PLEASE TELL THE CHILDREN THE STORY OF MS. STUBELS
Grace fuck, why would you invoke her name like that???
Okay, fine, gather round children, buckle up because weâre going on a bumpy ride back to everyoneâs collective least favorite place: 7th grade.
Some background: I went to a very small Catholic school. One class per grade (we were the largest with 19 kids), everyone knew each other whether they wanted to or not. Despite basically every teacher and faculty members insistence that we were The Best And Most Special Class In The School and that everyone loved having us, the longstanding 7th grade teacher Mrs. OâHara decided to retire in the summer of 2008, meaning the school had to find us a new teacher for the upcoming year. This would be like, the first new teacher in the school in a while, and as she was getting the âbest classâ, it was viewed as a Big Deal. Somewhere in like July or August we got a letter announcing Mrs. Stubel, and it came with a list of books to pick for the summer reading, and that was basically all the information we had.
SoâŠthe first day of class. She seems nice enough. VeryâŠditsy, I guess? It was very easy for her to get herself off topic while talking. She constantly paced around the room, never staying in one spot for longer than a second, complaining she has restless leg syndrome. Which like, Iâm sure she did, but she was in the middle of introducing herself and then went on a 20 minute tangent about restless leg syndrome without anyone prompting her. It was almost like you could see her scattered thoughts flying around her head.
So anyone, she eventually gives somewhat of an introduction- she had only taught in public schools before, and kept worrying she âdidnât knowâ how to teach in a Catholic school despite the entire class insisting literally nothing was different, you just teach the curriculum, twice a week we have religion class with Sister Mary King, thatâs literally it (she still talked over us in worry), she told us about her kids, she told us about her obsession with Emily Dickinson, stuff like that.
And then she hands us this worksheet.
Sheâs like, âOh, these are just some basic questions for you to answer! Just so I can get to know you guys better!â like in lieu of an icebreaker game, which is fine, butâŠthe questions. The questions were all âWhat is your most haunting fear?â, âWhat is your deepest regret?â, âHave you ever experienced the pain of loss?â, âWhat was your worst injury?â, âWhat was your worst nightmare?â, all questions like that, and then on the back she wanted us to draw a gravestone and write out what we wanted our epitaph to be.
We were twelve year olds, mind you.
Oh my God and one girl missed the first day because of her grandmotherâs funeral, so when she came the next day and saw what the teacher was insisting she do for homework, she almost had a panic attack? And the lady still made her do it? Literally who wants to think about death anymore at a time like that omfg.
Okay, so then we get to the summer reading book reports, right? Now, she had given a list of maybe, 20 books that you could pick from, read it, and then present an oral report on it. You had to have notecards and you had to be able to answer questions from the class at the end. All in all, Iâve had worse projects.
So, on this list, she apparently put Madeleine LâEngleâs entire book series on the listâŠonly she did not make it known that this was a series and not multiple stand alone books, so when reports started up it caused mass-panic of kids trying to put together plot points and make connections on what the hell they had read.
I was the only kid in the class who had chosen to read âA Wrinkle In Timeâ, and that has since lead to a series of events thatâŠreally actually scares me, Iâm still incredibly freaked out, Iâm not going to get into it right now because itâll take away from the current story, but just know that Iâm not above wondering if it only happened because I read the book for Stubel.
Anyway, so like, I got through the report okay. The class asking questions about it was fine, but the teacher kept asking questions that didnât make sense, like, at all. My friend Angie has always had super neat handwriting and Mrs. Stubel got like, obsessed with her notecards and asked if she could borrow them for something. When we got our grades back a few weeks later, Angie had points taken off for not having notecards.
And then her teaching justâŠdidnât happen. Sheâd never stay on a topic, sheâd always get herself distracted! We were not learning anything. And like, this wasnât a class of advanced smart kids that loved to learn. By all accounts we shouldâve been thrilled. But it got out of hand. It got to points where we had to start teaching lessons to ourselves, asking teacher from other grades for help, always coming home in tears, complaining constantly to our parents and the principal because this woman wasnât teaching us anything. There were two kids who asked her multiple times for extra help, and she told them each time to âtalk to me after schoolâ, but then sheâd leave immediately after school so they wouldnât be able to talk to her. They finally brought up the issue in the middle of class and she had a breakdown, yelling about how nobody ever thinks that maybe the teacher has a lot of work to do, and maybe sheâs entitled to taking off early, but when we tried to argue she shouldnât schedule meetings and then break them off in the name of relaxation, she stormed out of the room and tried to get the principal to give us detention. (Which, like, our school didnât even do, and she was the only one in the wrong during this situation) We are still in September at this point, and already at least ten kids have parents considering transferring them to another school. (And remember, there was only 19 of us, and most of the class had been together since preschool, so that was a big deal).
