Teacher snaps after yet another student claims they were "just stretching"
After posing an open-ended question to his intro to philosophy class, Mr. Armstrong saw a wave of what appeared to be arm raises signaling a desire to answer the aforementioned question. A brief overview of the room showed there to be a minimum of four potential takers.
Satisfied with the level of class participation (approximately 20%), Armstrong began the selection process.
"Adams," Armstrong began, nodding towards a student in the back row. "What's your take?"
For a moment, Clay Adams looked rather startled, as if he'd been jolted awake. He looked side to side, noticing his other classmates were looking at him. Suddenly, he realized what was happening.
"Oh," he answered. "No, I was just stretching."
Armstrong nodded, accepting the common misunderstanding. "Alright," he said, scanning the classroom for other interested parties. "Montgomery, what about you?"
Lazily looking up from a spot on the wall, Judith Montgomery let out a monster of a yawn that lasted over ten entire seconds.
"Sorry, Mr. Armstrong," she said, even though she wasn't that sorry. "I was just stretching."
After taking a few moments to recover from a second blunder, Armstrong squinted slightly and resumed his venture.
Spotting a hand go up directly in the center of the room, Armstrong eyed the appendage warily. The arm stayed up for a second longer than what Armstrong had assessed was the average time for a stretch.
"Green." He proceeded slowly as if trying not to scare off a baby deer. "Do you have any thoughts?"
"Just stretching," Corey Green answered casually, neither seeing nor feeling the impact of his words.
"Huh," Armstrong said through clenched teeth. "Seems like you could've stretched while we watching a video or doing a worksheet."
"I didn't have to stretch then," Green answered.
"Interesting." Irritation was beginning to show on Armstrong's face. The original question from minutes before, still unanswered, and several iffy hand-raise situations were still scattered throughout the room.
Noticing one particular arm with near-straight elbow close to the door, Armstrong made an impulse decision that he would instantly come to regret.
"Robertson-" Armstrong began but was cutoff before he could finish.
Jacob Robertson interjected. "No, i was just-
"Stretching?" Armstrong spat.
"...yeah."
Silence befell the classroom.
"Just...stretching..." Armstrong repeated. "Just...stretching...just...stretching..." Slowly fading into incoherent mumbling, Armstrong's eyes became suddenly inflamed, his face twitching and hands shaking.
Though Armstrong claims to have no memory of the events that followed, student accounts and artist renderings have painted a relatively clear image of what transpired.
"It was like watching a hurricane from the beach," said a student witness. "By the time we realized what was happening it was already too late."
After a series of noise complaints, the school's principle came to inspect Armstrong's classroom. What he discovered was deeply disconcerting.
Armstrong's desk had been body-slammed in half. The brick walls were ridden with hole the size of his fists. Students' chairs and supplies were strewn across the floor. And the students' themselves were huddled together in the corner of the room (a circle formation with the most popular children in the center).
Armstrong lied near between the two fragments of his desk, shaking uncontrollably and softly chanting, "stretching...they're all..just...stretching..."
Armstrong's school now requires that all students partake in morning yoga to avoid stiffness in hopes of preventing similar catastrophes in the future.
