Step Two>>>>

The next thing I remember vividly was going on in second grade. I swear to GOD some of the most imbecilic people in the world seem to be drawn to the teaching profession. These naive people think they can save the world from their narrow minded little perspective of life. Most stopped learning about things going on around them sometime back in the fucking cretaceous period, I think. But....anyway, I should get on with my story because we don't really have a lot of time to fuck around here. Things to do and all that shit, you know?

Second grade was the next time I really remember doing my proverbial "thing." The year started, as most do, with me trying to figure out what was going to work best with the particular teacher. Since I had only had the ability to try this a couple of time previously, It was not yet as easy as it would be soon. Therefore, it took me a few weeks.

Our entire day usually consisted of coming into the classroom, reading what was on the chalkboard and doing what was written thereupon. Talking was outlawed, a la prison or something of the like. Moving was a Cardinal Sin. I believe breathing had to be paid for with flesh, but I digress. I decided to watch this little strange excuse for an educator for a while.

One day I finally realized for what I was searching. I knew there was something but could not yet get my young mind around it. I watched the "boxes" in which we were supposed to deposit our daily work. I watched how she, and I do not want to name names in this writing because people would get a bit mad (Actually they will be so fucking pissed they'll want to sue me but won't have the chance), picked up the completed papers and took them to her desk. I watched as she went through the work we had labored over so diligently. It was then that I noticed how she truly looked at what we had done. I was shocked at first, then, though, I formulated a plan...