Then, she starts coming in with all the weird bruises. All the Momsâą immediately started gossiping that her husband had to be beating her, and thatâs why she was so screwy in the head. But the way she talked about her husband made it seem like he *might* be dead, and we actually did witness her fall and smack her head into a doorknob once, so no one really knew what to believe. (Also, Iâm not trying to imply that abuse would make someone crazy or âdamagedâ or anything, this is just what was being said. I think they were trying to turn her into a more sympathetic character, because if you feel sorry for her you donât have to hate her for frustrating your kids so much, and Hate Is A Bad Emotion.)
AlsoâŠthis woman and Emily Dickinson.
She talked about Emily Dickinson every chance she could get. None of us knew who Emily Dickinson really was before she got there and you could see in her mind it was a capitol offense. She found out the curriculum didnât have room to cover her (because like, we had a text book), and was way too upset about it. She started reading her poems whenever she found the time (usually somewhere in history class), and always gave us very detailed accounts about her dressing up as Emily and reading her poetry at the library.
Now, two things to note here:
The library did not hire her to do this. She would literally just get in the mood, put on an Emily Dickinson costume that she made by herself, drive to different libraries, and just read poetry out loud to everyone there until someone eventually asked her to leave.
The way she described these eventsâŠher tone, the look on her face, her postureâŠyou could just tell that she was getting some sort of sexual gratification out of this? Like dressing up as Emily Dickinson in public and reading her sad poems is really what got this ladyâs jollies rocking? Got her all hot and bothered? Which isâŠa lot, but why would you tell a bunch of seventh graders about it holy shit. What about that sounds like a good idea! What about that turns you back on!
So anyway, we learned a lot about Emily Dickinson against our will.
One of the Davidsâą was reading a book for pleasure- which shouldnât have been a shocker, a lot of kids always had books on them, but Stubel got really interested and asked if she could borrow it from him. He was like âsure, after I finish it?â but she took it that day. He asked her for it back for like five weeks straight.
Okay, so the school was trying some dorky thing to promote ~togetherness~ or some virtue or something, I donât remember the specifics of why, but each class had to make a huge themed poster and hang it on the wall outside the classroom. Which was like, whatever, not the most thrilling project but at least it allowed us to be productive vs just sitting there as the teacher runs about the room rambling about her family vacation from four years ago. Mrs. Stubel decided we needed a quirky nickname and after like three days of deliberation we were christened âStubelâs Special Strudelsâ!
(points for alliteration or whatever, but no one actually voted for that and what exactly do strudels have to do with Catholicism? It became a big running joke amongst the kids)
Also, in case you were wondering, she didnât explain the assignment correctly to us- so every other class had like these beautiful, artistic, well-themed and put together posters, while ours was justâŠliterally a bunch of shit thrown together on paper. Nothing fit with each other, it was literally embarrassing to look at.
But thenâŠshe wouldnât drop the strudel thing. Like she kept bringing it up. She got really into strudels and would just tell us random shit about them. Finally, someone jokes that we should get strudels one day for a party (like instead of a pizza party), and sheâs Freaking Out and On Board. She really wants to buy us strudels and have a breakfast party now. She talked about it for like two days straight.
So like⊠you know in school when you would have a pizza party, usually the teacher would buy it? Thatâs how they always happened in my experience (not counting the last day of 10th grade when some kid had pizza delivered to the school for lunch but it didnât get there until math class lol). But especially in grade school? Like if it wasnât a PTA made party thatâs super organized, the school would buy the food, right? Right?
Yeah, so she was like, if this is happening you guys need to give me the money. Just give me the money and then Iâll pick them up on my way to work!! And after some arguing some kids are on board. Strudels should only cost a couple dollars right?
And sheâs like, oh no, Iâm gonna get them from this high end bakery near my house so itâll be special, but theyâre not cheap and itâll be a big order! Iâm gonna need like fifteen dollars from each of you!
And at this point Iâm just likeâŠlady. Come on.Â
But she keeps insisting. Sheâs not gonna go until every student in class pays up.
And Iâm likeâŠIâm poor. I donât even like strudel. And some of the less-naĂŻve kids are siding with me.
And then she pulls that âyou guys are just spoiling all the fun for your classmatesâ shit, like the naĂŻve kids who already paid up, so it gets to the point where we just gotta cave and give her the money.
(I ended up stealing it out of my Crazy Bitch Auntâs wallet so itâs whatever, I guess.)
And then of course, shockingly enough, every morning she was met with âwhere are the strudels?â and every morning she went wide eyed, slapped her forehead and yelled in embarrassed horror âI totally forgot! Tomorrow, guys, I promise!â
Honestly, with how scatterbrained and confused she always wasâŠlike to this day I canât tell you with 100% certainty whether she hustled us or was just actually forgetting about the damn pastries, I choose to lean towards the hustled us side because thatâs just the type of people Iâm used to, but if I found out it was innocent forgetfulness I wouldnât exactly be surprised.
