Hat Day and the C*NT

It was hat day, a day that many students looked forward to ever since hats were banned by the Board of Ed. It was the first class of the day, homeroom had just ended, and due to my intense dislike of the teacher, I had decided to sleep. This was meant to avoid conflict, which was a daily occurrence between the teacher and me. But that heinous rat-faced creature, a cheap excuse for a woman, had decided that we could not have a class devoid of her and I going back and forth with each other.

The problem began earlier in the year. I have a tendency to ask a lot of questions in order to gain a better understanding, but when it became apparent that she was incapable of answering those questions, she lashed out at me. She took my desire to understand, not as simple curiosity, but instead as me trying to expose her for the fraud that she was. Constantly, she would insult me, trying to make me appear like the stupid one. And constantly, I would come back with some wiseass remark that would always end with me being sent to the principal's office.

Hat day was one of the last regular days of school before finals, and I wanted to have a conflict free week in order to prepare for finals and avoid Saturday detention, as that was the only punishment being given out at that time in the year. I was wearing a white and black trucker hat, a shadow of the female form printed on the front in black. As I was resting, my head down on my forearm and my eyes closed, I felt the hat get pulled off my head and tossed onto the floor. I looked up and saw the vile beast that was Belbagno.

"No hats," she said.

"It's hat day. Call the office if you don't think it is." Other students backed me up, saying that the announcement was made during homeroom.

"Regardless of whether it is or whether it isn't, that hat is offensive."

"Offensive?" I said, "Why don't you teach the class like you're supposed to and let me sleep? I'm not bothering anyone."

"But you are," she replied, her crooked yellow teeth protruding from her mouth as she snarled like a sick dog.

"All right," I said, "I'm not in the mood to deal with you today."

I got up and walked out of class, making my way to the office where I had a pleasant conversation with the secretaries and Vice Principal, who had come to know me well. They all liked me as I wasn't a bad kid, I just didn't tolerate teachers who tripped on power. Vice Principal Pearson knew this, which is why he didn't bother to write me up once the trash heap called the office to tell them why I was there.

Of course, she exaggerated, saying I called her a variety of rotten names and that I was the one who instigated the confrontation. But Pearson trusted me, as I was always honest with him, and once I told him what really had happened, he promised to make another announcement regarding hat day.

"Do you have to see her again today?" he asked.

"Yea, I gotta return my book."

"All right, do that after the bell rings, but don't talk to her. Just give her the book and get out. The year is almost over; you won't have to put up with her anymore."

This did not go as smoothly as Pearson had insisted it would. Once I returned to the classroom to give her my book, she greeted me with further confrontation.

"I heard the announcement," she said in an aggressive tone.

I didn't reply. I handed her the book, waiting for her to sign off on it so I could get out of there.

"You think you're clever, don't you?" she said.

I had enough of this baboon and her antics; throughout the year I found myself biting my tongue more times than I had let it fly. A nerve had been pinched, forcing me to respond instinctively. I was sick of inflicting pain on myself by putting teeth marks into my tongue.

"No, I don't think I'm clever, you're just a stupid cunt."

As if my words were the winds of a hurricane, she flew backwards. The students who were in the room were frozen; their mouths gaped open, staring at me like I had just shot her.

Her response was comical. Instead of words, she stood up, a jumble of shrieks, grunts, and screams flew from her mouth. She grabbed my arm, trying to escort me to the office. I pulled away, told her to get the hell a way from me, and she stormed off down the hall. Students in the hall looked at me, then at her, laughing as she stomped by in a fit of rage so severe that I was watching to see if she collapsed of a brain aneurysm.

Later in the day, I was called down to the office. When I entered the principal's office there sat my father, Vice Principal Pearson, Principal Benato, and two Hopatcong police officers. This can't be good, I thought.

"Joe," my dad said, "did you assault a teacher?

And just as "cunt" had caused Belbagno to be pushed back, I staggered towards the door, my knees weak with confusion.

"What? No. I called her a cunt."

This did not make matters any better, but after giving them the names of students who were there, and saw that I did not, in any way, assault the trash heap, I was given a vacation of sorts. Pearson and Benato apologized for calling the police, but I understood why they had, given the nature of the allegations made against me. Nevertheless, I was suspended for the rest of the week, told to return only for finals. My dad was no longer upset after learning the truth, and he took me out to get lunch. I was punished with yard work, but I didn't mind as I had to do it anyway. It's amazing how things work out sometimes. I went from facing criminal charges to a week off from school in a matter of thirty minutes. Justice is a sweet, sweet thing.