His preferred pronoun was Mr. B.

On the first day of my first year in High School, he opened things up by boasting about how difficult his class was and how hard it was for students to pass it.

He acted like his inability to teach was something to brag about.

Our first lesson in his English literature class was about interpretations. Specifically, our interpretations of certain passages. The part of the passage that we were required to interpret in question said something like this:

We live in our own little bubble. Each bubble is made up of different materials but we are all the same.

Who are we all?

One student raised their hand, “Is it about people pretending to be something they’re not?”

Mr. B looked at her like she was the dumbest fuck on the planet but said nothing as he searched through the rows of raised hands to find another student to answer the question.

Another volunteer, “We are all made up of the same stuff? Physically?”

He also got the same look as the previous student.

The same thing went on for sometime before suddenly—

“Alexander, answer the question.”

His eyes were laid on me as he said that. I waited for Alexander to talk but there was no Alexander in this classroom. Ohhh he’s talking about my last name, he’s talking to me.

That was dumb, my hand wasn’t raised. And he didn’t even say my last name right. “I don’t know the answer.”

“We don’t take ‘I don’t know’ for an answer here. I’ll wait the rest of the hour if that’s what it takes to get the answer from you.”

Bitch.

“We live in our own bubble… so we are all living in our own little reality?”

He slammed his fist on his desk in frustration, “No no no no no!”

Hoe.

“You are awful students, how am I supposed to work with you?!”

Uh the same way you worked with last year’s batch of awful students.

Mr. B went on to complain about us and how shallow-minded we all were until we had to go to our next class. Which was conveniently our last class for the day.

He was like that for the entire school year, never teaching us the material he was required to teach because he expected us to already know it from before.

And when we made mistakes, he would never correct them but just whine until we stopped asking him questions instead. The school never acted on the complaints us students sent about him and his questionable teaching methods either.

He never did tell us what the ‘correct’ answer to that riddle question was.

Fuck you Mr. Bitch, I’ll bet that your bubble’s made up of the bullshit you’re always rubbing on everyone’s face.