Things were going smoothly yesterday, going really well, until the class discovered I actually knew how to do algebra. After that I was the featured commodity. It was hard work, but my stock rose accordingly.
“What is three times sixteen?”
The young philosopher who had posed the question furrowed his brow, eyes slightly squinty. His sidekick, with smooth pragmatism, reached for his calculator.
I considered. “Forty-eight.”
They looked at me in awe. The pragmatist muttered, “He said it before I could even punch it in…”
Later, students talked about my cool shoes, my cool Guy Pearce resemblance, my general coolness. It’s amazing what paying attention in school has done for me.
In the right light, my car appears to be a yellow Honda Passport.
The day was not without its minor roadblock, however.
A student’s chances of landing a detention from me are not too far removed from his odds of winning the lottery. However, in one of my classes was a former detention winner who had beaten all the odds and received a slap on the wrist. He vowed that he would have his revenge—later, of course. That’s the cool line in high school; “I’ll make you pay for that…later.” Sure, fine, as you say.
A few minutes later the audacious youngster asked me what kind of car I drove, and not being one to hold a grudge, I said, “A Honda…” Then I had another thought. “A yellow Honda Passport,” I quickly amended. Nearby students quickly affirmed the wisdom of concealing my vehicle’s true identity.
I’m just hoping that Mr. I’ll-get-you-for-this will grasp the distinction between sarcasm and lying. It would break my heart to be accused of deception and unjust reprisal.