wickedflea | (no subject)

Garf. I awoke at just after six from weird dreams about being back in Mrs. Denton's math class. She was giving this impossible test that I hadn't studied for. I always had a terrible time with her tests even when I had studied, which wasn't often. What the hell kind of class was "Mathematics in Action" supposed to be anyway? It was the next-highest math class to AP calculus, so I guess it was some kind of pre-calculus. My usual plan of action on those tests was to do as much writing as possible and hope for partial credit, but I couldn't do that on this test because it was all geography questions about parts of the world that I never knew that well, like northern Africa and the former USSR. And all the multiple-choice answers were stuff like VGHMMFR-38 and Svetlanadansk X. And I didn't even realize until about half an hour before the end of the three-hour exam that I didn't have all the questions. The part of the exam that I might have had a shot at--the part with the all-star ballot and the 2x²=72 kind of things--was nowhere to be found, and stank-breath Mrs. Denton didn't tell me anything about it until too late.

Man, I hated that class. She always started things off by turning up a cafeteria milk carton up and draining the whole thing, and then it was all downhill from there. That woman could make drinking milk the most disgusting activity. The one good thing about that class was passing notes to Mike Moody. He was from Detroit, looked like Shemp, and would say out loud anything that you wrote on a piece of paper. This would result in Mrs. Denton looking at him like he was possessed about eight times per class period when he would blurt out, "BEARDED CLAM?!!"

"Mike? Is there a problem?"

"HEINIE."

"*sigh* OK, next question. Leslie, come to the board and do number eight."

"COOTER!"