How I Got Kicked Out of My Writing Class for Writing a Story About Stalking My Teacher

Most people take themselves much too seriously. They will laugh at slapstick like someone slipping and falling but when your humor gets too close they'll say, "hey, that's not funny." But of course it usually is. Take it from an old class clown.

When I came up with the idea of writing a story about stalking my online writing teacher it seemed like a funny idea, at the time. I had a naïve belief that creative people like my writing teacher, have a sophisticated sense of humor, and an unlimited ability to laugh at themselves. And of course, everybody would get the joke, and think I was oh so clever.

But then there are the unintended consequences. Like getting kicked out of class and being offered a full refund, or the chance to take the class over again, by the Dean.

Of course, I know that stalking is a serious crime, but God help me, there was something that always seemed a little silly to me about it, How could someone earn a living if they spent all their time following someone? Wouldn't they have to be a real loser?

The following is the unedited story I submitted to my online class posting board. The fact that the class was a non fiction writing class and this was a work of fiction did not seem to trouble me at the time. The teacher told me it was ok to post fiction. No one would take this thing seriously, I thought. The good news was I wrote something that actually had an effect on people, even if it scared the shit out of a class full of women.

It all started when I received that negative feedback on the autobiography I was writing from my online teacher. I had just spent 2 years working on that autobiography and now the teacher had convinced me to abandon the project. "You're off to a great start," she wrote, but I knew what she really meant. Did that teacher have to be so blatant in her criticisms? What is a sentence fragment, anyway? She had buried my dreams with her nit picky comments, and now it was time to get even.

It might be true that most people are not interested in the biography of an actuary or my lifelong pursuit to make the actuarial sciences accessible to millions. And most people will probably not shell out $20 to read about a 50 year old guy who is not only unmarried but never even had a steady girl friend. But why couldn't she let me go on with my folly.

So now I'm driving down the PA Turnpike on my way to Minnesota. I have one thing going for me. The teacher Mary Jones has no idea what I look like. That will give me the advantage. Her picture from the school's website is ingrained in my mind. It occurs to me that if I hadn't been fired a year and a half ago I wouldn't have the time or the inclination to make the trip. I never understood why the insurance company I worked for made such a big deal about me stalking my boss. Yea, there was the incident with the Swiss Army knife, but nobody got hurt, anyway. It's all part of that women's liberation and sexual harassment stuff. Once the incident made the Philadelphia Daily News it was obvious that I would be fired.

As I pass the Milton Street memorial rest stop on the PA Turnpike, it occurs to me that I'm lucky that the Feds don't have a database for stalkers like they do for sexual predators. And why should they? So what if I waited outside an apartment building for 2 days to catch up to the broad who smiled at me at a traffic light. It was just some harmless fun, wasn't it? Nobody will suspect a thing.

What am I going to do in Minnesota? There are all those polite, uncomplaining, Midwesterners there, who plod along with quiet determination, the strong silent types. I can't sit still for a minute. Like yesterday when I called that woman a bitch because she had 30 items in her cart and she would not let me get ahead of her in the checkout line, when all I had was a quart of milk. And I guess they don't have too many Jewish delis there. I could go for a corn beef sandwich on rye with a big sour pickle right now. I bet they eat those sweet pickles there. Man, I hate those things. I don't think I'll fit in there.

With the price of gas about $3 a gallon it'll cost me about $264.00 to get there, plus about $200.0 for motel bills. Now, if the price of gas goes down 20 cents the cost will come down to? My actuarial mind kicks into overdrive. The answer is $56.72 with a plus or minus probability of 70%. I love the actuarial sciences. I'll write a book called Actuarial Statistics for Dummies?

As I turn around at the next exit and drive back home towards Philadelphia, writing Actuarial Statistics for Dummies, dominates my thoughts. I almost miss my exit. The last time I was this excited was when I developed that new algorithm. There must be someone closer to home that I could stalk?