Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Isn't it awkward when your teachers like eachother? ;)1 Reviews
Frank hates his job.
"Oliver James. Nicole Renning and Michaela Jackson can you please report to the Heads office at the start of Lunchbreak." I read out the e-mail i have just recieved from my motherfucking boss.
"Yeah, tell him to go fuck himself." Michaela and Nicole rage at me whilst Oliver just kicks back his chair and crosses his feet on the table.
"Now, we musn't refer to our headmaster as that should we Miss Renning?" I say battling with my inner demons. We should fucking refer to him like fucking that because he is a fucking motherfucker! "I don't give a flying shit what he says. I ain't going." She says throwing herself down on a chair and pouting. Her foundation lips glowing fluorescent with the mountain of make up she's smothered over her face. "Nicole Renning. Outside now." I say with little force. And now come the threats. " Or i will have no choice but to refer you." Ha! Like she gives a damn about being referred, sh's had that done about twenty dozen time so far and it's the first day back! I fucking hate this job. Why'd you choose this then Frankie boy? I hear your twisted little brains ask.
Well bitches, my father is an asshole and my mother doesn't pay for things unless she approves. Answer your question? I wanted to be a musician since i was a child and sure, here i got to show off and play my guitar daily, but it was these kids. These awkward fucking irratating unreasonable kids. I barely enjoyed playing my beloved stratocaster anymore, a feeling i never thought i would feel. No playing the guitar was great still, some things don't ever change. It was the fact that whenever i picked her up the kids groaned and moaned that i wanted to play. I loved my guitar, i loved playing her and then some snooty brats spoil it for me? Yeah they fucking did. Not only that, they found it appropriate to inform me that i was "fucking shitting terrible" at guitar and that if Kurt Cobain were still around he would "Ram that fucking thing up my arse to get me to shut the fucking hell up." Yeah, i hated this job. But it was all I had wasn't it? This fucking joke of a career that i hated with a passion.
I was excited to begin teaching. I had always wanted to help kids move their art along into the mainstream world. A type of support i never got back at school when i spent my time drawing horrific and bloody pictures of star crossed lovers and tattoo designs that i would never be able to get. Trictophobia is a bitch.
I wanted to meet kids that were like me. Stuck, maybe feeling a little worthless and so they put everything into their art. Their frustrations, their pain, their brief moments of happiness. The tim you spyd on your little brother and his first girlfriend and he royally fucked up his first kiss. Those kinds of things. The sentiment and the things that make a person who they are. That's what i signed up for.
I finally find my classroom and saunter inside. Nobody is in there but me, i guess this must be my free period of the week then, i conclude.
Just as i go to take a seat masses of students jump out of closets and from under tables and fire a lethal amount of paint bombs and spitballs at me. I yell for help as a ball of blue acrylic paint hits me square in the face, some of it getting stuck in my hair.
A woman saunters in and yells at the students to sit down. They mumble and grumble but they do as they're told which already shocks me judging by what i've just seen these animals do. "Mr Way, nice to meet you. Deputy head mistress here. Now students, apologise and then you will clean up this classroom until it is spotless under my supervision. Mr Way, go home and clean yourself up. Call me if you need anything." She winks at me flicking her blonde hair behind her shoulder and swaying her hips as she begins to take registration.