TheGuyWithTheTacoma
Well-Known Member
This happened in June 2003, on my very last day of 8th grade. There was this kid named Chris. We had more or less been friends for most of the year, but then we drifted apart and found each other annoying.
On a separate note, there had been a few cases of students setting off stink bombs in the school as an end of the year prank. Understandably, students were subjected to random on-the-spot searches of their belongings.
My math teacher, who was very attractive and one of my crushes that school year, had promised some time earlier to tell me her real age on the last day of school since it was my last day. After my second or third class, I realized I'd forgotten to ask her, so I went back to my math class on the other side of the school. I had with me a small cardboard box containing my ceramics project from art class, my yearbook, a few pens so my friends could sign the yearbook, and at least one DuPont Registry (that's a basically a rich person's AutoTrader in case you didn't know). I walked by numerous other teachers and even two assistant principals (there were three assistant principals) and none of them requested to search my stuff.
Students got assigned to an assistant principal based on the first letter of their last name. My assistant principal was a short woman in her thirties and she never seemed to like me very much. The other two assistant principals were a woman in her fifties or sixties and a young black guy, both of whom were very nice, and both of whom I really liked. Bureaucracy placed me with her.
Looking back on the 2002-2003 school year, I believe that woman purposely came down hard on me over the most petty stuff, and purposely tried to bait me into losing my temper.
So, walking back to math class required walking past her office. She was of course standing outside and immediately stopped me so she could search my stuff. This was an example of her trying to bait me. I complained, but went along with it because I knew I didn't have a choice.
While she was searching my box, Chris walked by with a teacher and made a snarky comment to me. I said said something along the lines of "Oh shut up, Chris Hooker". This was a play on his actual last name. Hooker, as in a slang term for a prostitute. Far from the nicest thing to call somebody and a bit inappropriate, but not exactly the worst thing you can call somebody. She flipped out and made me spent the rest of the shortened school day in a classroom with one of the special ed teachers, making miss out on saying goodbye to my friends and teachers.
My grandma picked me up from school that day because my parents were busy with something, and as I was walking out to her car, Chris ended up right behind me along with the one gym teacher I actually liked. If that teacher hadn't of been there, I would have decked Chris and made a run for my Grandma's Buick, but I didn't. I might have cussed at Chris, but I didn't do anything else.
I told my parents what had happened at school, and they were so outraged that they complained to the school and wrote a "nastygram"-type letter to that assistant principal.
On a separate note, there had been a few cases of students setting off stink bombs in the school as an end of the year prank. Understandably, students were subjected to random on-the-spot searches of their belongings.
My math teacher, who was very attractive and one of my crushes that school year, had promised some time earlier to tell me her real age on the last day of school since it was my last day. After my second or third class, I realized I'd forgotten to ask her, so I went back to my math class on the other side of the school. I had with me a small cardboard box containing my ceramics project from art class, my yearbook, a few pens so my friends could sign the yearbook, and at least one DuPont Registry (that's a basically a rich person's AutoTrader in case you didn't know). I walked by numerous other teachers and even two assistant principals (there were three assistant principals) and none of them requested to search my stuff.
Students got assigned to an assistant principal based on the first letter of their last name. My assistant principal was a short woman in her thirties and she never seemed to like me very much. The other two assistant principals were a woman in her fifties or sixties and a young black guy, both of whom were very nice, and both of whom I really liked. Bureaucracy placed me with her.
Looking back on the 2002-2003 school year, I believe that woman purposely came down hard on me over the most petty stuff, and purposely tried to bait me into losing my temper.
So, walking back to math class required walking past her office. She was of course standing outside and immediately stopped me so she could search my stuff. This was an example of her trying to bait me. I complained, but went along with it because I knew I didn't have a choice.
While she was searching my box, Chris walked by with a teacher and made a snarky comment to me. I said said something along the lines of "Oh shut up, Chris Hooker". This was a play on his actual last name. Hooker, as in a slang term for a prostitute. Far from the nicest thing to call somebody and a bit inappropriate, but not exactly the worst thing you can call somebody. She flipped out and made me spent the rest of the shortened school day in a classroom with one of the special ed teachers, making miss out on saying goodbye to my friends and teachers.
My grandma picked me up from school that day because my parents were busy with something, and as I was walking out to her car, Chris ended up right behind me along with the one gym teacher I actually liked. If that teacher hadn't of been there, I would have decked Chris and made a run for my Grandma's Buick, but I didn't. I might have cussed at Chris, but I didn't do anything else.
I told my parents what had happened at school, and they were so outraged that they complained to the school and wrote a "nastygram"-type letter to that assistant principal.
