They gave me tickets to see my high school. Nothing looked familiar, even though I’d been to class that morning.
“I think you’ll be happier some day,” the Western Civ teacher told his teaching assistant, “I think you’ll know when to correct and when to bury yourself in the student’s homework until you learn from them what you’re supposed to: the smell of a paper mill in the 20th century, the quickly fading popularity of the mechanical pencil.”
The principal, who doubled as an usher, was moving swiftly towards the assistant with a flashlight, even though it was midday, coming to take him by the arm and carry him out.
The way he screamed as they did it, it was like they were taking him to execution.
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Field Guide for Fools 