Her name was Miss Lecture. Yes! It's true! She was a bitter old spinster. She seemed to have it out for me. I would frequently get bored out of my skull in her class because it seemed that all we ever did was diagram sentences. I got the concept quickly, but my classmates struggled. That meant I had a lot of free time to cause mayhem. I spent many a day in the principal's office. Once I got to look at my "permanent record" (cue the Violent Femmes' "Kiss Off") and there was a file that would have made Bart Simpson proud. She pretty much kept a daily log of all my "offenses" which included things like "slouched in chair," "yawned loudly," "fell asleep in class," "stared out window." Things came to a head when one day as I was walking down the hall chatting with a classmate. She popped out of her classroom and demanded to know what we were talking about. She thought we were saying something evil about another teacher. Finally I convinced her that it was about some inane topic and not about any teacher. As I walked into another classroom, someone asked me what that was all about. I said, "I don't know. She must be high or something." She heard. Oh man! She exploded. HOW DARE I SAY THAT SHE WAS HIGH!!! I was hauled down to the principal's office and given a one-day suspension. That was pretty much the peak of my scholastic malfeasance.
I have mixed feelings about the old bag. On the one paw I obviously learned a lot of stuff from her and still have it buried in my brain. On the other paw she was such a spiteful old hag that I still have fantasies about spitting in her eye and shoving my college degrees in her face because she also seemed to think that I was as likely to go to prison as I would to college since I was such a horrible kid who shot spitballs and rubber bands. I guess I shouldn't have a cow, man. Cowabunga, dude.