B. Sharp - The Sarcastic Teacher

Miss Sharp had never actually wanted to be teacher. When the career's adviser at her high school asked if she'd like to go into nursing, she'd replied,

"Making beds and cleaning up puke?"

"Alright, what about floristry?"

"Achoo," she quipped.

"Hospitality, animal husbandry, science; the list went on. At the mention of science, she mussed up her hair and mimicked a mad professor stirring a beaker.

"Alright Beatrice. How about teaching?"

"Yeah right, "she said, and the career's adviser took it as a yes, enrolling her in Teacher's College.

In her first year out she was given kindergarten, which wasn't too bad. Her sarcastic remarks went straight over their cute, little heads.

"Beautiful," she commented on the messy writing. "Oh, how clever," she cooed when the wee boy hopped twice on one leg. The children lapped it up.

No ... the trouble didn't start till middle school.

Incorrect answers were met with an exaggerated eye roll and, "Brilliant." When a child forgot her homework, it was, "Aren't we the organized one." During art lessons it was: "What's that supposed to be?" To the smallest boy in the class, she told him to stand up straight, before adding, "Oh, you already are."

At first there were tears but by mid-term she had mutiny on her hands. She begged to be returned to kindergarten, but the parents wouldn't have a bar of it. None too popular with staff either, she continued to wound and belittle throughout her career.

Morale in the school was low. The buildings, old and shabby, were in desperate need of maintenance. Air conditioners that broke down in the heat of Summer were seldom fixed or replaced. In response to his staff's complaints, Mr. Skint, the principal, cited lack of funds as the reason, endlessly reminding them to turn off the lights when leaving their classrooms.

"Gee ... that should solve the problem," Beatrice scoffed.

The situation deteriorated to such an extent that the children's playground area needed to be cordoned off as unsafe: the slippery dip rusted through, the swings hanging askew, the merry-go-round no longer turning.

"There's not enough money for books, let alone computers," the teachers bewailed, desperate for ideas to generate more income.

"How about a talent quest?" suggested Idy Bright, the head of the Parents and Teachers Association. "We could charge an entry fee."

"The community will be busting down the doors to see that," Beatrice said, but the motion was carried nonetheless, though precious few candidates volunteered from her class.

"This is a talent quest, remember," she said to those brave souls who auditioned. "Look it up if you don't know what it means."

"When am I supposed to laugh?" she asked Fred the comic. "Is there insanity in your family?" She accused Kevin of impersonating a frog when he sang and wondered out loud if there was an earthquake while Cindy pranced and twirled her heart out.

All the same, the concert drew a huge crowd. Buoyed by their success, teachers, parents and children alike anticipated spending their well-earned cash on coveted, new resources. Mr. Skint, however, threw cold water on those plans.

"I think not," he announced, declaring that the money should be allocated for repairing broken windowpanes and leaking ceilings, as the order of priority.

With the event of his retirement fast approaching, plans were made to give him a farewell party. There was discussion about whether to hold it in the staffroom or whether they should book a fancy restaurant for the occasion.

"How about a phonebooth?" Beatrice was rewarded by a chorus of sniggers.

Mr. Skint's departure necessitated the finding of a replacement to fill the position of principal. Beatrice applied along with the best of them. Seated beside five other hopefuls in the interview room, her colleagues took bets on how long it would take her to give offense.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," the examiner apologized. "I got a bit windblown coming through the carpark." At the sight of her ridiculous, corkscrew hair blown every which way, atop a green and red striped pantsuit, the others dropped their eyes to hide their smiles but not Beatrice.

"Your hair looks just wonderful. Love your outfit."

The examiner beamed. When she outlined some outrageous changes proposed by her superiors, they all cringed but not Beatrice.

"That's a great idea", she enthused.

Throughout the interview, Beatrice scored points, astonishing her co-workers with her audacity. By meetings end she had the top job in the bag.

Her name and new title were duly embossed in gold lettering on the principal's door.

School Principal

B. Sharp

Established in her private office, Beatrice thrived. No more dirty looks from fellow teachers in the lunchroom; no more lessons to prepare; no more idiotic projects to mark; no more racking her brains for complimentary comments to put on student's report cards. She tossed hundreds of unused gold stars and smiley stickers in the bin.

Pouring over ledgers, she found that numbers were her thing. I should have been an accountant, she thought. Had the career's adviser even mentioned that one?

In balancing the books, she managed to procure enough funding for all the needed upgrades as well as the latest educational innovations. Morale in the school boomed.

"Looking sharp Beatrice," she often heard from her colleagues as she passed them in the corridors. She particularly liked to hear it from the new, year six, executive teacher, Mr. Darling. And she it was true. Along with her increase in salary came an increase in fashionable clothes. She could even afford to wear stiletto heels now that she wasn't patrolling the classroom or braving the elements on playground duty. Her old Mitsubishi she upgraded to a snazzy, new Mazda.

But the children still lived in fear of her tongue. Misdemeanors were dealt with harshly. Bullying, theft, even back-chatting were no longer tolerated. The culprits so dreaded to be sent to her office that just the threat of it curbed most anti-social behavior.

So, not only were the grounds and buildings in good repair, and each classroom replete with the latest technology, but school discipline was under control. Everything was looking sharp.