I once had a crush on a history teacher that also required pens, as opposed to pencils. He was gorgeous with a slightly balding head of black hair, a goatee, and a perfect-toothed smile. Maybe it was the fact that I did well in his class or the fact that he filled my brain to the brim with knowledge (the best form if intercourse), but I fell for him, and I fell hard.
I remember there was this test, and I was pressed for time, using a pencil of course… why? Well, I make mistakes, change my thoughts, and like to erase. So I was writing and writing, trying to put every single piece of information he had forced into my brain; ‘twas an essay test. Just before the class period was about to end, I finished… totally spent and excited. I thought that it was a perfect essay (or rather set of essays). I walked up to his desk to staple the sheets of paper together. I placed the test in the pile, looked at him and smiled… blushing a little I suppose. He looked at me, after looking at my paper.
“Nervous?”
“Huh?”
He nodded at my paper. Graphite was smeared all over, and there were sweat marks. Actual sweat marks! Then of course there were the pressure marks where my nervous pencil writing pressed portions of writing onto the following page. In short, it was illegible.
The next day he said in front of the class, “Never ever use pencil on a test…” and I shrunk into my desk embarrassed. I swore to never use pencil again.
Weeks later, when he still hadn’t graded the tests, he tried to bribe us. He said that if someone brought in cookies, he would have them graded by Christmas break. Of course I made cookies and frosted them myself with fun red and green sprinkles. I attached a note with purposefully smeared writing… “Too Mr…. Please be kind to the pencil pushers.” I left the package on his desk, early in the morning while he was in the teacher’s lounge.
The next day, he brought in the tests. “Did someone bring in cookies?” a male asked.
“Yeah. Great ones.”
“Who was it?” a female asked.
“I… I am pretty sure I know who it was… they were very good.”
I melted in my desk very happily. I was a foolish eighth grader.