Welcome to the third installment of my irregularly-published feature on Bevboy's Blog: Stupid Things Bevboy Has Done, or STBHD for short. This series is all about dumb things I have done over the many years of my life, or the dumb things I have had done to me. The net result is my feeling, well, stupid.
People who work with me now, 30 years later, might not think that there was a time that my math skills needed work, but they would be wrong. Dead wrong. Hoo baby, would they be wrong.
I was 15. I was in Grade 9. I was in my last year of junior high. I have alluded to the Hell that was my junior high years before, and will continue to allude to them here. Suffice it to say that I was never going to be crowned Mr. Popular.
One day in math class, Mr. Feltmate called upon me to answer a homework question. Polynomial equations. Quadrangles. Betty or Veronica. Whatever it was. I have long since forgotten. But I answered the question. Mr. Feltmate looked at me proudly and said it sounded right.
Before could move on to another student to get him or her to answer another homework question, a student in the next aisle put up his hand. "Mr. Feltmate, I think the answer is ", and he said the answer. Mr. Feltmate consulted his master book and pronounced him right.
He gave me another chance to answer another question. I did. He told me I was right. The same kid put up his hand and gave the correct answer, again.
Five times. Five times! Five! Times! I was asked to answer a question. Five times I got it wrong. Five times the little so-and-so corrected me. Yeah. I felt pretty stupid.
I like to think that the guy who corrected me all those times went on to become a homeless drunk, railing against the working class. But he's probably teaching math somewhere, chiding a 2009 version of me for getting 5 answers wrong in a row. Yeah. Probably. Payback is a bitch.
Next time: My father makes a point.