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» Your Weirdest Teacher
Weird Teacher Awards
/delurk + first postness
^ because there's finally a QOTW that applies to me =D
Anyway.
I'm 16 and have had my share of weird-ass teachers throughout my ever-continuing educational career; being American in the bilingual stream of a Dutch school helps (as Dutchie schools tend to be a hell of a lot more liberal and open and generally cool about a lot of things than most American schools).
Some of my favorites (any current students of the Lorentz Lyceum will most likely immediately snap to attention):
The Award for Most Utterly and Paedophilically Freaky Teacher goes to Mr. Meijer (pronounced Meyer). We only had him for one year, which was a good job, as it's only a matter of time before he's sacked for doing something unspeakable to a girl in the storeroom.
Anyway- he teaches Woodshop and rumor has it that he was sacked from his old job as Biology teacher at another school because he had a wank in the john, came back and stuck his thousands of little mini Meijers under the microscopes for the kids to look at (and anyone who's had class from him wouldn't put it past him).
Something with a bit more evidence to support it was his behavior towards this utterly hot, rather large-breasted girl called Maria (who was 12 at the time...). It was the middle of winter and Mr. Meijer had a thick sweater on when he said to poor Maria "It's hot in here, Maria, why don't you take off your jumper?"
*shudders*
The Award for Teacher With The Biggest Cojones goes to none other than Mr. Houben (pronounced Frenchly). He admitted to a class full of rowdy 15- and 16-year-olds that he likes guys. I mean, here's me, the only one with the balls to actually ask him "Look, sir, here's the thing: Everyone kinda wants to know and I'm the only one out of all these kids with the balls to ask you, so yeah: what's your sexual preference?" and he utters the legendary phrase:
"Yeah, I'm gay."
How cool is that?? He's a really nice guy, by the way, not dirty and paedo like some other gay teachers I've been reading about; used to give us French lessons on a voluntary attendance policy and is also really young, which gives him an nicely unobstructed perspective when it comes to dealing with kids. Oh, and since he's a sensitive guy, all I had to do was have a slight breakdown in order to get out of doing an assignment (the breakdown was genuine and I only found out I had gotten out of doing actual work at the end of the year, so there).
The Award for Red-Blooded, A+ 100% Nutter goes to Mr. Verbeek (pronounce the 'ee' like the 'ey' in 'hey'). He regularly makes goodhearted derogatory remarks towards women in a class with at least four raging feminist 16-year-olds (most of which are really hot and think they're better than everyone else... pity really), is quoted as saying "I like all kinds of music, from rock to hip-hop to classical- all except K3." K3 is a Dutch trio of young women who sing kids' songs. "What, K3? Bend over!!" He then proceeded to mime things concerning a whip and spanking.
Yeah, he rocks. Nuts, but cool. He used to give regular 45-minute-long lessons on how to properly clean a blackboard, and once in the middle of a lesson screamed "FIRE DRILL!!", flung a window open, jumped out (his regular classroom is on the ground floor) and ran all the way around the building before coming back in and panting "You... all... got burned alive."
The Award for Coolest Older Dude Teacher ('cause I can't think of anything better) goes to Mr. Evertse, yet another French teacher. He also teaches Philosophy, is a really, really nice, intelligent and likable guy in general, and is the only teacher who consistently gives me dap (which is a slightly hip-hop-culture-oriented greeting involving a low five and smacking the knuckles of the same hands you used to give the low five together). He's so cool.
The Award for Whackest Math Teacher goes to poor Mr. Mafakheri. He was small, Iranian and couldn't speak Dutch very well, had the occasional fit of rage at some of the more dickheaded students, and once kicked a bin (a whole bin, pity it was only plastic though) at this dude with an overly large forehead who was being disruptive. He would tell you your test scores (and pretty much anything else) with a thick, thick accent (my name is Cameron and Dutchies grade you from 1 to 10 instead of F to A): "Cameroon, yoo haff a siex comma half" (but then in Dutch. You get the idea). We kind of teased him into quitting and I sort of feel bad for him now... Ah well, chances are he's in a better place ^.^
Finally, the Award for Coolest English Teacher ('cause I've had a lot of them) goes to Mrs. Kalkman. She's one of the few teachers that is able to be authoritative and treat her students as equals at the same time; she also let us watch 8 Mile in class and had us write raps as a curriculum assignment. Me and several then enemies (my taller opponent then is one of my best friends now) even got to have a battle ^.^
So yeah. Other mentionables are Mr. van der Kuil, an Economics/Management & Organization teacher who described his own fits of anger as being occasionally satanic; Mr. Strijker, a Biology teacher who thinks he's the shit and simply isn't; Mr. Grobbe, another Biology teacher who really is the shit, and really funny to boot; and Mrs. Healing, our now-retired first year English teacher who was your stereotype English lady. You could almost imagine her sitting at home sipping tea with twenty cats. Nice lady, though.
