Emperor of the Fucking World

Back when I was in fifth grade, (holy crap, that was literally eleven or twelve years ago. I feel old!) I had a teacher that I just hated. I had a good reason though. See this old bastard liked to do three things: have spelling competitions, play kickball, and play favorites with the students.

Needless to say, (as I am a terrible speller, and completely disinterested in kickball, [or any ballgame for that matter]) I was not one of Mr. O's favorite student. Upon realizing that there was no way in hell I would ever be liked by my teacher in any fashion, (on day two) I began my descent into cranky-angry pre-teenhood.

As a child, and most of my elementary, middle, and high school career, I was a relatively pleasant human. Sure, I didn't do my homework, but I passed my tests, stayed awake in class, and answered questions because I could never, (and still can't) stand having a teacher stand around waiting for a hand that will never raise. But in fifth grade, I was probably one of the worst little kids. While I had never practiced being mean, spiteful, or stupid, I had witnessed it many times. All I had to do was reenact all of those obnoxious little kids.

So I did. My entire fifth grade was spent almost exclusively in detention. I became known as the joker in class. When asked how to spell a word aloud like "caring" I would raise my hand a say, "Y-O-U-R-B-U-T-T." The whole class would be terribly amused, and I knew I would never get in trouble at home because my parents never went to parent-teacher conferences and I had learned young how to delete messages off the answering machine.

The truth was, even if I wasn't disruptive, I would be put in detention. I remember once that I knocked my chair over when I stood up too quickly and had to go to detention after apologizing for it. I would get in trouble for asking for a pencil from one of my friends. There were certainly days when I just didn't feel up to acting like an asshole, and those were mostly the days I got the most yellow cards, (his system for how to deal with troublemakers).

The icing on the cake though was that in my class, there were four girls that had apparently hit puberty early. Where I was a late bloomer, (I didn't really hit puberty until I was fourteen) these girls were already wearing training bras, shaving their legs, wearing make up, and carrying around pads in their purses. I was unconcerned with the situation. I had no need for boobs or boys.

But then I realized that he was treating these girls, (the pretty girls) completely differently. And in a classroom where I was one of six girls, and these four were being treated special just because they looked like prosti-tots, I was mad.

It was at the point in time that I began wishing that Mr. O's house would burn down. Yes, I realize that it makes me sound like a crazy person, but I was nine years old, and I had been wronged. So my friends and I started worshipping the God of Fire, (something we made up), the Spirits in the Sewer, (yet another thing we made up) and the God of Chaos, (something I thought we made up, but apparently there is such a God as that out there).

We would sacrifice our lunch meats to our chosen gods and spirit and ask that Mr. O get his just desserts. He was ruining our childhood memories. Therefore his house, which contained all of his memories in picture albums and knick-knacks should be smited! We thought we were terribly clever, and came up with chants and elaborate rituals to appease our wondrous gods and spirits. There was singing and dancing and circling of our lunch meats that we placed on beds of clover.

(And the other kids thought we were weird...!)

Well, nothing ever came of our efforts. I graduated elementary school and went into sixth grade where I didn't hate my teachers, and I went back to being a kid that was relatively quiet and pleasant.

Until I walked into my health class. Rachael, (on of the pretty girls) looked really upset. I sat next to her in that class, so I leaned over, asking her, "Rachael, what's the matter?" I didn't fault her for being pretty. It wasn't like she asked to be one of Mr. O's favorites. So I didn't dislike her.

"Well," she said with a sniffle, "I just found out this morning...that Mr. O's house...it burned down...and he lost all of his things. His clothes, and family pictures...it's just so sad!"

I could feel it...the Mr. Grinch smile crept across my face. I looked like evil and demonic. And I had packed my lunch. Rachael didn't understand the creepy smile I gave her. But it didn't matter. The health teacher wasn't there yet. I grabbed my stuff and left, heading for all the classes where my friends were being kept.

I explained the story, and how we had single handedly created the perfect storm of Chaos, Fire, and Sewer Spirit and burned down our old teacher's house. We all went outside, found some clover and offered our lunches to our Gods and Spirits.

And because I had founded our Gods and Spirits, I was titled Emperor of the Fucking World.

Of course, that passed after about a month, when all the wishing and praying and sacrificing wouldn't bring bananas raining out of the sky. (That was my next act as Emperor.)

Oh, well. I was an impressionable kid.