I sparked one of my primary school teachers right the fuck out
Mr Planer seemed to have it in for me. The Head Master (NOT head teacher, oh no) in a small rural primary school, he ruled his fiefdom with an iron fist. He wasn't exactly nice to anyone, but despite the fact I was never any real bother and always did well in class, he seemed to take a peculiar delight in meting out undeserved and disproportionate punishments.

Having the crap kicked out of me by older kids? My fault - a week of lost lunchtimes, standing outside his office. Having a gerbil fall off the table whilst I was cleaning the cage? My fault - immediate cessation of all gerbil/axolotl-related duties, two days of lost lunchtimes, writing lines outside his office. Playing with a drawing pin on his desk whilst queuing up to have some work marked? Immediate public bawling out for 'thievery', three days of lost lunchtimes standing outside his office.

The worst occasion was when my friend and I were having a chat, and said friend was idly booting a brick wall. Now, the wall is fairly sturdy - it's an old school, and has survived countless generations of careless kids - but apparently, this was 'vandalism', and 'wilful destruction of school property'. Of course, my mate didn't get in any bother whatsoever - but I was immediately removed from the day's trip to find aquatic specimens in the local brook, and taken into his office. He started off by shouting, but it became relatively clear that the man was losing the plot - the louder he became, the closer his face came to mine - mottled with unthinking rage, each over-emphasized plosive sending a spray of foul-smelling spittle into my face as he detailed every imagined defect with my character. Then, mere words clearly being inadequate for his purposes, he grabbed a handful of my hair and pulled sharply upwards - shouting all the time, pulling and pulling, until I was on tiptoes, and almost crying. Even at eight years old I knew this wasn't exactly right - the injustice of it all slammed home in a moment, and I felt my first experience of pure, unadulterated rage - without any conscious input from my brain, I could feel my hands balling up into tiny, ineffectual fists...

Which is all quite besides the point. The teacher I *actually* knocked out was kindly old Mrs West, in a freak bell-ringing accident.
( Happy Phantom has been to Hastings, Brighton, and Eastbourne too, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:18, 1 reply)

So.
You rang her bell real good?
(speedevil, Fri 9 Sep 2011, 11:38, closed)