Back when I was in elementary school, I had to go to summer school because that’s what happens when your parents need an activity for you to do for six-ish hours a day, five days a week. I wasn’t so keen on summer school (show me a kid who is, right?) It was at another elementary school further from our house, which meant I had to ride the bus, instead of my bike (BYKE 4 LYFE); it combined a couple different schools, so I didn’t know anyone; and for some reason I never, ever had money for food.
That said, it wasn’t very much like school (more like “school”.) We didn’t learn anything. We watched movies and did art projects and I distinctly remember taking a class about Asian cultures and one day, we got to eat potstickers. That was a very good day. And also a day I probably didn’t care about my lack of lunch money.
Anyway, my last class of the day was art. It was all the way over on the other side of campus and because the buses would leave LITERALLY five minutes after the bell rang, I was always really anxious about getting out of class on time to make the bus. And at just 11-years-old, High Anxiety Sarah had a reason to be anxious — I missed the bus and had to walk home numerous times that summer, all because the art teacher consistently refused to let us leave class when the bell rang.
At 29-years-old, Not Very Anxious Sarah wonders: What in the HELL was wrong with that teacher?
It was summer!
It was the last class of the day!
YOU TEACH ART.
What are you doing keeping a bunch of soon-to-be sixth-graders after the bell?
I can’t even remember if the teacher was male or female, but whoever he or she was, I have a feeling that he or she was very a unhappy person.
It must be because it’s summer, but this memory popped into my head the other day and I had a serious WTF moment. So, to the art teacher who taught summer school in Bakersfield in the early-to-mid-’90s: What the fuck, man?
Sociopath, clearly. I mean, that’s got to be the explanation, right? WHO MAKES THEIR STUDENTS MISS THE BUS?!?