It's my childhood
Pranks, Chicken, and a Piano
I pulled a lot of pranks during 6th grade, more came later, but a lot of the funny ones came from this particular year. Once again, the teacher was huge; the art teacher made her look tiny, but this woman was still huge. Once, she took her sweatshirt off, and her shirt came off with it, revealing her chest. Becky almost screamed, and went to the bathroom for a half hour after this. One of the pranks that I pulled involved tape. I stuck it on the teachers chair so it would stick to her when she sat down. It worked, and tape was stuck to her butt for the rest of the day. But it didn’t end there, since the next day she worse the exact same pair of pants the next day, and the tape was still on her butt the next day, which disgusted all of us.
Another prank I pulled was I got Mark and Luke to go into the hall with the teacher and complain about something in private. When the teacher was out of the room, I got plastic wrap out of my desk and covered the teacher’s desk. The whole desk, and everything on it, was covered in plastic wrap. When she came back into the room, she just laughed, but then made the whole class partake in removing it from her desk. That same week, I convinced her she was hearing voices, because I’d say her name very quietly so she wouldn’t know who it was, and everybody would deny it.
It was probably the most entertaining week of the elementary school career.
It wasn’t just teachers I would pull pranks on. I pulled one on Luke where I took a perfume sample from the newspaper, and I told him to come by me at recess, where I took the perfume sample and rubbed it on him before he had enough time to get away. So for the rest of the day, he smelled like “Palm trees, sunshine, and happiness.”
We had a music teacher who was always very odd. She basically taught us nothing, and even today I don’t think I learned one thing in her class, for all ten years. One day during sixth grade, she dropped her pencil under her desk.
“Let me get that!” She bellowed, and went under her desk to retrieve the pencil. After five minutes, she still wasn’t up from the desk.
“Matt, go check on her.” Marge said to me.
“Why me,” I whispered, “I don’t even like her.”
“Just do it.”
I walked, grumbling, to her desk, and I saw her bent under it. I slowly move myself so I could see her better, and I noticed she was eating something. Confused, I looked even closer, and I noticed a bucket from Culvers under the desk, as she pulled chicken out from the bucket and ate it. I tried not to laugh at this as I slowly went back to my seat.
“Was she okay? What’s going on?” Marge asked.
“You’re not gonna believe me.” I say, trying not to laugh.
I tried her, and I was right before. She didn’t believe me. Eventually she came up from under the desk, after about ten minutes, wiping her face off with her sleeve.
“That pencil was really hard to find!” She grinned.
I can tell, right now, you’re thinking this is a work of fiction, even in the midst of other nonfiction stories. Or you think they’re all fake. None of these are. Even this. Just because nobody believes me now doesn’t mean I’m gonna exclude it from this story. Whether or not you think this is true or not, I’ll let you decide, I’m just the reporter.
Later that year, the music teacher got mad at our class because we kept talking, so she took her binder, slammed it on the ground, and left the room in a huff. Being twelve years old, we all naturally started to talk and screw around. I went to the back of the room and started to play the song Clocks, by Coldplay, on the piano, which I had learned a few weeks beforehand. Everybody gathered around, and we all started to just kind of laugh it up. That’s when the teacher came back into the room, and started to go ballistic at me. I got sent to the principal, who just laughed off the reason why I was there. She sent me back to class, where the teacher started to yell at me again, and gave me a detention for playing the piano in music class.
Let me put emphasis on that. Playing the PIANO in MUSIC class.
Do you see the problem?