I recently put together and submitted these 18-word short stories to a publication. They didn’t want them, and I don’t really have a use for them outside of that particular outlet, so you get to read them here! (Some of these scream “high school,” so no, it’s not weird if almost feels like you might have been around when certain events took place.)
College is full of new experiences. In the dorms, even going to the bathroom is a social ordeal.
People tell me I should “shoot for the stars.” But what happens when the stars also have guns?
They scoff when she mentions that gimmicky poster-size crossword puzzle from SkyMall. However, she’s solved it; they haven’t.
The teacher accidentally said “Yes, dear” to a girl. He then lectured the boys on respecting their wives.
Young adulthood: Always looked down upon, never sure when you’re old enough to do the looking down upon.
Hope everyone’s having a lovely weekend.
Today, Nicole Cliffe asked Twitter to talk about their “oldest, most cherished grudges.” The replies were filled with names of terrible teachers, tales of unforgivable parenting errors, and so much more beauty, sometimes twenty or more years in the making.
In the spirit of that tweet, I’m going to list a few of mine really quickly. If you see yourself in any of these, don’t worry. I’m mostly over it.
- I mentioned in my previous post that if my third-grade teacher noticed a group of friends was having problems, he would send them outside during class time to work them out on their own, as a way of helping us be more independent about that sort of thing. One time, the problem with my group of friends was that they were all mad at me for some reason. So we went outside to work it out, but just as we got to the door, I remembered something a little bit vital: they were all mad at me. The last thing they’d want to do is spend time with me that they didn’t have to. So it came as no surprise when one of them turned to me and practically screamed, “This isn’t about you!”, leaving me inside for them to, I don’t know, use class time to plot against me? Who knows.
- Sometime during my single-digit ages, my parents told me that when I turned 10, I could finally get the cat I wanted. Twentyish years later, I’ve never owned a cat because I didn’t get the experience of having one growing up (much less for my 10th birthday).
- In fifth grade, we held an election for class vice president (our teacher was the president, obviously) which I won by a single vote. Instead of giving to me what was RIGHTLY MINE, my teacher awarded me and the girl I beat the “co-vice presidency,” whatever that is.
- Also in fifth grade, I was eliminated from the school spelling bee on the word “rendezvous.” The girl who ended up winning came to the microphone right after me. Her word? “Special.”
- ALSO in fifth grade, I was fired from altar serving because I blew out a candle instead of using the candle snuffer (a term I had to look up just now). This one lady who had some job at the church came up to me after Mass and went off on me about it, and while I was just relieved that meant I didn’t have to do it anymore, I still dislike her very much to this day for yelling at a 10-year-old for something so silly.
- In high school, I had a teacher who offered us extra credit if we found copy errors in the syllabus. I found one – this teacher had used “right of passage” instead of “rite of passage” – and showed it to them. My mom even helped me find a source online to back me up. When I showed it to the teacher, they replied with, “No, I meant ‘right of passage.'” They did not.
Honorable mention because it’s very recent: A professor I had said that a hard news article I’d written for an assignment was bad and that I should consider “not centering writing” in my future career. One month later, I turned in a 3,100-word narrative article with four interviews and many more secondary sources. I’m not going to go into exactly what happened next (I mean, go ahead and ask privately, though), but let’s just say this professor ate their words in a beautiful, beautiful way.
Tell me about your very old grudges! The older and the pettier, the better (and that nearly rhymes, so it has to be true).