
This is an entry I've been wanting to post for awhile, and what better time than the start of the new school year? I can't take credit for it. It comes to us from my cousin Samantha -- a wife, mother and schoolteacher living in North Carolina, and the only woman I know with as much unbridled acrimony clogging up her veins as me.
The most delightful thing about these emails is that they answer the age-old question we all pondered as children: "Does my teacher hate me?"
EMAIL I:
I just took it up the ass today from a parent who was appalled about the number of grammatical mistakes included in a reading passage that I assigned. Technically everything she included in her lengthy e-mail was correct (she noted every single spelling error and punctuation mark, thank you very much). However, I would hardly call a comma splice an "appalling disservice to our kids". In truth, I should have read it over more carefully. Silly me for attending more to the content than the sentence construction. I e-mailed her back and apologized for my simpleton attempt to teach her child (choking on every word I wrote). Would he ever recover? Alas, only time will tell.
Her response? Not a simple "Thanks. Glad we took care of this." No, no- that would be too civil. Why berate me once when twice is just as nice. I got another long e-mail AFTER my apology, lecturing me on the responsibilities of my apparent role as the grammatical Pied Piper. Believe me when I tell you, a single tear rolled down my cheek when she told me about the harrowing bout young Ben has been forced to endure thanks to my callousness. And oh, the inner turmoil she went through as she debated on whether or not to e-mail me.
I hate white women who forgo their careers to devote their lives to their inconsequential little brats. Get a fucking life. Kick me in the uterus if I ever suggest my kid is more important than he really is. Did I mention this mother home-schooled her children until last year? Yeah.... that's totally normal. I'm sure a grammar mistake is the reason why your son can't open his mouth other than to suck on your tit.
This bitch should be glad I'm giving up slashing tires for lent.

EMAIL II:
It's just unbelievable how thankless both our jobs are. Not that I expect a pep rally in my honor, but a simple "You don't suck, Mrs. S." would do just fine. I received that e-mail on the heels of a kid telling me to shut up and a girl throwing a tantrum in my class because I had the nerve to bust her for skipping class. Excuse me if my head wasn't into proofreading that day. Maybe it's hormones or something, but I just can't take another person who doesn't have half the responsibilities that I do telling me how to do my job. I am so sick of criticism being guised as a question or a "helpful little hint". Who knew the "daily grind" was literally going to mean the grinding of my soul.
You know John gets shit on just as much as we do, but he at least has the consolation of having the title of "Doctor". People automatically treat him with a level of respect, and one day his pay will be equal to his efforts. I would like to see some ignorant jackass try to enlighten him on the finer points of surgery. I will forever and always be a "school teacher". My salary will never commensurate with my effort. I tell people what I do, and their response is "It must be nice to have your summers off." Parents treat me like I'm an employee who needs to taught how to teach. You must be infallible in order to be worthy of spending 50 minutes with their blessed kid. Their idea of showing me respect is re-gifting a sample pack from Bath and Body Works or a pin cushion in the shape of an apple that says "#1 teacher" at Christmas time. Do I look like a 75 year old spinster with a hairy mole and 13 cats?
I can't stand that I am held accountable to some idiot parent who believes Harry Potter shouldn't be taught in schools because it promotes witchcraft. The prospect of a job with no boss (or in my case, 1 boss as oppossed to 100 self-appointed ones) sounds like the Holy Grail. I really, really hope that you find a job where you are your own boss. At least one of us deserves to be happy.