Also, we've had a number of memorable Latin teachers. I quit Latin last year because it was simply *that* boring, but in the three years I followed the course I was taught by:
Mr. Arts, the man with unspeakable breath who kept blowing off tests by forgetting to bring the papers into class and cancelling lessons to go the dentist; Mrs. Rault, the crazy lady who would give us a pop quiz every Thursday and was generally harsh; and Mr. Cloosterman, the man with no social skill whatsoever who liked carrot cake and would terribly mangle students' names: Fokelien became Kokelien and Sietske became Fietske. That last one could never decide if he liked or hated me, but on the assignment I did to round off my prematurely ending Latin course I got a big, fat 10 ^.^
ps. No apologies whatsoever for length, girth or volume. It's my first time and I've been told it's exceptional for my age ^.^
(Wed 9th Nov 2005, 18:34, More)
Weird Teacher Awards
/delurk + first postness
^ because there's finally a QOTW that applies to me =D
Anyway.
I'm 16 and have had my share of weird-ass teachers throughout my ever-continuing educational career; being American in the bilingual stream of a Dutch school helps (as Dutchie schools tend to be a hell of a lot more liberal and open and generally cool about a lot of things than most American schools).
Some of my favorites (any current students of the Lorentz Lyceum will most likely immediately snap to attention):
The Award for Most Utterly and Paedophilically Freaky Teacher goes to Mr. Meijer (pronounced Meyer). We only had him for one year, which was a good job, as it's only a matter of time before he's sacked for doing something unspeakable to a girl in the storeroom.
Anyway- he teaches Woodshop and rumor has it that he was sacked from his old job as Biology teacher at another school because he had a wank in the john, came back and stuck his thousands of little mini Meijers under the microscopes for the kids to look at (and anyone who's had class from him wouldn't put it past him).
Something with a bit more evidence to support it was his behavior towards this utterly hot, rather large-breasted girl called Maria (who was 12 at the time...). It was the middle of winter and Mr. Meijer had a thick sweater on when he said to poor Maria "It's hot in here, Maria, why don't you take off your jumper?"
*shudders*
The Award for Teacher With The Biggest Cojones goes to none other than Mr. Houben (pronounced Frenchly). He admitted to a class full of rowdy 15- and 16-year-olds that he likes guys. I mean, here's me, the only one with the balls to actually ask him "Look, sir, here's the thing: Everyone kinda wants to know and I'm the only one out of all these kids with the balls to ask you, so yeah: what's your sexual preference?" and he utters the legendary phrase:
"Yeah, I'm gay."
How cool is that?? He's a really nice guy, by the way, not dirty and paedo like some other gay teachers I've been reading about; used to give us French lessons on a voluntary attendance policy and is also really young, which gives him an nicely unobstructed perspective when it comes to dealing with kids. Oh, and since he's a sensitive guy, all I had to do was have a slight breakdown in order to get out of doing an assignment (the breakdown was genuine and I only found out I had gotten out of doing actual work at the end of the year, so there).
The Award for Red-Blooded, A+ 100% Nutter goes to Mr. Verbeek (pronounce the 'ee' like the 'ey' in 'hey'). He regularly makes goodhearted derogatory remarks towards women in a class with at least four raging feminist 16-year-olds (most of which are really hot and think they're better than everyone else... pity really), is quoted as saying "I like all kinds of music, from rock to hip-hop to classical- all except K3." K3 is a Dutch trio of young women who sing kids' songs. "What, K3? Bend over!!" He then proceeded to mime things concerning a whip and spanking.
Yeah, he rocks. Nuts, but cool. He used to give regular 45-minute-long lessons on how to properly clean a blackboard, and once in the middle of a lesson screamed "FIRE DRILL!!", flung a window open, jumped out (his regular classroom is on the ground floor) and ran all the way around the building before coming back in and panting "You... all... got burned alive."
The Award for Coolest Older Dude Teacher ('cause I can't think of anything better) goes to Mr. Evertse, yet another French teacher. He also teaches Philosophy, is a really, really nice, intelligent and likable guy in general, and is the only teacher who consistently gives me dap (which is a slightly hip-hop-culture-oriented greeting involving a low five and smacking the knuckles of the same hands you used to give the low five together). He's so cool.
