by Isabel Chaplain
Content Warning: There are some light brief mentions concerning sexual harassment.
Name: Isabel E. Chaplain
Grade: 10
Worksheet #: 1
Driver Ed score of 80% or better to pass classroom instruction. Students must pass the classroom instruction to be able to drive.
Public School Non-Public School
P - Pass 75 - 76 D
F - Fail 77 - 84 C
92 - 85 B
93 - 100 A
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If a student or parent has any concerns they can contact the Driver’s Education Department at (504) - 365 - 5336. Any grievances by the school may be forwarded to the Department of Public Safety and Corrections, Public Safety Services, or Office Motor Vehicle. Attn.: Training and Certification Unit, P.O. Box 46886, Baton Rouge, LA 70896-4886.
Note :* Grievances made concerning a large old white man that makes students uncomfortable may not be dealt with because we chose to not particularly care.*
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1. What is the name of your Driver’s Ed teacher who just remarked how men drive better than women?
Coach Davidson
Ignorant
Asshole
Ignorant sexists asshole
All of the above
2. What was your response given to the comment that was just made about how women can’t drive?
Roll your eyes
Laugh it off ( like you’ve done so many other times before, so why say something now?)
Give him a pointed look and scoff ( whilst also mentally flipping him off.)
Consider all of these things, but do nothing, only picture yourself doing them in your mind where there are no consequences for your reactions. But as you picture doing these things, judge yourself, as you remind yourself that you’ve never been ( and probably never will be ) brave enough to stand up to millions of men like him. So you end up sitting back in your plastic dark blue chair ( that squeaks so loud you think it's trying to scream for help.) and reminisce about all of the things you haven’t done.
3. How many more minutes until your teacher loudly proclaims that all of the boys in his class did better on the worksheet than the girls did?
5 mins
10 mins
20 mins
35 mins
4. When you get your score of 100% back, what do you do? Choose all that apply
As your teacher comes back around with the graded worksheets and finally comes to you, you flash him the biggest smile and remind him about how the boy behind you got 68% and the boy just to the left of you only scored 73%. But of course, you're the one who does worse on the worksheets… right?
Bite your lip and look at the girl across from you as she receives her test as well, and notice she has the same look on her face. As you stare at each other, you contemplate if girls have telepathic abilities, because you can both tell exactly what the other one is thinking, you're both so over this shit.
Only complete the first half of option a. but do not manage to execute the part that counts.
Stick up your middle finger to the boy next to you who winked and blew you a kiss as he showed you his score of 93%. Sit and stare as you relish in the fact that you just did a bit better than him, but also want to die a little.
5. How do you respond when your teacher leans over you and starts to explain the different meanings of road signs? ( Remember, they aren’t that difficult to understand, but he still talks to you as if you are five. )
Kindly explain to him that you completely understand all of the road signs ( or not so kindly if you want, because screw him. )
Halfway through his agonizing explanation, inform him that you fully understand the materials and that other students might need his help. ( You’ve caught him staring a few times and want to redirect his attention elsewhere. )
Sit, smile and nod ( because your brain is half dead from the day you’ve had already, and even though his voice makes his face so punchable, you simply don’t have the energy to fight at the moment.)
Ignore him completely and break off some plastic parts of your mechanical pencil.
6. Who do you think about when your teacher finally leaves?
Your best friend, since she also had to deal with the condescension, the catcalling, the anxiety, the disgust, etc.
Your mother, since her field of work, predominantly consists of men that think they deserve the universe, which you constantly have to hear about at the end of long days. And when she tells you about them, what they say, behind her back and in front of her face, what they do, how they treat her, you just want to hug her. You also gain that odd feeling that the universe is somehow failing, because you don’t feel like it isn’t getting any better, for anyone.
The woman you saw on a youtube video months ago, you can’t remember her name, only that it probably started with an S or an A, but her name didn’t matter, her story did. She was being interviewed, and she was asked about her most shameful moment, she then started to recount her story, and you couldn’t help but just cry and want to tell her that it wasn't her fault. You also tell yourself that the time you got catcalled when you were 13 years old by that 30-something-year-old man outside of your favorite bookstore wasn't your fault. Or that time when you were 9 and got gawked at and asked questions about your body by boys at the community pool, wasn't your fault. You just wanted to wear that stupid blue bikini top, because for some reason it made you feel a little more grown-up. But after, you threw it away, wanting to put off feeling more grown as much as possible. And as you sit there, minding the helpless hole in your stomach, you just want to see every woman you have ever met, hug them, and tell them that it wasn’t their fault, and they’re ok.
