Teacher's Pet

What I Am.

I'm not at all sure how this happened. I am 43 years old and I am officially the 'teacher's pet'! It has come late to me because my school reports certainly would not have indicated this was possible; throughout my schooling, they would mostly say:

Juliet is a bright girl but doesn't apply herself. She needs to concentrate more and distract her fellow classmates less! Being the class clown does not achieve qualifications.

I remember quite vividly, the times I was very naughty. I was once rapped on the back of a hand with a metal ruler, by my science teacher, because I was trying to get everyone to laugh by imitating her, behind her back. She caught me and hit me so hard that I yelled out and said she was a child abuser! I think I'd seen something on TV the night before but had no idea what it meant. She went bright red and sent me to see Miss Tanner, the headmistress, who at 90 years old, still loved to apply the cane. When I told her what I'd done, she bent me over her desk and with all her strength (not much), gave me 10 strokes on the bottom. It's quite ironic that my outburst led me to have the exact thing I was complaining about! I was never damaged, mentally or physically from these canings, I assure you, because Miss Tanner really couldn't muster the energy! It was also a flimsy cane competing with thick, grey, school knickers and a thick, tweed skirt. Couldn't feel a thing!

On another occasion, in the chemistry lab, one of the borders (always the worst and most provocative girls in school) had procured a condom. Most of us had never even seen one, let alone know what to do with it, but I was assured you could blow it up like a balloon. Next door, the other half of our year were in the physics lab, and I was dared to blow the condom up through the large keyhole, causing we hoped, hilarity from the other room! I know, it sounds impossible. You are also probably wondering how I could do this without my teacher seeing? Well, I dropped down onto my hands and knees and crawled across the floor while my classmates asked numerous questions about the periodic table, located on the other side of the room. Cunning eh? I had just managed to get the condom through the keyhole and was blowing as hard as I could (don't be smutty!) when our physics teacher decided to come through the door to borrow a pipette or something sciencey. She flung open the door, clocked me on the head and I flew backwards still holding the now deflated condom in my hand. I was immediately sent to the headmistress! That one was a little trickier to explain, plus the fast that I'm not sure Miss Tanner had ever seen one before.

There were several other incidents I'm quite proud of but I won't go into those now! Also, at this point my parents are probably horrified and wondering why they have never heard of these terrible crimes. For some reason, unbeknownst to me, in those days they punished us without asking or even telling our parents. On reflection, that's probably a good thing!!

I was also a terrible procrastinator. I often wouldn't do my week's homework until Sunday night, whilst listening to the Top 40 music charts. I think the reason I left it until the last minute was that I actually couldn't retain information for longer than a few days. During my O' Levels, I dictated all my books onto cassette tape and would play them back as I was falling asleep, the night before the exam, thinking all the information would go into my head subliminally! Again, I think I saw something to do with this on TV!! I always did fairly well, amazingly, but I definitely 'could have done better'!!

So, now to present day. I have been on this creative writing course for over 2 months now... we get given work to do in class and then get homework as well. The homework is usually a couple of different writing exercises and could take anything from a few hours to a full day!! Our teacher doesn't expect to see the homework until the next class although she encourages us to send it to her, before that, on email so that she can correct and critique it. I have usually done my homework, typed it up and sent it to her by Wednesday night (our class is on Mondays). My teacher always praises my efficiency and keenness and I sometimes smile smugly to myself. Never openly of course. Last week, however, things become slightly awkward. A month or so ago, my teacher had encouraged me to write a short story to enter into a competition. She has been kind enough to send suggestions and comments back and forth, out of class hours (way beyond her call of duty). I am now on the final draft, after weeks of agonising, and she is very happy. But, she has now decided to enter her own short story into the competition and has sent it to me to read and critique. Blimey! This was all fine, until she mentioned it in class. She mentioned my story, her story, me reading her story, the competition, the out of hours tutoring and worst of all... asked me to read my finished short story to the class next week. The other students looked at each other with a shared understanding... something we have all possessed since our school days... recognising the class swat! If that wasn't bad enough, one of the new students - a middle aged, outspoken, opinionated, Australian businessman - looked at me across the table, smirked and said really slowly and really loudly:

"Oh. My. God... Jules is the teacher's pet".

It was the ultimate put down. Humiliating. Embarrassing. All I wanted to do was reach across the table and slap his smug face and say: "Shut ya face, you pig! Just because I did my homework and you didn't. Bastard!" Pretty much what I would have said to any boy when I was 14 years old! Of course, I didn't do that. It would have been juvenile. Instead, I waited until my teacher was looking at her notes and I stuck my tongue out at him. Which proves that although I may no longer be the troublemaker in class... you can't take me out of the playground!