The Award for Whackest Math Teacher goes to poor Mr. Mafakheri. He was small, Iranian and couldn't speak Dutch very well, had the occasional fit of rage at some of the more dickheaded students, and once kicked a bin (a whole bin, pity it was only plastic though) at this dude with an overly large forehead who was being disruptive. He would tell you your test scores (and pretty much anything else) with a thick, thick accent (my name is Cameron and Dutchies grade you from 1 to 10 instead of F to A): "Cameroon, yoo haff a siex comma half" (but then in Dutch. You get the idea). We kind of teased him into quitting and I sort of feel bad for him now... Ah well, chances are he's in a better place ^.^
Finally, the Award for Coolest English Teacher ('cause I've had a lot of them) goes to Mrs. Kalkman. She's one of the few teachers that is able to be authoritative and treat her students as equals at the same time; she also let us watch 8 Mile in class and had us write raps as a curriculum assignment. Me and several then enemies (my taller opponent then is one of my best friends now) even got to have a battle ^.^
So yeah. Other mentionables are Mr. van der Kuil, an Economics/Management & Organization teacher who described his own fits of anger as being occasionally satanic; Mr. Strijker, a Biology teacher who thinks he's the shit and simply isn't; Mr. Grobbe, another Biology teacher who really is the shit, and really funny to boot; and Mrs. Healing, our now-retired first year English teacher who was your stereotype English lady. You could almost imagine her sitting at home sipping tea with twenty cats. Nice lady, though.
Also, we've had a number of memorable Latin teachers. I quit Latin last year because it was simply *that* boring, but in the three years I followed the course I was taught by:
Mr. Arts, the man with unspeakable breath who kept blowing off tests by forgetting to bring the papers into class and cancelling lessons to go the dentist; Mrs. Rault, the crazy lady who would give us a pop quiz every Thursday and was generally harsh; and Mr. Cloosterman, the man with no social skill whatsoever who liked carrot cake and would terribly mangle students' names: Fokelien became Kokelien and Sietske became Fietske. That last one could never decide if he liked or hated me, but on the assignment I did to round off my prematurely ending Latin course I got a big, fat 10 ^.^
ps. No apologies whatsoever for length, girth or volume. It's my first time and I've been told it's exceptional for my age ^.^
(Wed 9th Nov 2005, 18:34, More)
» World's Sickest Joke
Hee hee
Two nuns, walking home after dark, are jumped by two strapping young lads of the sort that are so full of love they can't help getting a little on you (usually on your leg). The first nun grips her rosary and prays,
"Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."
Whereupon the second nun hisses,
"Shh... mine does."
(Sat 25th Feb 2006, 23:33, More)
Hee hee
Two nuns, walking home after dark, are jumped by two strapping young lads of the sort that are so full of love they can't help getting a little on you (usually on your leg). The first nun grips her rosary and prays,
"Father, forgive them, they know not what they do."
Whereupon the second nun hisses,
"Shh... mine does."
(Sat 25th Feb 2006, 23:33, More)
» World's Sickest Joke
Sorry
What's the difference between an illegal Turk and a bottle of suntan lotion?
An illegal Turk is someone from Turkish descent without legal residence documents and a bottle of suntan lotion is a bottle full of lotion that protects the skin from the sun's harmful rays.
I really didn't think it was that hard...
CK
(Sun 8th Jan 2006, 16:18, More)
Sorry
What's the difference between an illegal Turk and a bottle of suntan lotion?
An illegal Turk is someone from Turkish descent without legal residence documents and a bottle of suntan lotion is a bottle full of lotion that protects the skin from the sun's harmful rays.
I really didn't think it was that hard...
CK
(Sun 8th Jan 2006, 16:18, More)
» Work Experience
More about causality than the actual work
I've gathered from the other stories so far that Work Experience is something official that all teenagers in the UK have to do; being an American one in Holland, I rather think I'm exempt from that sort of thing, so a similar story will have to do.
Last summer (almost a year ago, that is) I finally had a good reason to get up off my ass and do some work: my girlfriend lived in Finland and plane tickets cost money. So after a few weeks of raiding temp agencies, I finally got a job just outside the place I live, a couple days' work in a mailroom belonging to the corporation my stepdad worked for at the time. It was pretty ace as far as mailrooms go- the people were friendly and the job consisted mainly of putting things in boxes in the right quantities, and they had an absolute motherload of surplus goods (corporate propaganda goodies like soccer balls, stress relief homunculi, gummy bears, et cetera, as well as some other random stuff like a huge box of apparently nice water in glass bottles) which they kept giving me, especially on my last day there.
