School's just like a war, you know? Anyone who gets out alive has all these goddamn terrific stories about their buddies or the time they all snuck into their drill seargant's room and short-sheeted his bed, like it's the funniest, craziest thing they've ever done in their entire life. Or some eccentric mate thay had who kept a pet block of wood in his locker named Ralph Von Woodenblock III.
My story's about this English teacher I had, Mr. Birns. Damn, he's the creepiest guy I've ever known. he looked like Tim Allen but with short graying hair and glasses. He was big too. Not fat-big, but not really tall either. I don't know. Like some guy could be 2 inches taller than you, but when he stands near you, his whole torso's way the hell up in the clouds. That's how big Mr. Birns was.
He dressed like he taught at a prep school; these very neat, dark sweaters and khakis. But as scholarly as he looked or thought he was, you'd always catch him picking his nose. Right in front of the class too, like it was perfectly acceptable. Man, he'd dig his thumb in there like he was digging for gold. And when he finally found it, he'd wipe it on this cobalt blue podium he had with a mirror at crotch-height that said "zipper check". Just the thought of Mr. Birns checking out his crotch in the middle of class made me wanna run out in the hall and vomit till last week's dinner came up.
In his back pocket, folded up neatly, he had this colorful handkercheif that he used to blow his nose. He'd soak it with his snot, then fold it up neatly, put it in the back pocket of his khakis, and sit on it. Once he brought it out, after he had just used it, and offered it to this boy who was looking for a tissue. The entire class covered their mouths and noses with their hands and bent over their desks making vomiting noises and saying how rude and disgusting it was. Mr. Birns just shrugged, smiled, and said "Whaaat?"
For some reason, he struck me as a pedophile. I don't have any concrete evidence, I mean, I never saw him harrassing any of the students, but he was just creepy like that. . . Take this time I was late to school. See, he also teaches first period journalism class, and we all go down to the computer room to work. Mr. Birns's computer was right next to mine.
So I come in 10 minutes late and sit down at my computer. "Where have you been?"
For a second I couldn't tell if he meant my entire life or the last 10 minutes, so I went with the later. "Uh, home."
"You were just late?"
"Yeah."
Then he mumbled slightly, "I miss you when you're not here." I felt like a deer stuck in headlights. My mouth dropped a bit and sweat beaded up along my spine. All I could think of to do was laugh politely as if to say, "yeah, why would you miss ME?"
That's how creepy he was.