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My next math teacher was a pretty nice man. I don’t remember learning
any math, but I do remember that it wasn’t safe to
sit in the front row because
he sprayed spit when he talked. (Do you see a
“too much saliva” theme going
on here too? What’s with that?)
Now, on to eighth grade – Prealgebra – I think. I had math during 7th
period and there was an interesting kid in our
class named David. I’m sure
you had a kid like David in one of your
classes. Everyone did. I think it was a
state requirement. He was the kid who always
orchestrated the dropping of
textbooks at exactly 2:15, the kid who knew how
to convert a Bic pen into a
pellet shooter and the kid who always had
enough spit for 18 spit wads (all to
be aimed at the classroom clock). That kid.
Remember him? My teacher
hated that kid… and it felt like she hated the
rest of us because of him. So,
between David and what seemed to be a chronic
case of PMS on my teacher's
part, I didn’t learn any math that year. I’m
sure she dreaded us as much as we
dreaded her. I saw her walking across campus
the next year and she was
really nice to me. Seemed like a different
person
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