Remember that one teacher you HATED? Yeah, me too…

This post over at Bucky’s place reminded me of cranky old Mrs. Williams, my 2nd year French teacher from my junior year of high school.

Our teacher the previous year was Mrs. Bergman, a gem of a lady who was kind and sweet and…hey, whaddyaknow, spoke fluent French. Unbeknownst to the students, Mrs. Bergman had moved over the summer, leaving us with the foul and wretched Mrs. Williams.

My relationship with Mrs. Williams started badly and got progressively worse.

First day of school: I was semi-tardy to class…I say semi-tardy, because I crossed the threshold of the classroom – I kid you not – approximately one second after the bell rang. As in {{RING}}…STEP. Now, most teachers were fairly forgiving on the first day of school, especially at this school, which was a huge, two-story building, and easy to get lost in. When I walked into the classroom – ONE SECOND after the bell rang – Mrs. Williams looked down her wrinkled old nose at me and said, in the most condescending tone she could muster, “Aren’t you a little OLD to be tardy?”

Those were the first words the woman ever spoke to me, and I’ve never forgotten them.

I probably stared at her in bewilderment and disgust for a few seconds before I explained that I was running late because I had helped a BLIND student find her way to class (no joke – I was seriously helping Ricki – a blind girl who was in MARCHING band with us – she totally rocked – find her way from the Band Hall to her second period classroom).

About a week or so later, we all arrived in class, the bell rang, and…no Mrs. Williams. We waited. No teacher. No sub. No one.

Now. Keep in mind, this is a HIGH SCHOOL classroom. Without a teacher’s supervision, it takes approximately 2.6 seconds for students to start throwing spitballs and making loud, juicy fart noises. A FULL FIVE MINUTES after the bell had rung, Mrs. Williams finally decided to join us. I, of course, being the clever little smart-mouthed kid I was, said…

{You’re getting ahead of me, aren’t you?}

Yes. That’s right. I looked the old bat in the eye and said, “Aren’t you a little OLD to be tardy?

Yeah, so we never could get along after that.

She also made it a habit to ALWAYS call me by the wrong name. My first name starts with an A. She kept calling me Allison. My name is not even CLOSE to Allison. I kept correcting her. For SIX FRIGGIN WEEKS, I corrected her repeatedly. Finally, I told her if she couldn’t get my name right, I’d start calling her “Mrs. Wilson.” And I did. Every time she said, “Allison…”, I’d say, “Yes, Mrs. Wilson?” And, you know what? SHE FINALLY GOT MY NAME RIGHT.

Old hag.

Did I mention the woman didn’t even speak French? And we were 2nd year French students??

Yeah. So there was that, too. The fact that, after she treated us all like shit she wished she could just scrape off her old lady shoes, we might’ve gone to great pains to make sure she knew that WE knew that she didn’t have a clue what she was doing.

. . .

Y’know, Mrs. Williams…my attitude really sucked that year. But you know what? YOURS SUCKED FIRST.

**I feel it necessary to mention that, outside of this relationship with this one particular teacher, I was generally a model student, even a teacher’s pet, at times. I had even won the “Who’s Who in French” award the previous year, and usually got along great with my teachers. But I guess everyone has that ONE teacher they look back on with repugnance, huh?**

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