Alex, our beloved occupation teacher, was the epitome of what happens when you give a man a subject no one cares about and way too much free time. Occupation was supposed to be optional, but someone decided to make it compulsory, and Alex treated it like his own personal stage. The man was a legend in his own mind—a guru of life lessons, most of which were complete nonsense. It took us nearly a year to realize that half the time, he had no idea what he was talking about. But somehow, he was still adored. Maybe it was because he was so easygoing, or maybe it was just because he never seemed to mind when we fell asleep in his class.

Now, Alex wasn’t exactly bad-looking, but he had this... unfortunate facial feature. Rash and I, being the mature individuals we were, nicknamed him "Ball Sack." And once you see your teacher as a walking, talking metaphor for male anatomy, it’s game over. Every time he’d turn to write on the board, Rash and I would just lose it. It wasn’t even that he looked that funny—it’s just that the image stuck, and imagining him as a giant, talking scrotum made his classes the highlight of our day.

One day, Alex decided to switch things up. “We’re going to do something different for our practical project,” he announced, pausing like he was about to unveil the secret to life. We all leaned in, expecting something big. “You’re all going to cook something and bring it to class. I’ll taste it and give you marks.”

The collective groan that followed could’ve powered a small town. This was not the groundbreaking idea we’d been hoping for. You see, a few months earlier, Alex had us all on the edge of our seats with a wild promise. “I’m thinking of organizing a practical where you’ll watch top chefs cook gourmet dishes, learn the secrets, and then we’ll have a grand banquet,” he said, with a straight face. He made it sound so real, we all bought it. We spent months daydreaming about this magical event, only for him to turn around and say, “Just bring some food from home.”

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

I remember thinking, "This guy is the king of false advertising." My mom ended up frying some leftover rice and tossing in a bit of meat. It looked incredible, but let’s be honest, I didn’t touch a single pan.

Fast forward to the day of the food presentation. Everyone brought in their tiffin boxes, filled with dishes they’d barely seen being made. And there was Alex, looking like a kid in a candy store, happily gobbling down our offerings in the canteen. The man had turned our practical project into his personal buffet. I swear, if he could’ve graded us based on how full he was, we’d all have gotten A+.

But the real kicker came after. A few days later, Alex returned with another round of his trademark B.S. “I talked to the coordinator and principal about the banquet,” he said, pausing for dramatic effect. “But they said it’s not possible this year. Maybe next year.” And like the naïve fools we were, we nodded along. He even started talking about teaching us accountancy next year, as if that would make up for the fact that he’d just dashed our dreams of a school-sanctioned feast.

Then there was Stan, our resident disaster magnet. Stan was the chubby kid who’d betrayed me twice before—don’t ask how, it’s a long story. One day in science class, he found a half-torn page in his notebook and decided to show off his "magic skills." He turned to me and said, “Wanna see a magic trick?”

“Sure,” I replied, already regretting my decision.

Stan flipped the half-torn page, showing me how it blended with the page behind it. “See, now the page is back!” he said, beaming like he’d just invented the wheel. It was the lamest trick I’d ever seen, but Stan, in all his brilliance, decided to show it to our science teacher.

“Sir, look! Magic!” Stan announced, like he was David Copperfield.

The teacher barely glanced at the page before slapping Stan across the head. “Magic” he smirked. The whole class erupted in laughter. The timing, the look on Stan’s face—it was pure comedy gold. If only Stan had that same knack for timing in everything else.

To be continued....