I recently had dinner with the headmaster of my old high school. I went to a cool high school. It was a private school for artsy types. Yes. I was an artsy type. All of the teachers were artists. The English teacher was a ballerina. The geometry teacher was a violinist, the physics teacher was a sculptor. You get the point. The headmaster was an actor. He was also the only person even vaguely concerned with the shitty quality of the academic education at the school. He decided that what the school needed was a biology class. And he was going to teach it. And it was a new "requirement" and in this "biology class" we were going to dissect cats.
I was annoyed. Not so much about the cats. Cats aren't high on my list of things to care about. I just didn't want to take a science class. Seemed stupid and unnecessary. I was also a senior, and I was bored, so I started an all school protest. Petitions got signed, parents were calling in. I think there was some rhyming chant. The thing really took off. I was awfully impressed with myself. By the time I had staged the biology class walk out, I had managed to infuriate the headmaster to the point that I thought he was literally going to punch me in the face.
"Grace!! Get in my fucking office."
I stamped out my cigarette. (yes, we were allowed to smoke. we were allowed to do anything)
So I go into his office, and I sit down. And he starts yelling at me about how I was such a pain in the ass, and he was going to call my dad and I was going to get suspended for missing class etc... unless I admitted that I didn't really care about dissecting cats.
I have no idea why I did it, but I started laughing. And I admitted it. I told him he was right and I really didn't care about dissecting cats.
He looked me dead in the eye and said "Grace, you have a fucked up sense of humor. Get out of my office."
So I did. I couldn't figure out if I was in trouble or not though. The cat discussion seemed to be dying down, and everyone thought I was this cool rebel who saved them from "biology." But the headmaster still seemed really pissed at me. And while I liked being a rebel, I didn't like disapproval. It started to get to me. So I started being a good girl. Showing up to class on time, not pulling my gay friends leg hair in class, not leaving class to go make out in the practice rooms. Volunteering for stuff.
One day the headmaster asked me to run an errand for him. This wasn't uncommon. I was a senior with a car, and we were a private arts school on a budget. Because I was still in ass kiss mode, I said yes. I had to run down to one of the universities in the city and pick up a couple of boxes. I do it. I feel like I'm back in good graces with the headmaster. For some reason, I assumed that the boxes went up to the theatre wing, so going the extra mile, I bring the boxes all the way up 4 flights of stairs and drop the boxes on the stage, and go off to class down the hall. About half an hour later, there's screaming down the hall. Panic. Soemthing's going on. Being dramatic folk, the entire class gets up to find out what all the commotion was about. We walk into the theatre to find all of the boxes I had brought up were opened, and loaded with dead cats. All over the stage. The headmaster had sent me to fetch the dead cats.
Apparently, Grace wasn't the only one with a fucked up sense of humor.