A plump petite woman emerges from the room –the class teacher I guess. I eye her up and down as she briskly struts towards me with her stiletto high heels echoing behind her. As I observe her dress code, I can’t help but feel a sense of humiliation as her clothing is similar to the fashion trend of the 18th century. In other words, she is clothed trampy with her Bushy, blonde hair hiding half her face. The other half (the apparent half) is lifeless her eyes hanging with shallow, purple bags. They completely spoil her appearance I thought to myself but I utter not a word of disgust as I know she will be my future form tutor. She is dressed in a white outfit covered with food stains with her buttons half undone. Her short sleeves reveal her hairy arms- maybe she’s never heard of waxing I thought to myself. But her unique dress code is so hideous that my excuses are not good enough to cover her ghastly fashion sense. Her trousers are way too short for her height but they conceal her stout thighs-which in some sense is a good thing. She lifts her hands an inch forward and shyly shakes my hands, as she does this the smell of body odour escapes from beneath her armpits and seeps its way through my nostrils. Seeing the state of my teacher makes me feel a bit better as I know she’ll be a pushover.
I follow her back to the classroom-a metre away from where I am standing. She walks ahead of me with her head down as if she’s embarrassed of me and a feeling of nervousness begins to make me feel somewhat unconfident. I enter the classroom and the rowdy students all turn their glances and attention towards me quickly hiding their phones underneath their desks (some were sitting ON the desks so they were finding difficulty in hiding it away). Their strange stares begin to bring out an uncomfortable, unusual feeling within me and the blood gushing back and forth in my body reddens the pale, pallid shade of my face. I can feel the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end and my body rigidifies. The feeling of frustration suddenly arouses in me- how can one feel comfortable in a catastrophic classroom like this?
First Day at school-Teachers perspective
Lost in my thoughts, I stand alone in front of the disobedient students as they chatter casually among themselves. Their chattering rings in my ears giving me an excruciating migraine which worsens as they speak. I feel like screaming in agony, crying in pain, relieving myself of this throbbing migraine. As I suffer in silence the quiet humming of the computer enrages me as its hum sounds like a ship coming on board. Parrot fashioned, I recite the words off the board without making an effort to explain the formulae to the ignorant students. They’re so absorbed in their conversations I thought to myself but I continue with the work as I know how difficult algebra is. I cast my gaze towards the spherical clock at the back wall, examining the clock hands as they move slowly before me. Only 10 minutes left till the new student arrives I think to myself as I walk towards my desk. I collect the algebra sheets that I prepared at home and sling them on the tables.
After what seems like hours but is merely minutes I gaze through the glass window and see her insignificant dinky face coming closer. A feeling of nervousness fills me and I walk diligently towards the door. I open it and watch her as she walks reluctantly towards me her head high up, observing the door. As soon as she sees me she lowers her gaze, her cheeks burning red.
Compared to me, a chubby woman, I examine her figure and a feeling of jealousy creeps unwontedly inside me. Her slender tall figure walks elegantly towards me, her jet black hair bouncing behind her. If only I was that skinny I thought to myself, feeling embarrassed of my elephantine body. Her short skirt reveals her thin stick-like legs covered with brown tights with holes in it-the latest style I thought to myself. Her polo t-shirt was snowy white and neatly tucked underneath her skirt. She gradually stops walking and stands centimetres away from me eyeing my dress code up and down as I examine her. She follows me as I swiftly walk inside the classroom not bothering to introduce her and I perch on the computer chair in hope that she’ll introduce herself to my noisy class.
The class goes silent. As soon as they see her they hush themselves and sit straight with their phones hidden inside their pockets. In my 10 years of teaching I feel an honoured, triumphant sensation as I have never seen my class quieter than now. She stands in the hallway looking around as if she’s never seem a classroom before whilst I enjoy the pin-drop silence. She stays standing solid as a brick so the student in front of her pulls out a chair from underneath the table and indicates her seat. She shyly takes her seat modestly looking down with nervousness. She’ll change her tune in no time she’ll become as moronic as the others I thought to myself. Such a perfect student if only she knew how troublesome my class is. If only she knew what I knew.