Dont call me teacher

A tall, large man in his 30s or 40s dressed as smart as a teacher stepped into our class. Well, he’s a teacher after all. Our new Eng­lish lan­guage teacher. Fol­low­ing him was our for­mer teacher. “Okey class. This man right here is going to be your new Eng­lish teacher for the next few weeks. So..I’d bet­ter get going.”

Yeap, you heard it right. For the next few weeks. Well. truth is, that he’s a fresh grad­u­ate from UNIMAS (that’s Uni­ver­sity of Sarawak, Malaysia if you don’t know) and hes here for his teach­ing practice.

Now, any­one would have high expec­ta­tions of a fresh grad­u­ate with a degree on the Eng­lish lan­guage. So, we stared at him. He stared at us. Birds chirped. Wind blew. Leaves fall. Some­one sneezed. Teacher smiled. We dozed off (lol, jok­ing). He grabbed the name list. I want to know you all. When I call out your names I want you to intro­duce your­selves. We frowned.

So, the class went on. He wasted two whole peri­ods on intro­duc­ing, sur­veys and talk­ing. And my, oh my, does his Eng­lish suck. All those sim­ple gram­mar mis­takes, such as the usage of ‘is’ and ‘are’, plural or sin­gu­lar and bla bla bla. What the Fish? I feel so like slap­ping him say­ing: What the hell have you been doing for the last three years in uni­ver­sity?? and for the last twelve years teach­ing Eng­lish?! Holy cow, man..

The bell rang.

Oh yeah, I’ll keep that in mind. *Pic­tures Don­ald Trump say­ing: “You, suck. You’re FIRED!”

DUH!!

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