Recently after being volunteered by my boss to substitute teach, I had the opportunity to teach a college class of all girls, who were also older than I. Yes, the previous statement is full of bells and whistles, and you probably can't think of anything that could have POSSIBLY gone wrong, but that's because you don't know me well enough. If you knew me well enough you probably wouldn't be reading this article simply for fear of what you might hear. "Oh goodness, a young attractive male, teaching a room full of unsupervised school girls, and he's so young and attractive." You're probably saying to yourself. Thank you for the flatterys but it doesn't make up for the way I was treated in there.

I began my day with the ultimate question, "What should I wear??" Of course, if you know anything about teaching, the answer should be obvious. A suit! "A suit demands respect and attention, even from a wild pack of young females." I thought to myself. This couldn't have been further from the truth.

Class began at 9 AM and at exactly 9:03 I was standing up at the front with a messed up tie and a ruler in one hand directing two of the students to the dean. "Now the first thing we need to do is a short quiz." I said to the class. Immediately afterwards several wods of paper hit me in the side of the head. If you believe that previous statement you are far too gullible. I was ACTUALLY hit in the head with a bunch of high heeled shoes, in which each girl came and picked up promptly after throwing.

"Can we just like not do anything this hour and just like study for the next hour?" Said a large ethnic female with an attitude of "sass" the size of Arizona. "Umm like no." I said as I responded with a finger snap and a headbob to the side.

After I began teaching again I noticed a man in the back of the room with an offensively crooked hair piece. "Is that Donald Trump?" I thought to myself. In fact it was the dean of students informing me that I had no right to send anyone to see him, given that I was just a substitute. Embarassment flooded my face as I turned the color of a babboons backside.

The time was now 9:10 and I decided to give in and let the girls study for their next hour. I was cheered on with an applause as I left the room because I was now the 'cool' teacher who allowed them to do what they wanted. I guess some things really do work out in the end. My day ended with a post-it note I left on their teachers desk that read, and I'm not making this up, "The girls were great! We got through most of the work you assigned and it went well."