The Uses of an Epiphany

[Modal Seoul he/him]

Here's a humorous story I wrote a while back. It's pretty fun.

The Uses of an Epiphany

 

It has become clear to me that life can’t get much worse when you’re an Language Arts schoolteacher. Children always have questions. They have terrible grammar. Parents are always calling. My boss comes in to watch.

“Mr. Moffat, please explain to me what a gerund is for the billionth time.”

“Mr. Moffat, I’ve brung the presentation!”

“Mr. Moffat, my kid came home crying! What the hell are you teaching in there??”

“Mr. Moffat, I think that you could be doing a little more of this certain subject to help your students in the learning environment.”

Everyone should just shut up. I mean it. I am sick and tired of all these kids asking me how subordinate clauses are used. They are in the eighth grade!! They should know already! *Sigh*

Forgive me. I’ve had a hard time. Every teacher does, but for a subject like Language Arts, they expect you to know everything about it or none at all. Unfortunately for me, people have chosen the latter. And let me tell you, my financial situation right now is the only thing that is stopping me from walking. But that changed. Let me tell you how.

My name is Eric Moffat. I’m a middle-aged, thirty-two year old man. I’m a bachelor living in a five room apartment with only my cat, Douglas Adams, to keep me company. Please do not judge me. I would like the idea of getting married. Really, I would. But something just stops me. I don’t know what.

Don’t get me wrong. The perfect person lives right across the hall. Her name is Charity Freeman, and she’s twenty-nine. She’s dated a lot of weirdos over the two years I’ve been here, but she appreciates literature just as much as I do. She has a goldfish named Mark Twain, for Pete’s sake.

Mrs. Duncan, the landlady, doesn’t help. She’s always trying to set us up. Every time I’m invited for dinner, I just say I have a hangover or something, because I know it’s just a plot. Have I gone on a date with Charity? Yeah. Once. We showed up at a decent restaurant and it so happens that one of my students was there. It happened to be the one who thought they knew everything about Language Arts. She saw me and immediately started pestering me.

Did the parents bother doing anything? No. It was almost as if they wanted to see me suffer. Goodness. If parents like to watch teachers suffer, then you should see the damnation kids. Kids are always drawing pictures of their teacher on the noose, or getting run over or something messed up. Those are the kids who usually get sent to the local penitentiary. Which means most of them.

Anyway, I ended up leaving early, making an excuse that my aunt was giving birth. (She was due but not at that moment. That ended up being in the middle of the same night.) And the next day, I gave that student an F on their quiz. She had failed, and I just relish the fact of writing “FAIL” in large letters on the paper of a student I despise.

But today started out like any normal day. I woke up, took a shower, and gave Douglas some breakfast. I cut myself shaving, which didn’t help my sour mood, and I was out of milk. Now I had to go to the store.

I exited my apartment, only to run into Charity.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “Hi, Eric!”

“Hullo.” I replied.

“Did you have a nice sleep?” she asked.

“Yeah.” I lied.

“You excited to teach today?”

“Yeah.” Another lie.

“Ready to face new challenges?” she asked. She is really good at rapid-fire questions.

“Yeah.” Not only was I good at lying, I was a master at one word answers.

“Well, have a great day!”

I didn’t even answer. I grunted noncommittally. Smooth. I trudged down the stairs. Charity was so lucky. She had a job that let her work at home. She didn’t have to tolerate the little swine that walked through school. Oh, did I say swine? I meant communists.

I left the building, careful to avoid Mrs. Duncan. The last thing I needed was an invitation to teatime. I approached my car. I climbed in, started it, and drove over to the market.

*****

After getting my milk, I had a slightly rushed breakfast. Then I combed my hair, grabbed a tie, and drove to the school. The school where I teach is not a public one, it’s a private one, which makes it worse. That means I have to teach the spoiled brats whose only future is Parliament or the inside of a prison cell. Probably both. I parked in the faculty area, then entered the building. I checked in, and went to the lounge.

I’m usually one of the first ones there, but since I had to get milk, I was late. David MacBrewer, the Algebra teacher, came over.

“Eric! You’re late!” He smiled, patting me on the shoulder. I couldn't help but smile back. Dave is just one of those optimists who are great at cheering up despondent companions.

“I ran out of milk,” I replied. “Had to grab some.” I walked over to the coffee maker and poured some in. I took a swig, and immediately choked.

“Whose ******* idea was it to put decaf in here!?” I spluttered. David laughed.

“Language, my friend,” he said happily. “You work at a children’s school, you know.” I scowled at him, then threw the cup of coffee in the trash. If there’s something worse than annoying students, it’s decaffeinated coffee. To make things worse, the headmaster, Ms. Brown came over. That woman is a viper. It is no wonder she’s single.

