Week One at Douyoto School

Consisted of only three working days, each of which I wished I were teaching back at Nubata. My first self-introduction went awry when drawing stick figures of my family on the blackboard. I thought it would be clever to redraw my stick really tall, so I erased my head and torso and emphasized my height, which is a constant source of amazement. Facing the class to mention my favorite foods, I detected scattered giggling. Tempura couldn't be this amusing.

My newly acquired teacher instincts sensed something amiss. I spun around to check the board. To my horror, I had sloppily reconnected my stick torso to my stick legs, endowing myself with a stick boner. I casually rubbed away my genitalia, but these being middle school minds, I’m sure they’ll be snickering until March. More skillfully rendered was my map of the continental United States, used to pinpoint where I lived, worked, and attended school.

The D in Douyoto stood for disappointment after my electric week at Nubata. School lunches were less tasty and didn’t include dessert. Also, I received less adulation from my fan club. Exceptions included a boy who offered me his house, and one who spent class creating an origami hornet so lifelike that I feared it might sting me upon accepting the gift.

Douyoto wasn’t totally to blame. One morning I arrived a full five minutes late, and when asking one English teacher about my performance that week, she admitted, “I think the students would like it if you could smile more.” Separation syndrome from Nubata was painfully apparent.