Don't cry for me Argentina

My mind got on the subject of grade school horrors. Were teachers sadists back then or was it just me? Kindergarten was a great place to be. A giant playhouse, a sweet old teacher - probably 30 - and my first boyfriend Karl Conrad. I remember sitting next to him at our Halloween party trying to put my veil on him. I guess I must have went as a bride or something. I also remember that a little girl from our class died of leukemia. First grade wasn't so good. It seems like one bad experience sours everything else. We were sitting in a half circle listening to Mrs. Falwell read. What a bitch. I was making a buzzing sound and she grabbed my face and pinched it together. She told me I was disturbing everyone else. Really? Was everyone watching me and not you? As I said, what a bitch. And she smoked!! I saw her walking to her big mint green Cadillac with the tail fins and she was smoking! Teachers don't smoke. Second grade, Mrs. Weir. Another bitch. We were taking a test and all of a sudden she comes back to where I'm sitting and slings me, desk and all, to the front of the class. She told me I was cheating. Fuck you Mrs. Weir. Next comes third grade, Mrs. Lang. Again, I only remember being embarrassed in front of the class. It was my morning to read a story. Wellll my story was too long and she chewed me out for reading it. It wasn't interesting. Thanks for putting another nail in my self esteem coffin. Fourth grade was different. A new teacher. A nice teacher. Her name was Mrs. Winfield. She was b-l-a-c-k. She was the best teacher I ever had. But all good things come to an end, don't they? Here comes fifth grade. There was promise that things would still be good. There were two teachers and some of us would move over to the other class in the afternoon. Mr. Garnet was the afternoon teacher and Mr. Acker was the morning teacher. He had a fake arm with a HOOK on it. Mr. Garnet had a stroke. Great. We get a sub ... oh what was that bitch's name. Anyway, we had a field trip to Hunt Junior High to go swimming in their pool. A few days after that she pulls me out in the hallway and asks if my mother cares about me. Me, being the retard that I was at the age of fucking 11, just stared ahead. THEN she says that if my mother cared about me I wouldn't have worn a tiger striped bathing suit with a little v shaped piece of fish net in the front of it. Hell lady, I don't know what my mother was thinking. All I know is I felt horrible and embarrassed. I also remember we were talking about breakfast being the most important meal of the day. I raised my hand and said I had eggs, bacon, toast and orange juice for breakfast. I was a liar:) I still hadn't been tortured enough. Mr. Acker had a student teacher, Mr. Toten. He would randomly throw the chalkboard erasers at us. He was very accurate and was quite powerful. Of course I got hit one day. I lifted up my desktop and hid behind it and cried and then said I wasn't crying. Put away your hankies it's on to sixth grade. Mrs. Comerford and Mrs. Hamilton. They were both dead and still teaching. Where do I start. I was put on library staff. This meant I went in early and put books away two days a week. I got kicked off for not showing up. I just forgot. It was also announced in front of the class. The two teacher thing in there was that we all switched rooms in the afternoon. I had to share my desk with that little bastard Jimmy Reddaway. He lived behind us and he stuttered. Ta-ta-ta, today junior. My dad said his mother looked like an old sea captain. One day I come in and there is Jimmy, Mrs. Hamilton and Mrs. Comerford gathered around our desk. Someone had scribbled in Jimmy's notebook and since I was the one sharing the desk it had to be me. But it wasn't me. Sigh, why bother even trying. There was a daring girl in our class. God, I wish I could remember her name. She came in with a pair of nylons on!!! It was just like you would picture. She walks in and silence whirls around the room. Not a sound. She was grabbed by the arm and escorted out of the room. She must have been the president of the Junior Whore Society. Nylons were not allowed and neither were coulottes. I missed all kinds of school that year. I was surprised I even made it to seventh grade but I did. Hunt Jr. High. My homeroom teacher was Miss Tobin. She probably was a dyke but I didn't know that stuff then. She was also thrilled to have me because she had my sister as a student. As if I needed to hear that. Don't worry Elaine. I don't hold you responsible. I did okay that first semester but it went down hill from there. I never really recovered either. I don't have good memories of school. High school wasn't fun. It was a failure and so was I. I barely made it out. I still wake up at night yelling, "it wasn't me, it wasn't me. I didn't scribble in his book." No I don't. Yes I do. So here we are in the year 2009 and there's a little part of me that hopes those rotten teachers are burning in teacher hell. It's all in the past, isn't it. So you can cry for Argentina but don't cry for me. I'm just fine - sort of.