Lauren D’Angelo

I swear, teachers have a secret society that focuses on different ways to manipulate students into doing various things.  Be it completing homework, answering questions in class or supporting their class for charity week, these teachers have come up with various tactics that will make you feel horrible for not obeying them.  I have a
very lovely French teacher, Ms. Chisholm, whom I believe to be the president of
this group.  She has absolutely mastered the art of guilting me into doing things that I don’t really want to do.  I don’t do very much French homework, but
it’s more than I’ve ever done before, I get assignments in on time, and I stay
quiet in class, simply because I don’t want to stress out such a kind
teacher.

Ms. Chisholm’s ability to teacher-pressure me into doing homework and other such things took an unusual turn during Charity Week.  I came into the classroom, tired from writing a science test first thing in the morning, and there was a 4.5 kg Toblerone bar waiting for me on my desk.  Ms. Chisholm informed us that it was her home
form’s Charity Week event: a raffle for a giant Toblerone, $2 a ticket.  After class had finished and we were waiting around the door for the bell to ring, Ms. Chisholm came up to a group of us and asked if we would buy a ticket.  “Buy 3 tickets for $5 with a group of friends and split the chocolate,” she advertized, looking very hopeful.  I apologetically (and guiltily) declined, telling her truthfully that I didn’t have my wallet on
me.  The bell rang and we all exited the classroom, our minds on other things.

A friend of mine, Charlotte Corelli, also in my French class, suggested that we split the cost of 3 tickets with her – that way, if we won, we could each have half of the bar.  I told her that I really couldn’t: my sister is anaphylactic to nuts, and the Toblerone was simply stuffed with them.  “I’d have to keep it in my locker,” I joked.  She said okay, but the topic came up again, and this time I relented, not unhappily.  We filled out our tickets and assumed that that would be the end of it – after all, there were plenty of tickets in the jar, and I never win anything from raffles. But, lo and behold, we won.

Now I have Toblerone coming out of my ears.  I don’t even know what to do
with it.  Charlotte keeps it at her house and cuts me off a gargantuan piece when I ask for one.  I bring a knife to school (scary thoughts!) and break it up into egg sized chunks which I give away to friends, and keep in my locker in a sealed plastic bag.  I
take great care not to bring any home, though I did bring some home for the
long weekend, for which my sister wasn’t home.  As I sit here, I think about that secret society of which Ms. Chisholm is president, and I would just like to thank them.  Even though I am sure that this Toblerone will do no wonders for my health, it certainly is delicious.