Indeed Geese Are Awesome: The She-Beast

Tuesday, last period, thankfully.

English, with the She-Beast…

I was pretty confident with my speech; I had stepped out of my comfort zone and wrote about my parents’ separation. Apparently, according to Dad, Grandma and the deputy principal, it was a brave thing to do. Ha! Not only am I brave for the subject choice, but for choosing to speak about that topic in front of a whole lot of people I strongly disliked, including my teacher.

As I said, I was confident that I had done enough with my speech to pass with flying colours…as I walked to the front of the class my hands were shaking, as were my legs, was I suffering from normal speech discomfort? I thought so. We had just laughed our way through Abbie’s “How to look like a drag queen” demonstration, with Alex, the lovely drag-queen-to-be, grimacing his way past lipstick, foundation, eccentric eye-shadow and…fake eyelashes. He looked like Justin Bieber who went mad with make-up!

Let’s just clarify what my English teacher is like. To start with, she is a midget. About 4’10” (or in the metric system: 1m 49cm)! She also has a tendency to hate students unless you’re a goody good, not me or my friends (Except Sessils maybe…)! No. She hates us. Another thing, she likes the sound of her own voice too much, hardly an English lesson has passed where she hasn’t talked through the entire lesson! My folder is full of notes and resource pages we have never even looked at! Apparently she is the best English teacher there is at my college, I, on the other hand, strongly disagree! Last year I had the craziest, zaniest, insane-iest (?) teacher ever, and she, my friends, is the best teacher ever!

< The She-Beast

Anyway, I was standing there at the front of the class, I didn’t have butterflies in my chest I had albatrosses. (They have a HUGE wingspan, and my stomach felt weird) My palms sweating and I was on the verge of fainting.

The camera was rolling and my voice wavered.

“When I was nearly fourteen my parents sat my sister and me down and told us they were going to separate…”

Halfway though and my voice had evened out and my legs weren’t shaking as much. I was going well. I was nearing the explanation of my speech, for the first half of my speech was about the story I had incorporated into my speech, when my English teacher waved at me to stop.

“Stop, stop, stop!” she cried, “I’m sorry, you’ve missed the standard. You haven’t given any eye-contact or shown us any visual, re-sub on Thursday.”

That was all.

The sweats and shakes I had so valiantly fought off earlier came back, only this time they brought a friend.

Tears.

I had (potentially) been told that my speech was rubbish! It hurt even more because of the very personal topic. If I was in my English teacher’s position I would have let the poor student continue before telling them they sucked (potentially).

Then again, maybe that wouldn’t be a good idea…

Whoa! Who the f*ck are you?

…I am you’re sub-conscious…

Oh…carry on then…

As I was saying…if my English teacher had let me finish then told me her “helpful” criticism I would have been like;

“WTF? You allowed me to sweat and freak out for eight minutes just to tell me I’m crap at speeches?!? Cram it b*tch.”

I SINCERELY APOLOGISE FOR THE ABOVE DEBATE/CONVERSATION, READ ON

My English teacher really is a demon ~~in-disguise.~~

Sorry…anyway, after I had been stopped and criticized I sat down at my desk and tried in vain to stop the tears, my English teacher had destroyed my tears immune system like a weird mutated case of AIDS (even though I don’t swing that way AND I’m a virgin! Not to mention that would be creepy...), leaving me in a hopeless teary mess.