This last semester I had a math teacher who was just a huge phony. His name was Mr. Pavich, and he didn't quite seem to get what was going on around him. He'd say he's been in this business a looong time, and you can't fool the pavdog, I mean, who cuts their last name in half and adds dog to it? He would also have these little things about instead of saying fifty, you had to say it: fitty, like the rapper, and that just kills me. He gets more angry if you yawn than if you don't do your homework. I opened my mouth once and let out one goddam yawn out, and he explodes at me. He rants and raves about no manners and how my classmates (who yawn everyday behind his back) are ashamed at my lack of respect. At this point, I'm apologizing like a madman but he sees this only as me trying to argue with his own moron self. He sends me outside, and as I stand; I put down my metallic pencil, which makes a rattling sound. The Pavdog has now officially lost it. This kills me. I put my goddam pencil down, and he thinks I'm calling him out or something. He decides to send me to the deans, and so across the quad I trudge, fearing the worst. Do I get kicked out? Call home? I had no idea. I make it to the dean's offices' bench of execution, and I wait for my sentence. After about ten minutes. Mrs. Chun looks up and asks if I came from Mr. Pavich's class. I say yes, and she tells me how this sometimes happens and he is a little odd sometimes. A LITTLE odd. Wow.