As some of you know, I’ve been hammering out the details with the administration at my former high school so that I could serve as an assistant lecturer, beginning this semester.

The deal was that I’d choose a couple math classes and lecture the students for a handful of times each week. I adore teaching — especially teaching math — and so in exchange for this delightful opportunity, I would spare the teachers several hours of hellish treatment at the mercy of the little delinquents.

I’d be disguised as a naive and attractive teacher, fresh from makin’ it through the slums of Brooklyn, looking to reform the educational system and inspire students to greatness. I’d hang my balls out there for their personal amusement, and they’d reward me by sucking out any youthful vitality and enthusiasm I’d be bringing to class.

It was a good deal. Then I got an e-mail from the Principal.

They want me to do what?

For one thing, I thought my English teacher hated me. I was snuffed out of the English award my final year, and, well..I’m a hardcore math geek. Most of us can barely string together coherent sentences and certainly our profession leaves little room for flexing our language muscles.

In fact, I’ve always been a bit shameful of my capacity for writing and my everyday parlance. My writing and speech capabilities are far from Shakespearean and in real life, I’m more like a Neanderthal than anything. A Neanderthal with a penchance for Sherry.

Anyways, I doubt I’ll be taking up the opportunity. What’s next? Phil teaching a cooking class?