Ho Ho Ho, Here’s A Lump Of Coal For Your Efforts

Who takes drama class? Who wears a Santa costume? Who gets an unexpected grade for his work?

The Rolomite | Daily Girth

A long time ago, last millennium in fact, I took a drama class in high school. It was the class to take for an easy A.

I had heard of other people enrolling in this class to get at a girl (do girls take this to get with guys?), but that clearly wasn’t the case for me, not when it’s at an all-boys school. The grade inflation was all I was interested in.

The instructor was a thin, square-jawed dude who showed us practical exercises to improve our acting. I learned that in acting, blocking was the movement and positioning of actors on the stage. I always knew it to be pushing someone like in football or basketball. The teacher taught us to be hardcore thespians.

He was the type of man who could sweet talk a girl into bed and — just as easily — sweet talk her out of bed (that’s if she’s at your place, if it’s at hers just slither out at an opportune time). He wasn’t a bad teacher.

Until I got my grade.

The free A turned into a B.

Huh? Go to hell, teacher.

My dickhead friend in the class said it was because I couldn’t act. How could I take shit from this punk? He was a cool guy, but that shit got on my nerves. This guy played football all four years, which was strange because if you saw him you’d scoff at that statement.

Somehow, he played varsity his last two years. He was one of the scrawniest motherfuckers around. I played ball freshmen year and I remember an assistant coach pushing him for no reason when a ball he was supposed to catch bounced near his practice area.

The assistant coach simply pushed him — with force — like it was a natural reaction. No other player would let himself get pushed like that.

This guy had the balls to give me shit?

The fucking teacher screwed me over. I wasn’t gonna win Oscars based on my thespian skills. But the effort was there, in fact, the effort went beyond what was asked for.

Our class put together a Christmas performance, one in which we were required to dress up and act. At night. Multiple nights.

It wasn’t Broadway. But it ate into our social life more than once. And this was a simple drama class.

I was cast as Santa Claus. Rather than half ass it and just wear red clothes, I borrowed a Santa suit from my middle school. The school was cool with it, and the administrators let me wear it numerous nights too. So I was one of the stars of the show.

Wouldn’t you call this going above and beyond what’s expected of me? I didn’t have to get that fucking costume. I didn’t have to give up my schoolnights.

Our audiences enjoyed the show. I gave it my best. I never missed class. What more could I fucking do?

In the end, my teacher gave me an undeserved grade. That fucker gave me a B.

I bust my ass in a dumbfuck costume in a class to pump up my G.P.A. and I get a B? Go to hell, teacher.

The teacher got all of the credit for our show.

I got a B. Mean motherfucker.

What’s worse, my friend would clown me the rest of the year whenever I would bitch about the class.

“You can’t act, Mike,” he would say.

And every time I would think, “Fucking blow me, it’s drama, it should be a free A.”

It’s not like there were tests or anything. So just give out free A’s. If you acted like a dick, missed class or didn’t put effort then give a B, maybe even a C. Instead, I got metaphorically fucked in the ass.

Thanks for ruining my senior year, teacher. It’s bad enough I have to admit that I took a drama class, but you didn’t even give me the free A to go with it.

Go to hell, teacher. And watch your blocking while you’re there.

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