And I spent three years at university for this. The perpetual line of disappointment was running through my mind again as I lifted my grubby white lab coat from its hook on the door that accessed the classroom. Shrugging of my jacket, fawn tweed with brown leather patches to cover the thread bare elbows. The small wired glass window in the door was kept covered with paper and Sellotape, just one small corner was cut away so I can watch them without being seen.
There they are thirty acne ridden faces sat behind wooden benches. The innocence of youth with no idea about what the outside world has waiting for them.
When I graduated from university, a degree in chemistry the ink still wet on the paper I had dreams of making some world changing discovery or chemical process.
Several interviews with pharmaceutical companies didn’t go well, they all said I wasn’t good enough. How dare they, I was good enough, they just couldn’t see my potential. So now I teach young teenagers’ basic chemistry which they use to make stink bombs.
Twenty years in a second-rate comprehensive teaching post in a dreary suburban school, nerves and emotions regularly shredded, only repetitive shots of whisky from the silver flask in my pocket, a gift from my parents on graduation day dull my feelings of desolation. Once there was an engraved congratulatory message on it from my so proud parents this has now been rubbed away together with any remnants of the ambitions I once had, now it is just a constant reminder of my failure, whisky and tobacco my day to day companions.
I hate my life.
And that new boy, there he is, new blazer, new tie, new shirt, I bet his mom polishes his shoes for him, and that little tease Diana, Diana Jones, dresses like a slut, skirt so short you can see her knickers, I know she shows her tits to the boys for cigarettes. Jenkins at least his homework is handed in on time, Deakin, what a scruffy individual . Why do I hate my life? This is why.
They can see me watching them through the wired glass window, the new boy trying to make the others laugh with his nonsense. Came here from the slums, moved here because they knocked his house down to make way for a university, such irony. Now I have to deal with him, no record of his previous schooling, so we have to tidy up their mistakes. Can’t be that bright, well he can start from the bottom.
They haven’t seen me yet.
I’ll just watch from behind my window. Another bite from my flask before I start the day. The amber liquid burns. I cant even afford the good stuff, just this supermarket crap. Senses dulled ready to start the day. A mint with a hole to hide the smell on my breath, they are all to young, too stupid to know but the other masters got to hide it from them.
Flask in pocket like a bloody security blanket, I turn the handle, the door swings open on well oiled hinges. Twenty nine shiny pink faces rise to their feet, but not the new boy he’s talking to someone.
This is my class room, I’m in charge. I run my finger down the register there’s his name the late entry the new boy , Bishop, Mark Bishop.
“Stand up you slovenly individual Bishop, Stand up”. I demand
Ha, his face is flushed red, that will teach the little sod.
“What was so important that you ignored me.”
“Didn’t see you sir.”
“No too busy talking when you should be listening, what where you doing?”
“He was making farting noises sir.” comes a reply from somewhere.
Now they are laughing, all laughing. Are they laughing at me how dare they.
“QUIET I shout. QUIEEET”
The silence is all consuming.
“ come here boy.” I point at Bishop.
Cant use the cane anymore. The headmaster doesn’t think its appropriate, and by god this boy deserves it.
“That’s it leave your bag there come here.”
“Only been here a week not starting out too well is it Bishop?”
“No Sir.”
“Quiet when I ask you a question, I will tell you when to speak”
“Pick up that chalk and in your best hand writing I want you to write what I say on the board.”
“Yes Sir.”
I will teach him how things are done here.
“Write this Capital E”
He has a good writing hand never mind
“Capital S”
The letter S slithers across the board
“Now N”
That’s it ESN the letters are a foot high in the middle of the board.
That’s you Bishop do you know what it means ,
No sir
“No sir, no sir. You know nothing boy, educationally sub-Normal that’s what you are boy educationally sub normal now get to your seat.
What did you say Boy don’t you mutter under your breath to me.
“I called you a Prick. Sir”.