I realize I have done some fairly colorful things in my time. Many of which I would rather not rehash, some of which I probably should. One particularly awful incident involved the abuse of my math substitute, Ms. Colblinz. First of all, I must start off by mentioning, she was more than a substitute teacher; she was employed the entire school year, but because she never made the ranks of full-blown teacher, it was much easier for me to harass her.
Each day, upon entering her classroom, Ms. Colblinz would often find a large erect penis drawn meticulously across the entire length of the chalkboard.
After a week or so of fuming at the sight of my drawings, demanding to know "Who did this!?" she'd simply erase them without saying anything at all, then move on to more important mathematical formulas.
Relentless, each and every time she passed my desk I would give Ms. Colblinz and good wack on the rump with my wooden ruler.
"I have had about enough of you young lady! Go to the office!" she roared, her throat reverberating like turkey gobble.
This happened every day I wasn't outside smoking weed in an old pickup with my boyfriend (who spent most of his free time robbing post offices and ripping purses from the feeble hands of elderly women in grocery stores).
Then one day, Ms. Colblinz didn't show up for class. Later I was informed by the principal that her early retirement from East Grand High was due to the wild and filthy behavior of myself and my former peer, Crade Scott.
Knowing my obnoxious unruly character inspirited Ms. Colblinz to quit didn't phase me.
But, 3 years later, when I happened to wait on her in a vegetarian restaurant in the ever boring city of Denver, I was compelled to beg her forgiveness.
At first I wasn't sure if it was really her, so I asked her how her meal was. She replied in the same brassy tone I had become so accustomed to. "Fine." she said, looking down, a permanent scowl affixed to her face.
Maybe it wasn't her, I thought. There are loads of miserable people in the world. Then she handed me a check to pay for her meal. Her name printed in tight, old fashioned cursive blinking like hazard lights from the upper left corner.
I knew I should apologize to Ms. Coblinz for being such a pain in the ass. Perhaps I had made her lonely and miserable. Perhaps I was the reason she chose to dine alone on a Sunday morning when everyone else had companions. I took a deep breath, rang her soup and salad into the register and said quite simply, "Have a good day, Ms. Coblinz".