with just as much intensity, "need to learn. You need to be focused, and disciplined." This reminds me of the last time he was shouting at us like this, and I decided we were in japan learning to be ninjas. I make a note to start calling him sensei before he continues.
"And so, from now on, if you disrupt the learning environment, your name will go on the board. If you annoy me, or do something distracting..." he wastes no time in using this policy, "NAME ON THE BOARD!" he points at a stupid boy in my class. I snicker to myself. "Like I was saying. If your name goes on the board that's one strike. If you do it again you get a check. Once you have three checks--" I wonder what kind of cruel punishment he's thinking of "ONE HOUR DETENTION!!"
I notice that the room has died, and this obviously displeases Mr.Moody as he takes no time in bringing it back. "You can't just scrape gum. You can't get the easy way out with Mr.VicePrincipal by picking up trash at lunch. You know why? Because I want to see you in MY Friday detention. I want to make you suffer if you disrupt the class. I want you to come on Friday, and I want to see you cry."
I can't help but laugh as I look at the board. There are already four names and one check on the board. I would be afraid, but apparently I'm one of the lucky "favored" students. I've heard he wants me in detention, but poor Mr.Moody somehow can't get mad at me and my friends. So instead of being afraid like some of the unfortunate kids in my class, I find it entertaining and wonder where they sell the pop-corn.
FIN
(true story)
(true story)