You think of every single person on the planet.
7. When your teacher moved on to explain to the class how to enter and exit an interstate, where does your mind drift to?
The blackness of space, millions of miles away from Earth, carries the stupid boys and teachers who stare too close and say the wrong things. ( You also secretly hope that if any of them manage to follow you up here, the sun will blind them so they won’t stare anymore.)
You picture yourself in a field of strawberries and some girl named Lucy, she's in the sky with the diamonds as the song says. ( The song was on the radio earlier that afternoon and you can’t seem to get it out of your head. ) You don’t know why the image pops into your brain, but you know it's a nice one. So you cling to it, as you do with the few good things you have.
You picture your driving teacher driving onto the highway and crashing at the exit. It's not a pretty picture, but your asshole teacher and highways are heavy on your mind right now.
You picture yourself older 23-24, an age where you think people's lives are just controlled chaos. You find yourself in your small kitchen at dawn, new sunlight rising up and through the windows and onto the creamy-colored tile floors. Long plants with dark green leaves and vines droop from the windowsill and counters, and old pictures and kitchen equipment are hung and placed throughout the room. You look around for a moment and find that you like your style. Music is on in the background, you must have a radio or record player because it's certainly not coming from your phone, you don’t recognize the tune, but you don’t care. You approach your window, and after long moments, you think to yourself about how beautiful the view is, but you miss home. The song changes and you hear the bedroom door open, and the sound of footsteps echoes through the apartment. But you’re not scared, because you’ve been waiting for them. You feel them behind you, arms wrapped around your torso and you feel a kind of warmth that blooms in your gut, loops its way around your limbs, and soon takes over your brain. Until you just feel like warm sugar and starlight. (You make fun of yourself for thinking of that but it's your imaginary scenario, so you can think whatever you want.) You want to stay there for a second longer, but the other person has other plans, they take hold of your arms and spin you across the tiled floor. Soon you are both dancing in the weak sunlit kitchen to music you can’t even recognize. But you know, you are safe.
8. What snaps you out of your reverie?
The person behind you kicking your chair.
Yelling from the hallway.
Another comment that was made by your instructor (Because he just hasn’t said enough already.)
You snap out of it because you remember you have to pay attention to this class to gain some newfound independence. ( Even if getting that means you have to go through some idiot to do so. Even if you are scared. )
9. As your instructor talks about how women can be overly emotional on the road and during accidents, where do you wish you could be?
At home, where you can bury your screams in your pillows, and where the walls will keep your secrets.
Somewhere with your mom, even though when you vent to her about your instructor and the conversation lands on the subject of feminism, she tells you that you don’t know what feminism is. So you stop the tears before they slip and fall, lay your hands flat on your lap, and look away.
Anywhere else in the entire fucking world except this classroom.
Someplace screaming off a canyon, where the world can just absorb your sound into itself, keep it, and understand.
All of the above.
10.
Part A: How many men do you know?
Not Many
An ok amount
A lot
Too many to count
Part B: How many do you trust?
None
All of them
Only a handful
Your not sure about many of them at this point
11. How long does your Drivers Ed class feel? ( Make sure to choose an overly dramatic answer!)
2 hours
2 years
10 years
Forever
12. When will your instructor let you leave?
When the sky turns into colors that you imagine taste like peach and plum and cherry.
When it's dark enough that nobody can see your face or how upset you are.
Right before dusk where almost everything looks toned down and blurry, and the school campus that you have to go to to take the course starts to look less like a prison and more like a playground.
8: 00 pm.
13. What will you do when you return tomorrow?
Walk in, not making any eye contact with anyone, ace your test (as usual), and focus on the cracks in the beige walls instead of the cracks in your instructor's thinking. Sit through the powerpoints and notes that give you headaches, and leave the classroom at exactly 7:59 pm, so fast that you don’t give anyone else in the classroom a chance to keep up.
Grit your teeth and bear it.
Say something to your instructor this time instead of plugging up your ears and biting your tongue like a coward last class. Call him out to his face instead of crying after class like an idiot. Execute the part that counts.
Do whatever the hell you want.
Isabel Chaplain is a 16 year old aspiring writer, she lives in New Orleans and attends the New Orleans Center for Creative Arts and studies Creative Writing. She loves writing poetry and prose and hopes one day to have books published.