“Mr. Moffat,” she said. “It’s come to my attention that you have been harsh to your students.” I raised an eyebrow.

“In what way?” I inquired.

“A parent complained that you were yelling at his son for-”

“Sticking a pen in the pencil sharpener?” I finished. “He had it coming. The boy’s been taunting me for days, sticking the pen in there like it’s some big joke.”

“I don’t think that is a good reason to yell at a student.” Ms. Brown interjected indignantly.

“Yeah, well, yesterday he actually started cranking the handle! Those sharpeners don’t come cheap and sticking a pen down the gullet is definitely going to do something.” As I spoke, an edge of sarcasm creeped into my voice. Unfortunately, Brown picked up on it.

“Be serious about this, Eric,” she snapped. “Do you want to lose your job?” I raised both eyebrows at this.

“That was uncalled for,” I said calmly. “I will reprimand my students the way I see fit.” David, who was standing behind Brown now, shook his head violently. He pointed at Brown, mouthing the words, “She’s mad today.”

Brown’s nostrils flared. “Mr. Moffat, if an incident like this happens again, I cannot stand by.”

“You won’t have to,” I replied. “If my students continue to treat me with disrespect, I will leave.” I turned away and exited the lounge, heading toward my classroom. The clatter of footsteps followed me, and David was at my side.

“What in the name of George are you thinking?” he cried. “You should’ve seen her face! She’s furious!” I continued to stride down the hall. I was angry. I was tired. I was sick of everything. I was-. I stopped in the middle of the hall. It had hit me.

“Eric?” David asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Dave,” I said. “I’ve had an epiphany.” David’s eyebrows knit together.

“A what??”

“An epiphany,” I repeated. “A moment of sudden revelation.” I faced the wall, which had one of those stupid anti-bullying posters on the wall. “I’m going to get out of here.”

*****

If there is one class of students I like, it is my second hour. Most of the kids in there take reading and writing seriously. The minority who don’t just don’t. They’re not troublemakers. I have five hours straight full of students. The first hour and lunch are my only preparations. But today, I decided to do something different in my classes. And that started with my second hour.

“Class,” I announced. “We are having an oral quiz!” A large groan went through the class. I expected this. No student likes a surprise quiz. Everyone began to put away their things. I stood in front of the classroom. I smiled. I would miss this class.

*****

Now the class I was waiting for was fourth hour. It was perfectly obvious to me that this was the worst class. It was chock full to the brim with future criminals. For example, Terry Harcourt. He was suspended for two weeks for having cigarettes in his locker. Eleanor was a shoplifter. Jennifer, it was rumored, had set fire to the chemistry lab. And Joseph. That little sh-.

Nope. Sorry. I almost forgot that other people will read this. But a message to Joseph, if he ever comes across this. If you ever figure out your life, I’ll be very surprised. Were all the students in my fourth hour bad? No. There were three girls and a boy that I was quite impressed with. Other than that, the students were actual demons of hell.

Anyway, the reaction I received for the quiz was exactly as I expected. A large chorus of yells of outrage and protest.

“Oh, come on!” yelled Terry. “We had one two weeks ago!” I cocked my head.

“Yes, you did,” I noted, sounding slightly amused. “But that was two weeks ago.” I held Terry’s vicious stare, counterattacking with my own. Students began to grumble and put away their books. Well, almost all of them.

Lisa, who sat in the back, did not put away her book. She thought that if she left it on her desk, covered by a jacket, I wouldn’t see it. She was wrong. I came over.

“Well,” I said, lifting the jacket. “I never saw you as one to cheat. But then again, you missed no questions last quiz.” I picked up the book and set it on my desk.

“You may retrieve this when we are done.” I brought the book over to my desk, and dropped it unceremoniously onto the surface. It made a loud sound, and everyone jumped. I walked up to the front of the classroom.

“This quiz is oral,” I proclaimed. “Each student is required to answer two questions each, and if you fail to do so, I will deduct your grade.” Another large protest ensued, until I smacked the wall so hard, my meter stick broke in half. The room fell silent. I looked at the half I still held and smiled widely.

“That hasn’t worked before,” I noted. “Let’s get this quiz started.” But then Joseph unwisely opened his big mouth.

“Well, stop blabbing, Mr. Moffat,” he drawled. “Let’s get on with this stupid quiz.” I raised an eyebrow. It was time to set the second phase of my epiphany into motion.

