Standing outside the door, the gateway, to the class that we hate so much. The teacher pushes past us, hastily making his way to open the door. Fiddling with the keys for a few seconds, he succeeds in finding the right one. Jamming the key into the lock on the door, he kicks the door open. “Come in boys”, he says. “Do your ties up and tuck your shirts in”, he barks, to each individual walking through his door that is dressed untidily. As we enter the room, the acrid smell of the old room, hits us in the face, like a sandstorm in the Sahara.
We quickly take our seats, as we have learned the consequence of being tardy from past experience. “What are you waiting for?” he shouts. His voice piercing our ears, as if pins were being stuck into them. “Take out your books”, he commands. “I will be coming around to collect your homework”. He receives a few shifty glances, people practically telling him that they haven’t done the task. “Or maybe I’ll be collecting excuses from a few of you”. After going around the classroom, he reaches me. I’m known for not doing my homework, in any subject for that matter. I scramble for a minute, and then remember I actually completed some of it last night, before my brain felt like it would explode with boredom, and I went away to watch TV. I pull out my sheet. It is folded, dirty and the writing on it is atrocious.
Looking at it for a minute, thinking of giving it back to me, telling me to come at recess and finish it, to my great surprise, he collects it, without saying a word, giving me a filthy look as he walks away. Not paying any attention what so ever during the teachers rambles on parabolas and whatnot, I take out my Ipod and open my textbook, pretending to do work when he walks around the room. I know I won’t get a good mark in maths, but I don’t care. After all, its just another crappy subject at a school that I hate.