I am so lucky to have Tyler Tarver as a guest blogger today. Tyler’s awesome blog is called chaos meets capitalization. I wish I thought of that, but that would imply my brain would work like Tyler’s and Tyler’s brain does not work like mine. In fact, Tyler Tarver’s brain does not work like anyone else’s brain. Which might be why I like him so much. He thinks in metaphors. And colors. And he raps. And he teaches. And he has published books! These are all qualities that I admire. Plus, did I mention he is wicked funny. Wait, do I sound like I have a little crush on Tyler Tarver? It might sound like that, but really I just wish my brain worked like his. Like a little bit. Like on weekends. Or even once a month would be fine. It would be cool to see an MRI of what is going on in Tyler’s head. Because his synapses fire. Seriously. Can we make that happen, T? Enjoy Tyler’s memory of his Spanish teacher then follow him at @TylerTarver. (He digs stalkers.) Also he wrote an awesome book that he is selling here.
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Yo tengo el gato los pantelones.
That’s literally all I know after two years of high school Spanish. I’m not even certain it’s correct and I learned it from Blue Streak starring Martin Lawrence. I’m fairly certain it means “I have a cat in my pants.”
So you know where I stand, this is not a story about how much I learned in Mrs. Harris’ class, but how much freaking fun it was and the kinda crap we got away with like DB Cooper (huge crap stealer).
First, how’d I get a Hall Pass to Mrs. Harris’ heart? Easy, I took up for her when the class tool was bashing her about grading something wrong. My spider-senses started tingling and I knew she was about to cry, so I tell the kid to shut his face, she said she’d fix it. Boom, I’m more her favorite than The Notebook.
I think Professor Jacobson wanted me to talk about someone that made a difference or made me who I am, but I was forged in the fires of Mt. Doom, so no credit due to anyone.*
*mostly bull crap, except for parts based in fact.
So, here’s some stuff we did to make Mrs. Harris laugh, make some memories, and mostly make her distracted so I didn’t have to learn a useful subject like la Espanola.
- Scotch taped my binder, pencils, and book to my desk. Along with her stapler, tape dispenser, picture frame, and flower vase with flower. Why? Just in case we lost gravity but I still wanted to el learna the wordsa of la Spanishas.
- Made her authentic Spanish puppet dirty dance with her sweet tea (one hand on da butt and one in da drink, like da playas do).
- Make that authentic Spanish puppet do the same with the side of Mrs. Harris’ head.
- When she left the room, we turned off the lights and adjusted the overhead light with a sidewalk outline of a person wearing a crown. So when she walked in, we flipped the light on her and blasted the radio up and everyone in the class started singing “HERE SHE COMES MISS AMERICA…”
- Reenacted a story about a momma dinosaur who wanted to make in on her own in New York city via shadow puppets.
- Squirted Arby Sauce in a compartment of her desk and drank it out with a straw.
- Proceed to throw up the aforementioned Arby sauce plus previously consumed school biscuits and gravy into the trash can in front of the class.
My personal favorite prank I got to perform needs some setup.
Our school burnt down my 10th grade year, so classrooms took place in these real classy trailers that smelled like moist feet with hair. Hobbit feet I guess would be a visual, moist Hobbit feet in an older buttered croissant roll. So, we would have to walk outside from class to class. Okay, that’s all the setup I got, I might have been wearing blue. No, it was yellow. Classy yellow.
Regardless of shirt pigment (maybe black, it brings out my eyes, the center part), I leave from my class and head straight to Harris’ and place an official looking piece of paper on her door stating, “Mrs. Harris’ class needs to go to the library.”
(We didn’t.)
After sitting in her class by herself for about 10 minutes, she walks outside to see what’s up.
Let’s just say our class enjoyed our 10 minutes of free-time playing Minesweeper in the library.
Sorry, no big punch line or hook. Except that after I graduated, Mrs. Harris because Miss Harris and now she’s Mrs. Tarver.
I made that very last part up.
But I’m sure she’s still cool.
The End.
So what teacher did you crush over and what did he/she do to make you love him/her?
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If you have writing chops and are interested in submitting a memory about a teacher you had and can explain how that person helped you (or really screwed things up for you), as well as the life lesson you took away from the interaction, I’d love to hear from you! Contact Me. Essays should be around 700-800 words.
If you write for me, I’ll put your name on my page of favorite bloggers!
