The Incident with Ms. B

Back in 8th grade, my Language Arts teacher happened to be a rookie. Looking back at it, I definitely feel bad for her. My teacher was a young white female, pretty much the prototypical model of a fresh, naive teacher looking to mold the minds of us children. Imagine throwing one of these kind, well-intentioned teachers into a classroom with 25-30 kids who were top of the food chain at school (because... hello? 8th graders are the bomb, right?). That has already got to be a tough situation to jump into. As if that wasn't enough, she also had a class with an exceptional amount of troublemakers in it, myself being one of the principal members of that group (although you'd have to ask her if I was the worst - to my credit, at least I didn't incessantly use foul language whenever I spoke in class [unlike an unnamed female who regularly dropped "fuck," "bitch," and "bullshit" in class]). Essentially, she was being thrown to the sharks. 

Like I said, I was a troublemaker in the class. Not really armed with malicious intent or particularly disruptive; I was just a real smartass. My relationship with this teacher - let's call her Ms. B - was tolerable at best and adversarial at worst at the time of this story.

Anyways, Ms. B usually had us arrange ourselves in 2 single-file lines before we could get into class. Some time before the bell rang to signal the start of class, she'd come out to open the door for us, kick down the door stand, and make sure we were in 2 lines (if we weren't, she'd just wait or tell whoever needed to get in line to get in line). After everything was good, she'd turn and we'd follow her into class.

One day, we got to her class at the end of break and -for the first time ever - her door was wide open. So, like any group of people with an open door to where they need to go, we made our way straight into class. Ms. B wasn't back from break yet, so we just sat around and hung out, waiting for her to come.

After a few minutes of this, she came into the class and was clearly surprised to see us there. (I don't know why, considering her door was open, but she must have expected us to wait outside as usual.) After getting over her initial surprise, she told us in no uncertain terms that we were not supposed to be in the classroom without an adult present (what the hell would the difference make anyways? It's not like Sierramont housed a bunch of vandals just waiting to tear up the classrooms). Anyways, she establishes the fact that from then on, we have to wait outside of class 'til she comes to fetch us, open door or not.

          In telling us this, she didn't do it in a pushy or aggressive manner - she just made it clear that we weren't supposed to be in there, for whatever reason. Alright, fine. It wasn't a serious issue because she always kept the door closed and locked anyways - we never had the opportunity to get in there without her opening the door for us.

Fast forward to later on in the year, probably a few months. It's a rainy day and the students are headed to class after break - which, in my case, is Ms. B's Language Arts class. On getting there, we're miraculously greeted by our ticket to warmth and shelter from the elements - an open door. For the very first time in months...her door was open. On a rainy day, no less.  and immediately after break, on top of that. Every teacher that leaves for break always closes the door to their class.

So here we are, looking at our golden ticket (the open door). Clear invite, am I right? Of course, none of us had forgotten Ms. B's command from earlier in the year. But let's just take a quick review of the facts:

• The door to the class is open for the first time in months
• The door is open immediately after break - why would a teacher do that if they didn't want you to come right in??
• It's been raining all day - so any decent teacher aware of the fact would probably just want students to come in ASAP

After taking stock of the situation, we decide that there's no point waiting for Ms. B to come out if she's just chillin' inside with the door open - we head on inside to class.

For no particular reason, I just happened to be near the end of the line. I mention that because by the time I get inside, the classroom is pretty much full. I was immediately struck by the absence of the one person we all expected to be there - Ms. B. When I saw she wasn't there, I just thought it was a bad idea to be in class considering what she'd told us the first time around. I mean, this is the EXACT situation she told us not to put ourselves in - empty classroom, without an adult around. I can't remember saying anything, but I must have expressed my reservations about the situation, because I turned around and headed back out the door with a few (~5) classmates. 

Some classmates came out to tell us we should come back in, but we kept onto our resolve and held out, braving the elements to preserve our principles (aka... hanging outside in the rain because we were technically right [which, as we all know, is the best kind of right]). After several instances of this, we told them that we wouldn't come back in until Ms. B was in the classroom. I mean at best, we'd followed her instructions to a T. At worst, she'd just come outside and bring us into class. No big deal, right? Now the next person that popped out of the doorway was Ms. B herself - and what she said pretty much knocked my socks off:

"Minh! David! Sam! Kevin! Get in here - you're all in trouble!" (names changed to protect the identities of those involved)

My immediate reaction was fury. That was quickly followed by disappointment - what had happened? We followed her directions by staying out of the class. If anyone deserved a reprimand, it was the 25 idiots who couldn't follow a simple command! Yet there we were after getting our scolding - upset, confused, and feeling very much downtrodden. We headed into class after her in a very sullen mood, tails between our legs.

We took our seats and class started. Ms. B told us that the agenda for the day consisted of a district-wide essay that we were all required to write. Before handing out the assignment, Ms. B reads the prompt aloud, and it goes like this:

Write about a situation that ended up differently than how you expected it to. Describe how the reality was different from your expectations and your reactions.

