Shop Class: The Aftermath

Can you imagine this slithering mass of excrement actually having any other job?

So of course, we all pass the next quiz and wind up with c’s.

The old man makes me write down every tool that I know in the shop and tell him what they are. And make sure I understand what a drill bit does; even though we never handled a drill, the Idiot teacher insisted on us learning the physics and subtle beauty of an auger bit. Someone asked him if we would ever use one. He didn’t even bother to answer.

So I get by the first marking period with a C. Grudging acceptance from the old man. A few weeks later, the school has the ‘parents night’. If only ’cause mom was a teacher in the district , they attend.

Next day, the old man wants to talk when he gets home. I’m in for a shock.

“I met that shop teacher last night. And he is an asshole. He had a 2-person wooden bench on display that he made while you guys worked and he wanted $100 for it. He used wood and tools that the school bought, made it on school time, and now he wants someone to pay him. That is wrong. He’s using the school to line his pockets and I’ll be damned if I’ll buy something made that way. He has absolutely no qualms about selling it, you can tell by the way he talks. And another thing–I’ve seen guys like him for years. They think they’re hot shit ’cause they play carpenter. Real carpenters make things that he couldn’t begin to figure out. He talks like we’re uneducated slobs who can’t possibly understand what he does. Anyone can be a big shot when he has big machines to work with. Hell, he even said how proud he is that most of the projects he gives out don’t involve you guys using any of his expensive machines.”

Then, the kicker:

“You know, if you only get C’s from this asshole, that’s fine with me. You’ll never learn anything from him. Just concentrate on the big stuff.”

From the kitchen behind him, mom is smiling as she loads the dishwasher. One for the record books.

Hey, credit where it’s due–the old man called that one right.

Monday, boys are whispering, their parents were there and they told their sons that he was a royal dick.

I heard he was encouraged to retire after a few years when parents got organized against his little game, uniting to pressure the Foon.

The worst teacher I ever had, and I saw some real winners in college and masters school.

Discover more from Surviving The Sixties Strange Tales From Suburbia

Subscribe now to keep reading and get access to the full archive.

Continue reading