Hate is a strong word, I know. But I’m going to use it. I hate these kids. You may wonder, why do you hate kids? You’re a teacher, aren’t you? All teachers love kids!

And that’s where you’re wrong. There is at least one teacher who absolutely hates kids, and that person is me, Mr. George Hoopla. I have never been able to stand children with their filthy fingers, disgusting antics, and slurred words like those of a person who has had too much to drink. Eww. I only took this job for the money, and at this point I’d rather be homeless than spend another year working at this dreadful place.

Thank goodness we’re starting the last quarter of the school year. Unfortunately, there’s still end of grade testing and then the little bratty fifth graders will want a field trip. But that’s so much better than having an entire new year to be tortured by these children.

This morning I’ve decided we’re going to work on spelling with a spelling bee. And even better, I’ve put a little spin on the contest to add some fun. Well, fun for me anyways.

“Okay, let’s get in a big line at the front of the room. We’re going to have a spelling bee today.” I say in my signature flat monotone voice, trying to hide my excitement at this new “game.” And no, it doesn’t involve violence. As much as I hate my job and these kids, I need the money for two more months. Then I’m free!

The kids nervously glance at me, and then begin picking their way to the front of the room. They are probably wondering what inspired me to choose such a normal activity for today’s class. In the past they’ve been forced to eat live worms (as an educational experience), been chased around the classroom by a man in a yeti suit (to learn self defense), and have had to clean everything in my classroom, including the toilets (to have the job skills needed for the housekeeping career, which is probably what most of them will end up doing for their jobs). And the list goes on.

I check to see that all the fifth graders are lined up perfectly, and then I begin. “The rules are simple: I read out the word, you spell it. You will get to hear me repeat it once. I will use it in a sentence once. If you spell it correctly, you will stay in line until you spell a word wrong.” I pause for a dramatic effect. “If you do happen to spell one of the words wrong…” I gesture at the closet. Slowly, the door opens to reveal a man in the most terrifying zombie costume I have ever seen. Perfect.

“Our guest, Mr. Flesheater, will escort you to the janitor’s closet where you will spend the rest of the school day.” I turn to face the crowd of cowering kids. “Do you understand?”

Weakly, the class replies, “Yes, Mr. Hoopla.” One boy turns around and vomits. Another girl bursts out into tears. The rest of the children have their eyes open wide, begging me to not go through with this spelling bee but be like all the other teachers: Kind, compassionate, and fun.

I snicker at them. Stupid kids, they brought this onto themselves. I have been waiting for an idea like this for the entire school year. If they think that their gross charms will work on me, then they need to think again.

I smile the evilest smile I can manage. “Let us begin.”

I point my hand at the first girl and belt out, “Authoritarianism!” A confused, horror-struck look spreads across her face. I chuckle. It’s funny because all the words are this hard.

“Give me an answer, girl!”

“Umm, uh, uh. Hmm. A? T?”

“OUT!” I shriek. She tries to run away from my “zombie,” but she’s no match for his strength. The girl is dragged into the closet, screaming and crying.

I turn to the next boy, and smile menacingly.