Then, I got a job at a factory which assembled gas and water line hardware, and that one lasted a bit longer than a couple days. The job itself wasn't bad; they had me doing whatever needed doing, which provided some much-needed variety, and besides, I'm not one to fuss about the kind of work in question. Cash is cash after all, and it was me seeing my girlfriend which was on the line. (I think the worst that happened to me at the factory was a busted up hand, hip and elbow from taking a dive during a game of keep-away soccer in the lunch break, and a ruined pair of jeans due to some indelible won't-come-off-'til-you're-dead-and-then-some glue.) So it wasn't my dream job, but the people were all really friendly and it paid decently for a 17-year-old Yankee doing summer work.
Where's the catch, you ask? I'll tell you.
Around a month and a half after the summer was over (in October, do the math), after I'd accumulated something like 600 Euros, my girlfriend decided she no longer wanted to be with me. (Yes, it was as blunt as it sounds, but that's a story for another QOTW.) So I'd done all that work for nothing! *shakes fist* You cu-
Oh. Wait.
I had 600 Euros that I was no longer saving for an extended trip to Finland.
WOOHOO!
I of course abjectly refused to learn anything at all from this, so insert moral here. (Be creative.)
/coat
CK
(Thu 10th May 2007, 12:38, More)
More about causality than the actual work
I've gathered from the other stories so far that Work Experience is something official that all teenagers in the UK have to do; being an American one in Holland, I rather think I'm exempt from that sort of thing, so a similar story will have to do.
Last summer (almost a year ago, that is) I finally had a good reason to get up off my ass and do some work: my girlfriend lived in Finland and plane tickets cost money. So after a few weeks of raiding temp agencies, I finally got a job just outside the place I live, a couple days' work in a mailroom belonging to the corporation my stepdad worked for at the time. It was pretty ace as far as mailrooms go- the people were friendly and the job consisted mainly of putting things in boxes in the right quantities, and they had an absolute motherload of surplus goods (corporate propaganda goodies like soccer balls, stress relief homunculi, gummy bears, et cetera, as well as some other random stuff like a huge box of apparently nice water in glass bottles) which they kept giving me, especially on my last day there.
Then, I got a job at a factory which assembled gas and water line hardware, and that one lasted a bit longer than a couple days. The job itself wasn't bad; they had me doing whatever needed doing, which provided some much-needed variety, and besides, I'm not one to fuss about the kind of work in question. Cash is cash after all, and it was me seeing my girlfriend which was on the line. (I think the worst that happened to me at the factory was a busted up hand, hip and elbow from taking a dive during a game of keep-away soccer in the lunch break, and a ruined pair of jeans due to some indelible won't-come-off-'til-you're-dead-and-then-some glue.) So it wasn't my dream job, but the people were all really friendly and it paid decently for a 17-year-old Yankee doing summer work.
Where's the catch, you ask? I'll tell you.
Around a month and a half after the summer was over (in October, do the math), after I'd accumulated something like 600 Euros, my girlfriend decided she no longer wanted to be with me. (Yes, it was as blunt as it sounds, but that's a story for another QOTW.) So I'd done all that work for nothing! *shakes fist* You cu-
Oh. Wait.
I had 600 Euros that I was no longer saving for an extended trip to Finland.
WOOHOO!
I of course abjectly refused to learn anything at all from this, so insert moral here. (Be creative.)
/coat
CK
(Thu 10th May 2007, 12:38, More)
» Picky Eaters
Recovering from childhood traumas
I'm not a picky eater. Someone else said that they'll always at least try to act as if they're enjoying whatever they're given; that's something I do as well, if only out of politeness (I experience misgivings when something looks as if its rightful home is an unmarked grave rather than a dinner plate, but I'll usually eat it all the same) and I'm usually pleasantly surprised. I've learned, however, that if I really can't stomach it I can simply drench it in hot sauce and claim an incorrigible predilection for really spicy food. Number one, that isn't far from the truth, and number two, hotsauce * assloads = -taste.
However: there are certain things that I have an odd aversion to. In my defense, there's a good reason for all of them.
First off: raisins. Aside from the obvious complete insanity of thinking, "Hmm, what a lovely fruit, but I think it might taste better AFTER I LEAVE IT TO ROT IN THE SUN FOR A DAY OR SO", I distinctly remember a story told to me when I was young and impressionable about my downstairs neighbor (we lived in a vertical duplex) getting up in the middle of the night with a craving for dried-grapey goodness. The light on her refrigerator wasn't working, however, so after popping several raisins in her mouth and remarking upon their juiciness she decided to turn the kitchen light on. At which point she discovered that she had been eating lovely, juicy... earwigs.
(Come to think of it, alarm bells should've started ringing when I heard she found bugs in her fridge for no reason.)