“Another comment like that, Joey,” I said. “And you’ll be seeing Ms. Brown.” That was it. I was at the point of no return. Either Joseph took the bait, or I’d have to get someone else to snatch up. But luckily for me, that wasn’t the case. Joseph hated being called Joey. I had seen three kids beat up because of the dreadful mistake of calling him Joey.

Joseph tilted his head, facing me. His cheeks were the slightest tinge of red.

“What did you call me?”

“It’s not a concern of what I call you, Joey,” I said, allowing contempt to creep into my voice. “Your concern should be how well you do in this class.” Joseph looked even more angry, most likely because I called him Joey. It was like how that Marty McFly kid got triggered because some dork called him chicken.

Then, Joseph made the worst decision ever. He stood up, walked to me, and laid both hands on my collar.

“Don’t call me Joey,” he growled. “Mr. Moffat.” he added with a sneer. I stared right into his eyes. Then I tore his grip from my collar. I walked over to my desk and pulled out a detention slip.

“Manhandling a teacher, Joey,” I noted. “I doubt that’s a first, but everyone’s gotta start somewhere.” I handed him the slip. “Go see Ms. Brown. Right now.” I opened the door with a flourish, like that smarmy doorman in front of a Hilton. I gestured down the hall.

“Right this way.” Joseph left, glaring at me as he did. I beamed and waved at him. But he wasn’t the only one that class. In my third hour, I had sent a total of two to Ms. Brown. For fourth, well, let’s see, I have thirty-four in that class, so……..take the number of Doctors and double that. I am not even joshing this time. I sent almost everyone in that class to Ms. Brown. All except the four good students.

Fifth hour was also productive. I sent eighteen of that class to her. It would do Ms. Brown a lot of work to do, instead of drinking decaf and looking up photos of Rupert Grint. (Seriously, that’s what she does. Don’t ask.) At the end of the day, Patricia the secretary called me.

“Eric,” she said, almost a whisper. “Is there anything wrong? You’ve sent almost every student of yours to the office!”

“Oh, no, everything’s fine, Patricia,” I chuckled. “I expect Brown wants to see me?”

Patricia confirmed this, and I practically skipped out the door and down the hall. I got many looks from fellow colleagues, but at this point, I didn’t care. Wasn’t like I’d see them again. Except David. I entered Brown’s office with a grin from ear to ear.

“Hello there!” I said. “You wanted to see me?” Brown looked in no mood to play, which she rarely does. (Except for the time Rupert Grint visited the school.) Tight-lipped, she gestured to the seat in front of her.

“Please take a seat, Eric.” she said. I did so, bouncing on the cushions. She leaned forward, and began to berate me in a fierce undertone.

“What the hell is wrong with you, Eric?” she hissed. “You’ve sent every damned student to me and I don’t appreciate it. Do you realize how many calls I’ll get?” I had vaguely contemplated the fact that Brown would take the beating, but I honestly didn’t care much. What was that quote from that one movie? Oh, yeah.

“Better her than me!” -Han Solo

I shrugged nonchalantly, and tried to look neutral.

“My students are very rebellious.” I said, as it should’ve been obvious. (Which it is.) Brown slammed a fist on the table.

“I don’t care about the students,” she scowled. “I care about your performance as a teacher in the learning environment. You’ve been slacking off for the past few months. I could have you fired.” I pursed my lips.

“You won’t need to,” I replied. “I quit. I’m getting out of this hellhole.” I stood up and left, not even waiting for a response. It was then that I entered the zone. Any external sounds were extinguished. I could hear faint yelling, probably Brown, but I took no heed. I exited the building for the last time.

I started the car and began to drive home. I turned on the radio. It was playing Queen’s “Don’t Stop Me Now”. How fitting. My epiphany had consisted of basically two parts. One: get fired and/or quit. Two: Well, I was doing that right now. The half hour it usually takes to get to my apartment felt like seconds. Like the Flash, I was out of my car and entering the complex. I ran into Mrs. Duncan.

“Why, hello, Eric,” she greeted. “Could I interest you in-”

“No thank you, Mrs. Duncan,” I interrupted. “I’m already on that.” I squeezed past her and took the stairs three at a time. I found myself in front of the door of Charity Freeman. I paused momentarily to catch my breath, then knocked.

Charity, beautiful as ever, opened the door. She looked genuinely surprised.

“Eric?” she asked. “What are you doing back early?”

“I was just wondering,” I blurted. “If you’d like to come to dinner with me tonight.” To my great disbelief and pleasure, she blushed a deep red.

“I’d love to,” she said. “But Eric, why so….abrupt?” I slowly grinned and smiled.

“Well, let’s just call it the uses of an epiphany.”