*The title of this blog post has been inspired from one of my favourite blogs, The Bitchy Waiter, which you can access here.*
As most of you already know, I teach English for SAT/GRE/GMAT at Anees Hussain. When I started teaching, my boss Sir Irfan told me that I'd have to be particularly strict with students and make sure they mug up vocabulary lists. 'Students were scared of Saqib (the guy who used to teach before me) and memorized word lists completely. You're not that type, so make sure that they do,' he emphasized.
After about a millisecond or so of feeling proud that I wasn't the ultimate Vocabulary Terrorizer of all times, I started feeling outrageously indignant. Type? I SO can scare people. If scary is what Sir wants, scary is what he'll get, I promised myself.
The first time I actually had a chance to prove my mettle was when this new kid enrolled for class. Correction: weirdo. Dark curly hair, and a HEADBAND. It honestly looked like a band of scrap metal amidst a tangle of barbed wire. On top of it all, he wore bermudas to every class. I don't really have a thing against bermudas, but I do have a thing against hairy legs. So ew. I half feel like putting up a notice inside the class or reception area that says 'NO SHORTS/BERMUDAS ALLOWED. IF YOU FEEL THAT GIRLS WILL BE ATTRACTED TO YOUR HAIRY LEGS, YOU ARE SADLY MISTAKEN.'
'Words?' HB questioned me as if I was the moron.
'Yes, vocab,' I muttered. What else would I be referring to, you retard? Are you here to practice for a musical or dance recital or something?
'I haven't done any,' he announced triumphantly.
I got so totally mad. Like really really mad.
'I can't learn all those words. I can't remember them,' he elaborated sheepishly.
'Err, you do know that your vocabulary is awful, right? And that you were supposed to learn the words no matter what? JUST LEARN THE FIRST FIFTY AND COME NEXT TIME!' I barked. 'We won't teach you anything new if you don't.'
By the next class, I had more than warmed up in Bitchy Mode. 'I've just read through the words,' he mumbled, drawling in his weird pseudo-American accent. 'Whatever man, just do it.' I snarled, tossing him a wordlist test of twenty questions.
Headband probably took more than an hour trying to recall the meanings of a measly twenty words. Once I saw him peeking into his notebook. 'No cheating, you!' I hollered over the table I was sitting at. After that he didn't dare even look up.
I was so pleased with myself that as I was listing the contents of the GRE course for two new students, I stopped at Vocabulary and said 'This, you guys HAVE to memorize before every class. Otherwise you'll be treated just like Headband.' (Of course, I actually used Headband's real name).
Poor (SO NOT!) Headband had to deal with the smirks and queer glances of twenty students plus Bilal for the rest of the class.
I really feel like telling Sir Irfan how bitchy I managed to be with a student. Strangely enough, Headband hasn't shown up for the last two classes. Gulp.