She couldnât handle more than one person talking at a time. Like, weâd have break periods, or group work, or something and all the talking made her go wide-eyed and batty. Sheâd look overworked and anxious and would be darting around the room trying to do work or something but she couldnât focus and sheâd yell at anyone who tried to talk to her directly. I remember one time she was using this boys desk for something so he asked âwhere am I supposed to sit?â and she snapped âSit on the ceiling for all I care!â. And this kid was the Class Clownâą , so he immediately grabbed a chair in one hand and started climbing the bookcase to try and reach the ceiling. Sheâs standing right next to this and doesnât even notice. He got all four chair legs planted on the ceiling and was trying to somehow maneuver his way into the chair (I really donât know what the plan was exactly- he was really tall and it was a small building, so I think he probably had the idea that if he can get his body upside down and in the chair, and stretch out his arms like a hand-stand to hold onto bookcase, he could arguably sit on the ceiling.) but he slipped. Crashed into my desk and the two desks next to me, knocked over the book case, broke the chair in half and hit the desks with enough force to knock them down lower. It was hilarious. Everyone was loosing their shit cracking up (he was fine) and it still took Stubel like five minutes to notice his lying out across the desks right in front of her eyes. She was pissed but how did she miss any of it in the first place? She was barely being helpful in whatever it was she was trying to do.
This was the year the Phillies were going to the World Series, and all the grades were having a Phillies Rally in the cafeteria so a news crew was coming to the school and each class was supposed to come up with fun little cheers for them to broadcast. Multiple cheer ideas were presented to her and she vetoed all of them, someone even suggested just singing the damn eagles theme song with replaced words and calling it a day but she vetoed that too, she was very adamant that she could come up with a cheer all by herself and itâll be the best one (whoever had the best cheer was winning like an ice cream day or something idk). And then likeâŠliterally five minutes before the rally she just hands us signs with the letters and was like âweâre just gonna spell out Phillies it will be cute wonât it my strudels???â. We were the weakest class there, predictably. I think we lost to the kindergarteners. There might still be a video online of me yelling â i â passionately at the top of my lungs. It was online bc our cheer was so bland the news crew cut it out of the broadcast.
I literally canât say enough about how she never taught us anything. Sheâd be going on some tangent about how she doesnât understand the science behind skiing, and Iâd be like âOkay yes but please can you just tell me where Romania is on a map???â And sheâd start fights whenever someone actually wanted to learn. It was so easy to get her angry but so hard for her to stay on topic. Kids started teaching the class themselves! Like seriously, sheâd be rambling and one of us would just go up to the podium, open the teacherâs guide textbook and just start reading out loud and talking over her. By the time she noticed weâd be halfway through a lesson. And we understood it better than when she tried! You know somethingâs wrong when pre-teens are more qualified for a job than an adult who supposedly went to school for this.
We were in the church having run-throughs for our upcoming Confirmation and she almost set the church on fireâŠfifteen different times. In less than half an hour. How hard is it to hold a candle?
Okay, and hereâs when stuff starts kicking up. It was October 28th, a Tuesday, and it was our last day of school that week because they were having parent-teacher conferences the rest of the week. So we were just hanging out, watching movies in class and reading (lord knows we werenât learning), and Stubel calls me over to her desk.
So like, she had given everyone little bags with candy for Halloween, but I get up there and she hands me an extra one. And sheâs like âMolly I know your birthday is tomorrow and I bought you a present but I left it on my coffee table this morning by accident! So just have the candy for now!â
And Iâm likeâŠ.âMaâam Iâm like, the sixth birthday this year. You didnât give anyone else presents?â
And she goes âOh, I know but this is a special secret surprise. I just know youâre gonna love it! Do you wanna stop by my house later this week to pick it up or should I just give it to you Monday after school?â
And likeâŠIn writing this sounds like a non-threatening exchange, and like, it was, but I felt so uncomfortable holy shit. Iâm looking over my shoulder and shooting my friends SOS signals. Something about this felt so weird in my gut omfg. I told her thanks and Iâd just see her Monday.