What the WHAT?? Is this some sort of joke? I remember this story nearly a decade after it happened because ... I mean.... this has got to be fate, right? This is one of those times the universe truly gifted me. I'm talking about, this happens a few times in your life and you better never forget it. This is EXACTLY what Kelly Clarkson was referring to when she sang "A Moment Like This." I mean, even sitting at my desk, through the ceiling of the room, regardless of the rain and clouds outside, it's as if a ray of light shot down from the heavens to envelop me in glory. I was crying tears of joy on the inside. Shit, I may as well have been crying tears of joy on the OUTside. I am one hundred and ten thousand percent sure (that's 110,000%) that the elation I felt will not even be matched in the moment that I cradle my first-born child. Has my hyperbole made you understand yet (because I totally didn’t mean the last one, btw)?? I don’t think even I understood the magnitude of the moment as it was happening, but the universe was basically apologizing to me.

Did you just get screwed? Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry! Totally didn't mean to do that to you, I can't believe I forgot who I was dealing with. Here, Minh. Let me make it up to you. You immediately get the opportunity to express your frustrations, take care of business (by writing a well-articulated essay), and get your point across (that being: I WAS RIGHT, goddammit!). I mean, what the hell are the chances we'd have a mandatory essay with such an ideal prompt just a few minutes after I'd experienced the perfect scenario for the job?

Needless to say, my mind was racing. I was licking my chops waiting for her to hurry up and hand out those damned papers. I was going to eat this essay up like a fat kid on some chocolate cake, it was that good. As soon as Ms. B handed out the papers we were to write on, I set to with my pencil (or was it pen?) like a man possessed. For the duration of the class I scribbled furiously - recounting the story like I did earlier (albeit probably more dramatically). I described the first time we came into class with her gone, the instructions she gave us to follow thereafter, the way the bait of an open door and a warm room trapped so many of my classmates, but not I.

I explained my expectation that we'd be commended for following the rules, and how getting yelled at was the last thing I expected. I explained my reaction - that I was enraged. Most of all, I expressed bitter disappointment. At being mistreated. Lied to. Betrayed by authority I was supposed to trust. I’m sure it turned out to be full of angst and self-righteousness on my part, hahahaha.

Even up 'til now, with tens of thousands of words having come from these hands over the years, I don't think my brain and my emotions have ever aligned so intimately to match the passion I put down on paper that day. Anyways, to cap the whole thing off, I made things real personal:

And to conclude, I think you, Ms. B, are an awful teacher and a bitch.

I could’ve gone with a more aggressive version like “and A BITCH!!,” but I think delivering it in that relatively understated fashion was my kill shot – it drove the point home rather effectively. That was actually quite vicious of me, especially considering I was only just a child, really. Anyways, I turned in the essay feeling really satisfied with myself for having gotten everything off my chest – it was a really cathartic experience.

Epilogue

          Of course, if all you wanted to hear was how I got to that point, I’ve covered that bit entirely. If you’re interested in the aftermath, read on.

          After turning in the essay, I never expected to see it again – it was a district assignment used to assess our competency with regards to thinking and writing, not something associated with our grade or class at all. Alas, that was a really dumbass and naïve assumption on my part – what the hell kind of grader wouldn’t read it and think “Uhhh … yeah, this kid might have some issues. It’s probably a good idea that his teacher is notified”?

          So some indeterminate amount of time later – within a month, I’m pretty sure – it comes back to me. Bear with me, because I remember this day much less vividly. I’m going to piece this thing together off my memory, and it’s definitely not as accurate as everything before.

          We get to class and Ms. B lets us in, things are going the way they normally do. By the time everyone’s inside, she seems to be in a pretty somber mood and sets us to work on some assignment or other at our desks. It doesn’t seem like she’s in a very good mood, so the class gets to it and we’re all sitting in silence. After we all get started, Ms. B takes a seat at her desk. If you didn’t know already, I’m a pretty good student, so I’m getting down on that work pretty seriously. Before I get much done, though – “Minh, come here.”

She says it in a tone that can’t mean any good news. My stomach sinks. There can only be one reason this is happening, and before I even get up from my desk I already know this has to do with the essay. So with a heavy heart and a great sense of trepidation, I stand up from my desk and make my way to the corner of the class where her desk is. I don’t even know what the hell to expect.

Her: “Do you remember that essay assignment we completed awhile ago?”

          Me, with downcast eyes and all the resignation in the world: “….yes….”

          Her, with a quavering voice: “and do you remember what you wrote??”

          Me: “…yes…”

          She’s sobbing at this point and I feel like the world's biggest asshole. 

          “I don’t even know how to deal with this. Go to the office, I told Mr. Carlentine (the school counselor) I’m sending you.”

          My heart is pretty torn at this point – I feel reeeeaaally bad because things had been going so well between us in the time since, and I know I’m about to answer for my sins. I don’t say anything and grab my stuff to leave as instructed. I go to the office and Mr. Carlentine invites me into his office right away.

          “So Minh…Ms. B sent you here, I’m sure you know why.”

          “Yep.”

          “Well…this seems like a largely well-written essay to me, probably a 3 or 4 (grading scale is 1-4), except that bit at the end. Do you have anything to say??”
          “No, not really.”

          “Do you still feel this way?”

          “No, that was a long time ago. Things are a lot better now.”

          “So there aren’t any issues between you and Ms. B?”

          “None.”

          “Well… okay then. I guess there is no problem. It’s probably not a good idea for you to head back there today. Just go ahead and just… go to your next class”

          “Mkay. Thanks Mr. Carlentine.”

          And that was the end of that. Couldn’t have lasted more than a few minutes before I was out of his office and headed to my next period. For the rest of the year we never spoke of it again. Somehow, I got away with calling my teacher a bitch without even getting a slap on the wrist. Incredible. To this day I still feel awful that she took it to heart, though.