I think we've all had our fair share of bad teachers throughout our entire lives. It probably was that teacher who barely knew how to stand in front of a classroom, or that teacher who barely stood up to teach the class — or the one who thinks they're better than everybody.
OK, so my junior year of high school, I had three chemistry teachers. They were all different from each other. One was the savvy-chemistry teacher who tried so hard at chemistry jokes. Imma share one:
I never laughed at them. However, she quit due to personal reasons. Then, for three months, we had a sub. She wasn't proficient at anything related to chemistry, let alone math. Apparently, she was an English major. But for the three months we had her, she always left work — and a lot. She wouldn't even try to explain what we were supposed to do. We were supposed to do it all by ourselves.
But then, after her three months were over, the Worst of the Worst swept in, smelling of Doritos into the classroom. I don't know if it was just my nose, but I swear he smelled of cheese Doritos. I'm not lying. He was old, with a bald cap resting atop his face, and the just long hair falling from the sides, a huge beard. He always wore baggy, Hawaiian shirts and brown pants or any variation of that color.
I joked saying that he looked like Gandalf from "The Hobbit." Only that Gandalf had more hair on the head than my chemistry teacher.
Don't let the gif fool you, my teacher was a total dick. He didn't seem as nice and goofy as the Gandalf in that picture.
Well, going back to the story. When he strode into the classroom, he walked in with tremendous authority, thinking that we knew everything he knew. He jumped in straight to his lesson. However, he was the biggest dick ever, claiming how much of a failure our last teacher was for barely teaching us the basics of chemistry.
He said that if he had been our chemistry teacher since the beginning, we would've been covering AP Chem topics in class. And he loved patronizing students.
I remember one time I asked him a hypothetical question: what if I had an A in the class and failed the final; how would that affect my grade?
He gave me such a pointed look. It broke glass as if his dark eyes had been the holes of a gun's barrel. He said: "Why are you asking? So you can later go cry to your mom when you see you've failed my final and my class? So then she can come and ask 'Why did my son get this grade? He's sooo smart. He deserves'? And when she does ask that, I'm going to mention how much you never do work in my class, and that you can retake the class in summer school with an easier professor."
I was mad. I wanted to wipe that pedophile's smile off his face. (His face was so eerie.) He knew I always did the work. I was the only student who understood his stupid ass lectures. I was always top of that class. But no, he said that when I had just asked a hypothetical question.
Of course, there were many things I wanted to say to him. None of them were nice. All of them would've wiped that smile off his face. Maybe I should've brought up the fact that he smelled like one of the most disgusting chips ever and that God knew how his wife could stand such smell.
However, I aced his test and got an A in the class. Part of me regretted not saying anything that day. And another part of me regretted not getting the test back so I could've slapped him with it.