Mr R who taught our 7th grade wore the following every week on a rota:
Monday – Grey short-sleeve shirt, black tie, black trousers, black socks and dress shoes or penny loafers, black windbreaker (weather permitting)
Tuesday – Light blue shirt, navy blue tie, navy blue trousers, navy blue socks and oxfords, navy blue windbreaker
Wednesday – Pale olive green shirt, dark olive green tie, dark olive green trousers, dark olive green socks and oxfords, olive green windbreaker
Thursday – Pink shirt, burgundy tie, burgundy trousers, burgundy socks and oxblood penny loafers, burgundy windbreaker
Friday – Khaki-coloured shirt, brown tie, brown trousers, brown socks and brown dress shoes, brown windbreaker.
His clothes were absolutely top-drawer for what they were. The creases in his trousers were so sharp they could cut someone without them noticing for a few moments. Not a hair out of place. He was so incredibly anal. His pencils and other desk effects in the same spot every day. The erasers had to be returned to their same perch after each use. We’d turn a pencil so the tip was 10° counterclockwise (or 350° clockwise), just to watch his “I’m not going to freak out in front of the kids” OCD freakout. We would speculate sometimes over lunch that he probably still lived with his mom and that one could probably eat off the bathroom floor.
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Then there was Mr N, who “taught” American History in high school. He showed movies every class so that he could drink from the bottle we knew he kept in the bottom drawer of his desk. We made fun of him for being such an unoriginal sad old teacher drunk. He tried to hug me once and nicknamed me “Buttercup” in front of the whole class early in the term. It was awful to have the old drunk teacher sweet on you. Bleah.