So we flash forward to Wednesday- my 13th birthday, the day the Phillies won the world series, and also the day my mother innocently strolled into the school for her meeting only to be met with screaming, the sound of heavy destruction, and the school secretary Mrs. Daily running at her in a panic, waving her arms and yelling âYOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED YOUR MEETING IS CANCELLED GET IN MY OFFICE NOW!â
So my poor mother, who thought she could handle this whole meeting in a few minutes and barely be an hour late for work, is now barricaded in the front office with the school secretary, as the noises from down the hall get louder and louder. The woman explains that they had gotten so many complaints about Mrs. Stubel that this morning, when she got to the school, the principal Sister Patricia called her in and said âListen, we need you to be professional and still have the parent conferences, but we have to let you go. We just donât think you fit in well here, and the kids need to come first and feel comfortable in their school.â and like, Iâm paraphrasing because I wasnât there, but we all know she was very polite and professional about it.
Mrs. Stubel, howeverâŠwas not.
She flipped her chair and stormed out of the office, and locks herself in the seventh grade classroom. She started wrecking the shit out of that place, screaming obscenities and the top of her lungs, they had to call the cops on her! She was locked in there for almost an hour! And let me just give you a nice little list of everything she did in that classroom:
Threw everything off her desk and carved swear words all over it.
Got cleaning fluid that she knew would damage the chalk boards, smeared it all over.
Cracked the chalk boards by repeatedly smashing chairs against them.
Wrote swear words all over the walls and on desks
Went into students desks, ripped up their books.
Stole my glasses. (which were in my desk bc I only used them in class at the time)
Carved swear words into the boards. (there was so much carving Iâm assuming she just had a knife on her person, which has to lead to the question, did she have a knife on her while she was in class with us?)
Physically ripped the hooks to hang backpacks on out of the wall.
Knocked the closet door off itâs hinges.
Ripped up all the books in the bookcases and threw their pages all around the room.
Wrote lewd phrases inside studentâs desks.
Used her podium as a battering ram against the wall thatâs in front of where the backpacks go. (the wall won but Damage Was Inflicted)
Set a fire in the trash can.
When the principal and other teachers started trying to get in, she tossed her rolling chair at the door to scare them off.
She was screaming curse words at the top of her lungs the entire time, and cursing the school and the kids and the principal and the church in general, and the school building was small, so all the parents and the smaller children that had to come to the meetings (who were locked in their respective classrooms in fear) heard everything.
So much more? But itâs 4:30 in this morning and this list is already long.
So my mom is in the front office and deadass the
shows up, running down the hallway to the classroom yelling at her to stop, and it takes a while for them to get her out holy shit. They knocked down the door and she tried to escape out of one of the broken windows! But they got her and dragged her out.
So of course, in such a small school with very involved parents this shit spread like wildfire. The entire town knew within the day. The poor principal called the newly retired old-seventh grade teacher and was like âSo weâŠneed some helpâ and the lady was like âI already heard Iâll be there Mondayâ omfg. I remember I got a text from one of my classmates saying âif your birthday wish was for us to be set free from the beast I love youâ omfg.
So, we eventually go back to school on Monday and everyoneâs buzzing. The principal has us go to the cafeteria and she âdelicatelyâ explains the situation, and that the old teacher is coming out of retirement for us, the school has a restraining order against Mrs. Stubel now and that sheâs sorry we had to deal with this mess. Our classroom had to go under some heavy reconstruction before we could be let back in there, so for like two weeks we alternated between the cafeteria and the preschoolerâs classroom, we had no books or anything, just provided loose-leaf paper and pens. It was like, surreal, but everyone was just so happy to be rid of her and to be in the presence of a competent teacher omfg. We eventually were able to get back into our usual classroom.
It took a while for things to go completely back to normal, though. After the big spectacle she made, for weeks after she was fired we were all very scared of the possibility of Mrs. Stubel returning to the school with a gun in hand. It was always a topic we whispered about at lunch with wide eyes and shivers. LikeâŠgenuine nightmare scenario.
About two weeks after she was fired, a boy in the back of the classroom gasped loudly during SSR, and when we all looked at him, he whispered in anger âShe never gave us our freakinâ strudels!â
About three months after she was fired, we were lined up at the door to go to Library when a few of us looked through the windows and saw something darting through the trees. It was fast and we couldnât make anything out, so we let it drop. When the class and teacher returned half and hour later, the book she had borrowed months before from one of the boys was sitting on his desk. It was just laying there, the room was silent, nothing had been disturbedâŠbut I have never seen a book look so threatening. People were freaking out. Someone kept insisting that she turned the book into a bomb. No one figure out how she got in the school, and no one could figure out how she got it on the right desk, as we had switched the seating arrangement since she had last been there. Â
A full six months after she had left, it was nearing the end of the school year and our class was dicking around during our last computer class. Someone found a website (that we werenât allowed to be on) that pulls up any police records attached to whoeverâs name you enter, so someone decided to search Mrs. Stubel as a joke. We ended up finding out she had like six DUIâs.
Aaaaand thatâs the story of the horrendous teacher I had for two months in 7th grade. One of my favorite party stories but tbh she still haunts meâą .
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