Imagine Being A Teacher In The Eene Universe And You're Writing Notes On The Whiteboard For Your New

imagine being a teacher in the eene universe and you're writing notes on the whiteboard for your new 8th grade science class when a voice breaks your concentration.

"erm.... excuse me..."

an otherwise inoccuous interjection, the adenoidal voice with which it's spoken conjures up memories of the innumerable exasperated anecdotes exchanged in the teachers' lounge last year involving a particular student who, as it was told, wore the same black hat to school every day.

dread washes over you as you remember the behatted boy seated directly behind you in the first row.

oh god. oh no. could it be?

you turn stiffly, daring a look at the strange child wearing an ironed t-shirt and for some reason, a necktie. various writing utensils and a single blank sheet of college-ruled paper are organized conspicuously neatly upon his desk. he's attempting what looks to be a smile through an obviously perturbed expression. you force your own tight smile before answering:

"yes..?"

with an index finger raised, the notorious nudnik begins with a high pitched "actually," that makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end.

in an instant, you're working desperately to recall the passion that led you into this line of work, to remind yourself of your duty to educate the next generation of upstanding citizens. it's a fruitless endeavor however, as eventually your eyes glaze over while the yam-headed boy continues his soliloquy. you're only able to snap out of your daze long enough to glance at your watch and experience a fleeting relief that there are only 10 minutes left in this period.

it's unclear how much time has passed when the lexical onslaught ends and you're brought back to the now uncomfortably silent classroom. you compose yourself through the sudden nausea with a deep breath, and, knowing full well that you haven't heard a word he's said, you muster the verbal equivalent to a pat on the head.

"of course. thank you, uh.."

"oh, my name is eddward - with two d's!"

seemingly satisfied, judging by the gapped rictus that's returned to his pallid face, he perks up in his chair and folds his hands atop the desk, careful not to disturb the perfectly aligned implements below. you hesitate, but slowly slink back to the board to wrap up your lesson. with his unblinking eyes watching every careful stroke of your dry erase marker, a single tear rolls down your cheek upon realizing that this is your life for the better part of the next 9 months.