My eighth grade history teacher. I was being tormented by the boy next to me in class for months on end. I finally complained to the teacher asking to move seats because he was making obscene gestures with a lollipop. Repeatedly. While staring at me. All class.
I, being a 13 year old girl in the era of peak Beavis and Butthead, smirked a tiny bit when I said the last part. It was graphic and sort of approaching the boundary of what I could/couldn’t say in that situation as a kid. I almost felt protective of her, like I shouldn’t say what he was doing because It embarrassed me to admit I knew what he was doing. This is probably very gendered sex shaming because I grew up in a very conservative area.
But I felt the need to be honest because she’s an adult. She needs to deal with it and know that guy’s being a perv to girls in the class. So I spare no detail despite it being uncomfortable for me to do so.
She says “I’m not moving your seat, kafkaphony. I think you like it.”
This was after class and there were still other students around, and I don’t know if they heard. At that time, I had never been more embarrassed in my life. And she looked so hateful, triumphant that she was able to exploit my humiliation to further embarrass me.
I don’t understand why she did it. At the time, I assumed she didn’t like me because I was too much of a gradegrubber and seized an opportunity to put me in my place. Now I think it was a conservative middle aged lady slapping me down and essentially trying to shame me in a Handmaid’s Tale way for saying uncouth/unladylike things to defend myself.