4th grade trauma resurfacing at Albertsons

When I was in the fourth grade, I had a particularly strict and intimidating teacher named Mrs. Jones. We will call her “Mrs. Jones,” because that is her name.

Mrs. Jones was the kind of teacher no one wanted to encounter. I was placed in her class, but since I was a rather positive child, I tried to make the best of my situation. My friends would complain about how mean she was, but I would still think, “no, she’s an okay teacher, she hasn’t done anything terrible yet.” That was at least, until the tetrahedral incident.

The tetrahedral incident occurred when everyone was supposed to make tetrahedral kites out of straws, string, and tissue paper. But, because you were using tissue paper, you had to be extra careful with the glue. I happened to put a little too much glue on one part of the tissue and it made the kite less beautiful. But I was nine, so this wasn’t really a crime or anything. Mrs. Jones walked by my desk and suddenly stopped. Her face changed into an expression of extreme disappointment. She lifted my pink and brown tetrahedral kite and said, “Class, THIS is a BAD example of a tetrahedral. THIS is why you GLUE PROPERLY. DON’T DO WHAT SHE DID.” I was absolutely horrified (although not as much as Miley was at the VMAs). Since that day, my views of her haven’t been too fond.

Now I don’t know why Mrs. Jones shops at the Albertsons closest to my house, but unfortunately, I have seen her there on multiple occasions. And every time our eyes meet, or my mom whispers in an amused voice “oh look, it’s your favorite teacher,” a wave of unpleasant memories crashes into my mind: the time I glued the tetrahedral kite wrong, the time she screamed at my friend for being “annoying,” the time she tripped over my roller backpack and almost murdered me, and the time I was told she attacked a kid and had to take “anger management classes” (I’m not sure if this is true but it’s definitely possible). I then immediately turn around and pray that my appearance has evolved enough in the eight years that have passed since I had her class.

However, Mrs. Jones is one bad apple in a cluster of sparkly, wonderful trees. The experience of encountering a teacher is completely different under normal circumstances. It comes with hiding behind a pallet of the newest product, waiting, waiting until your teacher turns the corner and,“Oh, hey I haven’t seen you in so long! How are you doing?” Then the dread sort of melts away and you remember that teachers are people too, and most of them are really nice. Except for Mrs. Jones.


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