We have been born into a world, and a sad one at that, for it has, is and forever will be dominated by a fearsome species. It is this very order that has gained more influence than Bill Gates, Nicole Kidman, Thomas Edison and all of every one of the respected gentlemen carved on Mount Rushmore put together. It has power barely equaled by the Presidents of the United States, Kingdoms and whatever United else. It has a scariness unmatched since the time of the dinosaurs and before. Indeed, the existence of it is very alarming, if not disturbing.
They constitute an unfortunately large majority of our popuation, falling under the category "quartenary consultancy", more commonly known as "teacher".
Teachers are a sad bunch. They often remind us of unpleasant things such as homework, and unhealthy things such as fruits. You have the hard apple-teachers, or the sour kiwi-teachers, sometimes even the sly banana-teachers. Have you ever seen a good potato-chip-teacher? I thought so. (You see, this is the very reason why teachers are always associated with bright red apples.)
But, you may ask, what on earth is wrong with these unpleasantly fruity teachers? For one thing, they are perfectly, faultlessly square. Their mind is filled with straight lines and right-angles, which simply, plainly and oh-so-obviously do not exist! Our existence is made up of left-angles, wrong-angles and all kinds of angles, but that is too much for the square mind of a teacher to even begin to comprehend. Made to be imperfect and enjoyably fault-full, life is sucked dry by teachers who insist that you must write with a dark blue pen and tie up your hair with a very black band, but not to write with a very black pen and tie up hair with a dark blue band.
I once knew a teacher. She had straight hair, straight glasses, straight books, straight cutlery, straight pens, even straight fries. One day I served her straight broccoli on a circular plate, having neglected to possess one of those sacred straight plates. She fainted dead away and not even the Bishop’s kiss could call her up. Eventually when she finally got off her bootie of the ground, we played a pack of (needless to say, straight) cards, while she sat at the edge of her chair, prim as the yellow feather on that strange apparition of an English hat, rattling off the vitamins in broccoli.
This leads me to my next point. Teachers are often so obsessed with this impractical idea of ‘life-long learning’ that I immediately run off in the opposite direction when one comes within a mile in either direction of me. Because of this they often do not have things of much interest to say, and when listening to a teacher speak, it is often customary to close one’s eyes and nod off. Twenty years of learning is quite enough for me, thank you. In fact, it’s enough to make me feel awfully old. Certainly beats me why a person would want to feel twenty years dead.
But I suppose we can forgive them their faults – as is the nature of things. They are teachers, after all, and no one can really comprehend the inner workings of this sad, sad species.
to all teachers out there: i just hope you can take a joke - no offense intended.
