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prorevenge · 5 years

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My homophobic English teacher...

I saw a post on here recently about someone's horrible English teacher, and it reminded me of my own experience. TL;DR at the bottom. Doing this requires a quick lesson on the Australian high school system (I'll keep it short, don't worry). Basically, there are 6 years of Australian high school, from grades 7 through to 12. 7-10 are prep years where your grades don't carry over, then grades 11 and 12 are your big bad years with huge exams similar to the American system. When entering grade 11, you get to choose whether you want to pursue a path to university- doing this requires you to do ATAR subjects, which are the hardest subjects available. Your final grade in your last year is what universities use to decide if you get in. Basically, you have one year to really make it count. Grade 12 is the year to finally show off everything you've learned after your whole life at school. It's basically do or die, the hardest year of your life.

So, to begin this story, let me explain that I am good at English. Like, really good at English. I won awards and got accepted into state recognised programs for how good I am at English. It was the one subject I could guarantee to get an A in. So, naturally, I chose ATAR level English- I'd always wanted to get into some kind of English based university course. When I entered my grade 12 class I was greeted by my teacher, who we can call Mrs Slug, since she looked like a fat slimy slug. This was the kind of teacher that just handed out worksheets and sat behind her desk for the class and didn't actually teach. It was frustrating since this was my final year and I wanted my grades to be as good as possible, but I was confident in my ability to just pick it up on my own, so I didn't complain about it.

Then it came time for the first assessment. It was a creative writing piece, and short stories are my shit, so I wrote a short story. I followed the marking key carefully while also adding my own flare to the story to make it really entertaining and thought-provoking. The story was basically a dark romance told in first person, where the gender of the perspective character wasn't revealed until right at the end, thus revealing the couple to be gay. I specifically kept the main character's gender ambiguous until that point, since I wanted the reader to assume it was a girl then have a shock at the reveal. I contacted some of my friends from my high-level English programs and they all loved it. So I happily submitted it. I didn't think too much of it- I was interested to see how my ability held up in the highest level of school, but I wasn't expecting anything below a B. Then I got my result back.

Failed.

I couldn't believe it. I was genuinely confused. There were absolutely no marks on my paper, no red pen, no details as to why I failed, just a big fat 8/20 on the back of my paper. I was really upset, obviously, since I'd worked hard on it and it was the first time I'd failed an English assignment ever. I went to Mrs Slug and asked her what was wrong with it. She fluffed around and gave me an answer that essentially boiled down to, "I didn't like it." That was it. She had no reason to fail the story, she just didn't like it. News flash, that's not how marking creative writing works. If it'd been any other year, maybe I would've just blown it off and moved on, but this was grade 12. This failure could be the difference between getting into university and getting rejected.

So I went to the head of the English department at my school and requested a regrading. I didn't tell him that I'd failed it, just that I wanted more feedback. He gave it back to me as an 18/20. I then slammed my failing grade onto the desk and asked him to explain. Clearly, Mrs Slug stood by her grade, because instead of just changing my mark, they sent my writing to the top school in the state to get remarked again. It came back 19/20. Needless to say, my mark was changed to an A.

The next few assignments went relatively the same. Even when she passed me, I asked to be reassessed and my mark was always made higher than what she'd given me. Eventually, I complained enough times that they started rotating which teacher marked my work so no one could sabotage it. Even still, I always knew when Mrs Slug had been the one to mark it, because there was never any feedback on it, just a barely above average mark that eventually was changed to an A. I didn't get below 80% on any assignments for the entire year, and bare in mind, she hadn't taught anything in her class. I basically taught everyone myself and did the work at home so my peers also wanting to get into university had a shot (most of them did get in, can I add). I didn't understand why Mrs Slug didn't like my story (or me) until one day a discussion on politics came up in my class.

She's very, very right wing. A Donald Trump supporter. In Australia, that's super rare, since most of us think he's a dickhead. It suddenly hit me then. She didn't like my story because I'd done exactly what I'd wanted. She'd assumed the main character was a girl, then when it was revealed he was a guy and it was a gay relationship, she suddenly realised she'd happily been reading and enjoying a story about a gay couple. That must've infuriated her. She failed it for no reason other than her homophobia. After I realised that, I started to mess with her.

My first project was to test Donald Trump's persuasion tactics on her. My next oral presentation, I specifically used Donald Trump's speech style- the way he repeats words, over exaggerates, dehumanises, etc. I know she was the one who marked it (again, no feedback), but this time it was a 19/20. That was the highest mark she gave me all year. I couldn't believe it. The Donald had been right.