Anyway. Secondly: things that are excessively creamy. Things like whipped cream, cole slaw, mayonaise, yogurt, et cetera ad nauseum (often literally). Bonus 'ewww' points if the food is also white or light-colored, but it's the consistency that really bothers me; I don't trust food that can't decide whether it's a solid or a liquid. I never liked them really, not since I was little, but I think a large part of that stems from the fact that my mom's best friend Tonya took great pleasure in tormenting little impressionable me about my phobia for creaminess. For example: we'd be in a restaurant and I'd have built a wall of menus and ketchup bottles around my plate so I didn't have to see the creamy shit on someone else's (I was an odd little nipper). Tonya would say, in her most calming, talking-to-toddlers voice, "It's OK, the creamy stuff is gone" and when I removed the menus I would come face-to-face with her making a face at me with obscene amounts of said creaminess on her tongue. Wasn't the most encouraging thing ever.
Nowadays, though, creamy stuff doesn't bother me as much, especially not creamy stuff which I know tastes good. I never had a problem with ice cream, and I can eat things like whipped cream and mayonaise in small amounts. However, living in a country where they fuckin' drown their fries and pies in mayo and whipped cream (respectively) doesn't help much.
One last amusing 'OMG CANT EAT TEH F00D N00B' anecdote:
My... step-great-grandpa (when he was still alive) couldn't stand mustard. At all. He probably had a good reason too, but that isn't the point. He wouldn't eat anything that he knew contained mustard... but my step-great-grandma had been using mustard in his favorite dish for years. One day (presumably after a disagreement about mustard) she decided to tell him. Hilarity ensued.
CK
(Sun 4th Mar 2007, 12:11, More)
Recovering from childhood traumas
I'm not a picky eater. Someone else said that they'll always at least try to act as if they're enjoying whatever they're given; that's something I do as well, if only out of politeness (I experience misgivings when something looks as if its rightful home is an unmarked grave rather than a dinner plate, but I'll usually eat it all the same) and I'm usually pleasantly surprised. I've learned, however, that if I really can't stomach it I can simply drench it in hot sauce and claim an incorrigible predilection for really spicy food. Number one, that isn't far from the truth, and number two, hotsauce * assloads = -taste.
However: there are certain things that I have an odd aversion to. In my defense, there's a good reason for all of them.
First off: raisins. Aside from the obvious complete insanity of thinking, "Hmm, what a lovely fruit, but I think it might taste better AFTER I LEAVE IT TO ROT IN THE SUN FOR A DAY OR SO", I distinctly remember a story told to me when I was young and impressionable about my downstairs neighbor (we lived in a vertical duplex) getting up in the middle of the night with a craving for dried-grapey goodness. The light on her refrigerator wasn't working, however, so after popping several raisins in her mouth and remarking upon their juiciness she decided to turn the kitchen light on. At which point she discovered that she had been eating lovely, juicy... earwigs.
(Come to think of it, alarm bells should've started ringing when I heard she found bugs in her fridge for no reason.)
Anyway. Secondly: things that are excessively creamy. Things like whipped cream, cole slaw, mayonaise, yogurt, et cetera ad nauseum (often literally). Bonus 'ewww' points if the food is also white or light-colored, but it's the consistency that really bothers me; I don't trust food that can't decide whether it's a solid or a liquid. I never liked them really, not since I was little, but I think a large part of that stems from the fact that my mom's best friend Tonya took great pleasure in tormenting little impressionable me about my phobia for creaminess. For example: we'd be in a restaurant and I'd have built a wall of menus and ketchup bottles around my plate so I didn't have to see the creamy shit on someone else's (I was an odd little nipper). Tonya would say, in her most calming, talking-to-toddlers voice, "It's OK, the creamy stuff is gone" and when I removed the menus I would come face-to-face with her making a face at me with obscene amounts of said creaminess on her tongue. Wasn't the most encouraging thing ever.
Nowadays, though, creamy stuff doesn't bother me as much, especially not creamy stuff which I know tastes good. I never had a problem with ice cream, and I can eat things like whipped cream and mayonaise in small amounts. However, living in a country where they fuckin' drown their fries and pies in mayo and whipped cream (respectively) doesn't help much.
One last amusing 'OMG CANT EAT TEH F00D N00B' anecdote:
My... step-great-grandpa (when he was still alive) couldn't stand mustard. At all. He probably had a good reason too, but that isn't the point. He wouldn't eat anything that he knew contained mustard... but my step-great-grandma had been using mustard in his favorite dish for years. One day (presumably after a disagreement about mustard) she decided to tell him. Hilarity ensued.
CK
(Sun 4th Mar 2007, 12:11, More)