There's a post on my dash about ridiculous ideas about perfect attendance and sending kids to school sick that reminded me of something that happened when I was a senior in high school that isn't about that but is the same vein of weird power moves that happen from school officials sometimes:
I had a teacher get me pulled out of class to go into her class so she could question me IN FRONT OF HER CLASS about why I didn't have a senior photo for the yearbook. She was the yearbook advisor. Up until this moment, I had zero opinions about this woman. I had never had her as a teacher or heard anything in particular about her (in a class of 68 in a K-12 school of 400, this is a rarity).
I explained that, 1) the photographer had cancelled on me because of a death in the family, and 2) we'd re-scheduled for November, which put us ahead of deadline, but then 3) my wisdom teeth had to come out or my several years in braces would be for nothing, so I had my wisdom teeth out and 4) was fine not having a senior photo as there would be several photos of me for class awards (shocking no one, I was voted most likely to succeed). And I didn't say it, but I also just didn't give much of a fuck. A lot of the trappings of senior year I was supposed to go wild for were just things that aggravated the shit out of me.
So, anyway, I explain I had to have my wisdom teeth out and was not terribly concerned about not having a photo.
"So, you're fine just having a blank square where your photo should be?" The teacher asks.
"Yes," I said, because it was true. I went to the same school all 13 years. Like, same campus of the same school, okay? I did not look materially different from junior to senior year. It was fucking fine.
The teacher then launched into a full-on rant AT me about how I was irresponsible and didn't understand that deadlines were an important thing to respect, and I immediately went into full bitch-Gayle mode because she had literally pulled me out of class so she could interrupt her own students' work so she could yell at me IN FRONT OF HER CLASS. She could have found me at lunch. She could have met me in the hall. No. She was making a decision to try and publicly humiliate for...some reason I have never tried to figure out.
The thing is, even at 18, a lot of my life had required me to get yelled at while I waited for the moment to fucking obliterate the person yelling at me. I was very good at waiting for the moment to do that.
She goes on for about two minutes just tearing me a new one, and finally goes, "But I suppose none of that matters to you since you don't care about deadlines."
"Right," I dead-panned. "What do I, the school newspaper editor know about deadlines. Is your staff going to need to use our computers again this week to meet yours because I can do a quick meeting with my staff today and make sure we're ahead enough to give you the space."
There was actual laughter from the class. She told me to leave. I left.
That lunch period, as I was in the newspaper room doing some thing for the paper because I actually took my role seriously, the journalism advisor came in, crossed her arms, sighed deeply, and said, "Gayle, what the HELL did you say to [teacher's name I have forgotten]?"
Bless that woman. She is one of the few reasons Angry Teenage Gayle did not become Felony Teenager Gayle. I'm not joking. I told her what had happened. She listened. She nodded. She warned me, "She'll be coming for you now."
My advisor, through my senior year and after thanked me for all the new gray hairs I gave her. I thanked her for her unwavering support. I might need to say it again, honestly. She did a lot for me.
Anyway, a couple weeks later, the same teacher came into the journalism room to find the advisor and found me in a tube top without the sweater I'd been wearing over it and threatened to report me for dress code violation. And when you wanna talk about my villian origin story, the way my school handled dress code was high on the list.
I looked at her already knowing she was defeatable and went, "The only reason you even know I'm violating dress code is because you walked in here while I'm alone. How can I violate dress code if no one's seen me?"
She stormed out. I put my sweater back on. My advisor came in. "Gayle--"
"I'm not violating dress code," I said. "I was gonna put my sweater back on when the bell rang. I hate the dress code, but I'm not an idiot."
Honestly, my advisor deserved to shoot me out of a cannon.