As a continuation of yesterday's "Know Thyself" post, I think the time has come for me to expose Miss Bitchard. She was my Kindergarten teacher. I feel compelled to describe at least one life-changing event in which she played a major role.
One day in the girls' bathroom, Miss Bitchard decided she had finally had enough of young Betty's antics. (Young Betty just stood in the room looking like a deer caught in the headlights while the other, more reasonable girls did what they were supposed to do in the bathroom.)
Mind you, Betty was the youngest in the class and the smallest. Today, there would be a question as to whether or not Betty was "Kindergarten-ready".
On that fateful day, Miss Bitchard, who had finally had enough, grabbed Betty by the shoulders and screeched, "Now look! I've had ENOUGH of this! You get into that stall RIGHT NOW and USE the toilet!"
With that she shoved a trembling, alarmed young Betty into the nearest stall.
The rest of the girls in my class were lined up at the door, waiting to leave. Did they leave? Nooooooo. They all stood there, watching, listening, with Miss Bitchard, who had had enough. I could see them through the cracks between the door and the stall sides. Assuming that they also could see me, I tentatively pulled down my underpants and forced my reluctant butt onto that unwelcoming, icy toilet seat.
I knew not what to do. I was shivering and crying (silently so they wouldn't know). Dead silence filled the cavernous room. Time became my enemy, because I could see them becoming more and more impatient with each dreadful moment.
"HURRY UP!!!!!" she bellowed.
I knew my time was up. I was terrified, having failed to perform the function for which I was imprisoned. (How could I ? Nobody could have emptied a bladder under such pressure!)
Panicked, I practically fell off the toilet. This was not one of those wimpy child-sized toilets you see in schools nowadays- it was a full-blown monster. I examined the behemouth, desperate to figure out how to flush, yet very much afraid of it.
"WHAT are you D-O-I-N-G in there?" Boy, she was spitting mad now.
I was cornered. I had no choice but to feebly open the stall door (once I figured out how) and whisper, "H-h-how do you f-f-f-flush it?"
The woman stormed into that stall, spitting blood and venom. Horrified beyond words, I jerked my dress up and spread it out like a canopy over the toilet bowl so she couldn't see that its liquid was not yellow.
" WHAT are you DOING????? Get your DRESS out of it!"
Gales of laughter erupted from the audience as Miss Bitchard flushed.
I don't know how I ever showed my face to the world again.