My Teacher the Crack Addict

I spend Tuesday Wednesday and Thursday staring at the front of a classroom in awe, more preoccupied with the human that stands before me then with the subject I should be learning.

There she stands in the front of a group of bewildered students, flailing her arms and spitting out words in such an alarmingly fast rate that not a single soul can understand her blabbering. Her thin, frail looking figure walking back and forth in front of the chalk board, where she places her barley decipherable chicken scratch handwriting. Her hair sits on the top of her head in what looks like an attempt at a bun, but actually resembles a dead rat thrashing from side to side. As she scans the classroom her pug like eyes looking as if they will soon fall out of their sockets.

When the course had barely begun many of my fellow students dared to asked questions, thinking that the person chosen to teach the class actually had the ability too teach. Sadly enough we all quickly understood that that was not true. When a question was asked this teacher would either make a statement that included the fact that we didn’t have “time” for questions of that capacity, or she would begin a horrific rant that would go on and on for what seemed like hours, and would end in a classroom full of blank stares and wonderment. Now we all sit quietly continually nodding our heads hoping that no one will dare question anything again.

My only conclusion to the weeks of endured madness is that this teacher is either a life form from another planet, or she enjoy a bit to much “nose candy” on the side.