This Is Not About Vampires
I Hate In-Class Lab Time, Computers That Work, and Mrs. Webster's Tongue
In lit, we were given computer lab time to start our projects. Ballah and I selected several potential Bosch paintings and printed them out, but after this we lost all desire to work. We instead decided to entertain ourselves for the remainder of the class period by drawing pictures of Mrs. Webster and gluing her face over some of the tortured souls’ faces on the paintings.
“So,” Ballah said, slapping Mrs. Webster’s face on the body of a human-eating monster, “When are we going to get this done?”
“Well, you have detention Saturday right?”
“Yeah, and I can’t do it on Sunday or Friday…”
“Then we’ll just have to do it Saturday.” I stated.
“I. Have. Detention.” She said, enunciating each word.
“I’ll bust you out.”
“Oh, okay!” Ballah said, happy that I had pointed out the obvious solution to her problem, “Besides, ‘Education is the most important thing!’” She did an impression of Mrs. Graminsky. I laughed.
“Yeah,” I said, “And discipline… definitely not as important as education.”
During our rebellious discussion, Mrs. Webster had loomed up behind us like a shade out of the bowels of hell. How’s that for eloquent Mrs. Webster? You psycho literary bitch.
“What is this mockery of art?” She bellowed, jabbing a finger at our modification of the Bosch painting.
“Part of our project,” Ballah explained innocently, flashing a fake smile. It was a wasted effort. When Mrs. Webster decided she hated you, you were labeled for good. No amount of sucking up or bribery would ever change that.
“Ridiculous Bella-“
“Ballah”
“-you should be diligently completing your project and readying yourselves to be adequately prepared for presentation.”
“We can’t,” I said, quickly formulating a plan in my head.
“And why are you unable to continue?” Mrs. Webster asked, un-amused. I swear, this woman could be an assassin if she was as swift and accurate as her tongue. A tongue I would like to cut out of her mouth and mount on my wall to serve as a dart board. I would watch her gargling on her own blood as she tried to insult me with long words. I stifled a giggle as I painted a mental image.
“Because the computer is broken,” I said. The computer wasn’t broken.
“The computer isn’t broken,” Mrs. Webster debated, “It seems to be functioning exponentially well.”
I put my fist through the screen.
“No,” I said again, “I’m pretty sure it’s broken.”
Mrs. Webster called the principal down. It took her several minutes due to her ridiculously obnoxious way of communicating.
When the principal arrived at the computer lab he was greeted by a very peeved Mrs. Webster. She was tapping her foot and thinking of which words from her extensive vocabulary would best fit the situation.
“So,” the principal said, eyeing the destroyed monitor, “I hear you punched a computer.”
“No, it just broke,” I reasoned, “But I’m sure insurance will cover it if it was just an accident.”
“Right,” Ballah added, “This kind of thing happens all the time.”
“I suppose you’re right,” the principal said pausing for a minute to rethink the situation, “Alright, no harm done. If anything else breaks let me know so I can claim the insurance money. That’s the magic of school insurance, kids can be kids and break all the crap that they want and I get paid for it!”
The principal walked out, completely content with the wonder that is insurance.
Mrs. Webster on the other hand, was infuriated.
“I am infuriated!” she barked, “Your behavior was unacceptable and there should be repercussions. Consider yourself fortunate you escaped unscathed. Now, continue to work on your project.”
“I can’t…” Ballah pouted.
“And why ever not?” Mrs. Webster asked, arms crossed.
Ballah picked up a chair and threw it. It soared through the air, landed on the computer table, and slid across, smashing an entire row of computers. The broken parts fizzed and sparked. High school students love destruction and having in-class outbursts, so they took the opportunity to scream and cheer. The only one who was not thrilled by the spontaneous vandalism was the mismatched clothes girl, who once again, ran out of the room crying. I didn't know where she was headed, because we just destroyed the computers that she would blog about us destroying computers on...
“The computers are broken,” Ballah stated, a feline-like grin stretched across her face.
“Good thing we have insurance,” I pointed out.
“So,” Ballah said, slapping Mrs. Webster’s face on the body of a human-eating monster, “When are we going to get this done?”
“Well, you have detention Saturday right?”
“Yeah, and I can’t do it on Sunday or Friday…”
“Then we’ll just have to do it Saturday.” I stated.
“I. Have. Detention.” She said, enunciating each word.
“I’ll bust you out.”
“Oh, okay!” Ballah said, happy that I had pointed out the obvious solution to her problem, “Besides, ‘Education is the most important thing!’” She did an impression of Mrs. Graminsky. I laughed.
“Yeah,” I said, “And discipline… definitely not as important as education.”
During our rebellious discussion, Mrs. Webster had loomed up behind us like a shade out of the bowels of hell. How’s that for eloquent Mrs. Webster? You psycho literary bitch.
“What is this mockery of art?” She bellowed, jabbing a finger at our modification of the Bosch painting.
“Part of our project,” Ballah explained innocently, flashing a fake smile. It was a wasted effort. When Mrs. Webster decided she hated you, you were labeled for good. No amount of sucking up or bribery would ever change that.
“Ridiculous Bella-“
“Ballah”
“-you should be diligently completing your project and readying yourselves to be adequately prepared for presentation.”
“We can’t,” I said, quickly formulating a plan in my head.
“And why are you unable to continue?” Mrs. Webster asked, un-amused. I swear, this woman could be an assassin if she was as swift and accurate as her tongue. A tongue I would like to cut out of her mouth and mount on my wall to serve as a dart board. I would watch her gargling on her own blood as she tried to insult me with long words. I stifled a giggle as I painted a mental image.
“Because the computer is broken,” I said. The computer wasn’t broken.
“The computer isn’t broken,” Mrs. Webster debated, “It seems to be functioning exponentially well.”
I put my fist through the screen.
“No,” I said again, “I’m pretty sure it’s broken.”
Mrs. Webster called the principal down. It took her several minutes due to her ridiculously obnoxious way of communicating.
When the principal arrived at the computer lab he was greeted by a very peeved Mrs. Webster. She was tapping her foot and thinking of which words from her extensive vocabulary would best fit the situation.
“So,” the principal said, eyeing the destroyed monitor, “I hear you punched a computer.”
“No, it just broke,” I reasoned, “But I’m sure insurance will cover it if it was just an accident.”
“Right,” Ballah added, “This kind of thing happens all the time.”
“I suppose you’re right,” the principal said pausing for a minute to rethink the situation, “Alright, no harm done. If anything else breaks let me know so I can claim the insurance money. That’s the magic of school insurance, kids can be kids and break all the crap that they want and I get paid for it!”
The principal walked out, completely content with the wonder that is insurance.
Mrs. Webster on the other hand, was infuriated.
“I am infuriated!” she barked, “Your behavior was unacceptable and there should be repercussions. Consider yourself fortunate you escaped unscathed. Now, continue to work on your project.”
“I can’t…” Ballah pouted.
“And why ever not?” Mrs. Webster asked, arms crossed.
Ballah picked up a chair and threw it. It soared through the air, landed on the computer table, and slid across, smashing an entire row of computers. The broken parts fizzed and sparked. High school students love destruction and having in-class outbursts, so they took the opportunity to scream and cheer. The only one who was not thrilled by the spontaneous vandalism was the mismatched clothes girl, who once again, ran out of the room crying. I didn't know where she was headed, because we just destroyed the computers that she would blog about us destroying computers on...
“The computers are broken,” Ballah stated, a feline-like grin stretched across her face.
“Good thing we have insurance,” I pointed out.
♠ ♠ ♠
Sorry this update was late. My life was suckish yesterday. =/