Many people have had bad teachers. I'm not going to pretend my fifth-grade teacher was the worst of all. She wasn't, for instance, as bad as Stacey Dean Rambold. I wouldn't even say she could compare. But she was still worse than any other teacher I've had.

Let's call her Mrs. Stokenheimer. There were rumors going around in my 5th grade class that she had killed a student, let's call her Rebecca, in the previous year. Now, I'm pretty sure that Rebecca had just moved away, but honestly I wouldn't be surprised to find out that there was foul play involved.

I'll never know the full brunt of her evils. She treated me relatively well. I don't know if it's because I tolerated her, because my parents were nice to her, or just because she arbitrarily decides who to like and who to dislike. Most likely the latter, but I can't be sure. This isn't to say she wasn't a total bitch to me. She would force me, under the threat of failing her class, to break all my pencils. Then she would lower my grade because I had nothing to write with. Sometimes she would tell me I was an idiot for misspelling a word, and rip up all of my notes. Once, she slapped me for chewing gum.

But there was this one kid, we'll call him Declan. He was a rowdy kid, as many 10-year-olds are. She hated him. She hated everything he did. She did to him everything I said above and more. She would yell at him, scream in his face, for reading ahead of the class. She would box him hard for talking out of turn. Sometimes, she would give him a B just to watch him act gleeful to get the best grade he'd gotten all year, just to watch his hopes dashed when she cruelly revealed that she lied, that it was an F.

One time, Declan's parents weren't there to pick him up at the end of class. He lived just a few blocks away, but Mrs. Stokenheimer wouldn't let him go home alone. She insisted on walking him home herself. He was nervous, as anybody would be if a demoness wanted to spend time alone with them. But she insisted, threatening to fail him if he didn't, blackmailing him with all the bad things he'd done that year, including some things she'd just made up. Finally, he relented.

That was the last time I ever saw him. I don't know what happened, I don't know if she had anything to do with it, I don't even know if anything bad happened. Maybe he just moved away, like Rebecca did. I was concerned, of course, but I was too scared of Mrs. Stokenheimer to pursue the matter further. I went through the rest of the year quietly, without making too big of a fuss, and ended up going to the next grade, which wouldn't be impressive in a regular class, but in this class made me a member of an elite few.

Recently, just a few months ago, in fact, I was visiting the town in which I grew up. I was chatting with an old boyfriend of mine, when we saw her. The worst teacher I ever had. I stormed over to her and said, quietly but angrily "Are you Mrs. Stokenheimer?"

She knew instantly who I was, and for a moment looked as if she was going to cry. I didn't care. I was angry. "Why were you so awful to everyone? What's your fucking deal?" I didn't care that we were in public, I was angry.

Finally, she opened her mouth and miserably said "I'm very, very sorry. You didn't deserve that. Nobody in your class deserved me. I was an awful teacher. I guess... my only excuse was... OP didn't use a serious tag."

I was furious. After all she had done, this bitch was just going to make excuses? But oh well. I guess some people are just going to be assholes.