Next, I wrote a strongly worded, very opinionated article on how I was bisexual. This was the first time I'd touched LGBT topics since that first story, and I knew it would infuriate her. But she couldn't fail me at this point. It would look way too suspicious if a student who got 80%+ on assignments suddenly got less than 50%. I don't think I ever got the article back (I have a feeling it got passed around the English office so many times they just forgot) but I didn't care that much. I saw on my final report card it'd been 18/20. It must've made her angry, I hope, that she'd read my article and no doubt tried to fail it, but at this point, everyone was aware of her bullshit and prevented her from doing it. I got some dirty looks for the next few classes.

But there was one final straw that made me snap. See, my state holds a huge writing competition for high-schoolers every year. It's a massive deal, and people who win this competition often get sponsored or get scholarships based on it. Tens of thousands of entries get submitted. Obviously, I wanted to win it. Even getting shortlisted would do wonders for my uni application. Part of the school writing program meant that any short stories submitted over the year would automatically get entered in this competition, but I knew Mrs Slug would try and do me dirty. So I went to her directly, requesting to put in another version of the story I'd made with the feedback I'd gotten from the remarking. She told me, to my face, that she'd already submitted my story, so I couldn't change it. Fine. As long as it was submitted, I was happy.

I didn't get shortlisted. That hurt, a lot, since I'd really wanted it. But I figured the competition had been really good, so it was only fair. My little brother, however, got shortlisted for his year (he came in second), so I went to the awards ceremony with him.

Mrs Slug was there.

She looked shocked to see me. A little panicked, even. I was curious as to why she was there, but the answer revealed itself pretty quickly. One of the girls from my class had been shortlisted. Now listen, I'm not a bitter person. If someone genuinely writes better than me, I'm more than happy to accept that. But what I found awfully suspicious was that this particular girl had been given the highest mark in my class before I got reassessed. In other words, she had been Mrs Slug's favourite story. And her story had gotten 15/20. I know grades don't count for everything, and maybe my story had in fact been worse, but I was beginning to get a hunch as to what had happened.

As I said, I'm state recognised for my English ability, so I was able to get into contact with one of the people who had marked the competition. I asked, ever so innocently, if she'd read my story. She replied that she hadn't. I asked if she could check to see if any of the other markers had read it since it was a pretty distinctive story. The answer came back as I had feared. No one had read it.

Mrs Slug had lied through her teeth to my face. She hadn't submitted the story at all. She'd deliberately pulled it out of the submission pile because she was salty. This competition was a /huge/ deal to me- like I said, it would've been a massive part of my uni application. And she'd sabotaged it. She wanted me to fail.

I was fucking fuming at this point. Even today, I get angry thinking about it. I couldn't let this rest any longer. I was beyond pettiness. This was time for real revenge.

My parents both work in education, and my mum, in particular, was pretty high up in my area. She's also a bit of a tiger mum. When I told her what Mrs Slug had done, she was pissed. Like, so pissed. The idea that her kid might not go to uni because of a prejudiced teacher does not sit well with tiger mothers. She marched straight to the principal's office, and since he knew her, we were heard out almost immediately. I explained what happened, how I'd consistently been marked too lowly and my competition application had been removed without my knowledge. My mum was able to kick up a pretty big stink about it, ranting about how Mrs Slug shouldn't even be qualified to teach at all, let alone grade 12 ATAR English, and she needed to be removed immediately. The principal copped an earful, then the head of English did too. Both of them cowered in fear before the rage of my mother. There was nothing they could use to defend her, either- I had proof of the undermarking and the removal of my story application. Statements from my classmates confirmed she hadn't taught anything all year. It wasn't looking good for Mrs Slug.

She continued to sag behind her desk like a festering cancer for the last few weeks of the year, giving me stinky looks. I just quietly did my work, helping other people study for the final exam. I knew I'd done enough. In Australia, you can't just fire government workers, but you can move them. Sure enough, at the end of the year, she was relocated to the middle of fucking nowhere, to a school of fewer than 100 kids, where I hope she rots to this day. It's the closest you can get to being fired.

I got into university, by the way, and I'm now studying my English course. I should also mention that I got into the most competitive university in Australia, and I still get 80% and above in my short stories. That 40% she gave me was total bullshit, and I'm glad I made her suffer for it. No teacher should be able to get away with sabotaging their students like that, especially when it's their future on the line. I can only hope that the few students she teaches now don't have to experience the same thing.

TL;DR: my homophobic English teacher tried to fail me on my assignments, then sabotaged my chances in an important competition, so I got her essentially fired.

(source) story by (/u/millochi)

#prorevenge #by /u/millochi #pro revenge #revenge stories #pro revenge stories #pro #revenge #last10

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