Shhhh...don't tell anyone...Bobby's going to put a tack in Miss Flaubert's chair!
I was, as the class prude and very good girl, appropriately shocked; however, I said nothing, told no one. Perhaps that was because I liked Bobby a whole lot more than I liked Miss Flaubert. She was our French teacher and was she ever strict!
She often called us names (in French, of course) that I'm pretty sure weren't nice.
Reporting one comment to my mother had not proved to be as helpful as I had hoped because my mother agreed with Miss Flaubert. Mother would often say, "I do not know how you came to be in such a rough class." We were sadly known as "terrors." Can you imagine?!
On that winter day (I know that it was winter because Miss Flaubert was wearing a thick wool skirt, A-line I believe), we took our seats in French class right after lunch, all except for Bobby who managed to place that tack on the teacher's chair and hightail it back to his desk just before Miss Flaubert came in. She greeted us, "Bonjour mes petits crétins." Yes, I'm fairly certain that that was what she said. Then she headed for her desk in the left front corner of the room.
Every eye was wide. Every heart pounded. My face was flushed. I wasn't feeling so well.
She pulled out her chair and, while watching us — after all, she had never had such an attentive group — sat down slowly.
Oh it was agonizing. The entire class leaned forward waiting. Nothing. Not a sound in the room except for a small strangled cough from Bobby. She shifted in her seat. We gasped a bit, I think. Nothing. No hint of trouble whatsoever. Then she took her text and went to the chalkboard where she stood writing sentences in French and all the while a small gold tack glinted at us from her wool-skirted posterior.
I do believe that my class suffered a collective nervous breakdown that day. Bobby was the most afflicted. It may have been the very day that he decided to take up a career in psychology.*
As Miss Flaubert turned to ask Bobby if he'd like to go get some water, the tack fell to the floor without so much as a plink.
[I told this true story to my grandson Sunday. He had such an incredulous look on his face, was shocked at all the right places, and even covered his mouth in wide-eyed horror. It was very satisfying. I'm not sure that my son appreciated my telling the story, though I am sure that Sam would never do such a thing.]
Now, if any of you decide to share a story about school days, I'm all ears. =D
* (Yes, would you believe that he is a well respected psychologist today?!)