The Donald Trump toupee on a baby
I have been teaching for about ten years now. Literally hundreds of students have crossed the threshold of my door. For the most part, I am proud to say that I am well liked, and well respected (as cranky as I can be at times), and I have been very successful as a painting instructor.
Of the perhaps five hundred students that I have taught and had good experiences with, I can think of three, maybe four whom I simply did not jive with, and for one reason or another could not handle for a win win situation for student/teacher. That constitutes than 1% of my student population if you do the math (which I suck at so I hope you do).
The first student I encountered that I could not work with wore a toupee about as convincing as the one on the baby above. I tried hard to overlook the toupee. But I am toupee sensitive. I can spot a rug from miles away. There was just something about a dentist in a big fluffy toupee that I had trouble getting around. Then, when it came time for him to write an evaluation of me at the end of the term, I got a scathing review from him. My boss at Cheekwood, in Nashville, where I was teaching at the time found it quite amusing because I always got rave reviews, and here was one that said things like–he’d be better off watching Gilligan’s Island reruns than attending my classes. Okay, I admit, I did not make much of an effort to help him (all I could do was stare self-consciously at the rug). I thought he’d be better off watching Gilligan’s Island reruns too. He also said my models were deplorable (the staff booked them, not me–oops!) Make no mistake. I do not feel guilty trashing him here about his hairpiece. He did blasheme me.
There was one who got angry at me on the first night of class because she thought she was coming for a relaxing evening of painting, and apparently I was too intense for her. I was real sorry to see her name marked off my roster the next week.
One woman had fainting spells everytime I came to her on the first day of class. Hey, I am 5’2″ tall. I do not have fangs and claws.
Then there was the student who argued with me about everything. No matter what I would suggest to her, she would have a reason for not doing it to my specs, and before the entire class would argue with me, questioning my ability to teach, and taking up valuable class time when I could be helping those who wanted or could be helped. In this case the student got fired. By me.
It happens. I cannot please them all. I do ask that you not darken my door if you a wear toupee, nerves on your sleeve, or noisy gold clogs when you walk into my class–not if you want a good little teacher out of me. PS. The older I get, the pickier.
Love you. Love me?