Deconstructing Douville

My high school had many positive aspects to it. It was very sociable, had a generally fun atmosphere, and gave me plenty of material. One thing it did not have however, was a good law teacher. I know I generally do not use real names, but not only do I have no respect for this man, but I’m pretty sure that he’s an ex-murderer/rapist/child molester, and we never learned his real name. I will share with you the fake name that he shared with us: poor, skinny, crazy Mr. Douville. You know how people who can’t draw, draw stick figures to represent real people? Well I think that God made Mr. Douville before he learned how to draw, because this man was a stick. He was skinnier than a 9 year old Ethiopian boy. I know I‘m gonna get in shit for this but it was like he was trying to bring back the ‘concentration camp’ look. Think white Ghandi on a hunger strike. I guess the point I’m trying to make, is the man was skinny.

In addition to being borderline anorexic, he ran as if he had no control over any limbs but his legs. One day I was driving to school quickly, because I was late. Looking out my window to laugh at all the suckers standing outside in the snow and cold, because your sorrow brings me joy. It was then that I noticed a most peculiar site. Running full speed towards the school, literally almost keeping pace with my car, was lanky Mr. Douville running full speed. Legs pumping, arms flailing, 6”4’ Douville is charging down the street, throwing students out of the way. Apparently he was late too. This man ran like a tribe of Mongolians were chasing him on horseback. His legs moved in ‘sync, but his arms flailed wildly, head bobbed around on his 2 foot stick neck, and to describe his posture would be in violation of several human rights laws. In case you haven’t caught on by now, he was RUNNING to school. Not driving, not bussing, but running. He walks to and from school everyday, he may or may not have bussed, I’ve only seen him on foot, and boy was it a sight to see. I guess that’s how he stays in such tip-top shape.

Regardless of what I say about Mr. Douville, he really was a smart guy, or at least he tried to be. You could tell that he was one of those people who aren’t naturally brilliant (see: me) but instead spends all his time reading Dostoyevsky and educational books like ‘I’m Man: Hear Me Roar.” He knew enough about law to teach a law class at my high school, so slightly more than your average Lemur. His teaching styles however were, how you say… non-existent. Mr. Douville is one of those people who are quiet, do whatever you ask without protesting, and let you walk all over them, until one day they climb a clock tower and take everyone in the town out with their M4A1 with a 9 Mag. Clip, and ‘WWJD” engraved in the handle because his neighbor’s armoire told him to kill.’ Yeah, he’s that guy. He’s the kid, that if you didn’t beat him up and steal his ‘lunch money’ you made fun of him behind his back. Yeah, that guy. And his teaching reflects it. He would say his pre-written lesson, regardless of how many people were speaking, usually louder than him, and then every once in a while he would EXPLODE!!!! I remember one class, we were talking while we was teaching. So he as standing at the front of the class fidgeting and playing with his pencil, because I guess he was nervous, when he turned to us and yelled ‘GUYS BE QUIET!! JUST SHUT UP!!!! STOOOP TALKKIINGGGG!!!!!” and he snapped his pencil in half..... HE SNAPPED IT IN HALF! The volume of the class immediately dropped, as did our jaws, and the pencil shavings from his lead victim. He excused himself and got a new pencil, and I excused myself to go get some new underpants. I’m convinced that it was in that moment that I decided not to be a lawyer.

However, Mr. Douville is one of those people that you cannot stay angry at because you just feel too damn bad for him. You couldn’t stay mad at a blind cripple, and this same principle applies to him. Simply describing Mr. Douville as the tall, lanky, anorexic, insane, lonely man he is, does not do him justice. He also sported the unshaven look (on his face) which may not have actually been hair, it’s possible that the darkness was simply his skin rotting away due to malnourishment. Amazingly, I’ve still yet to reveal the kicker, the one singular fact that makes his students pity him, and to this day I am still in awe. Mr. Douville, is probably around 40 years old, and, ready yourself… lives with his mom. HAHAHAHAHAHAHHAHAAHAH. Sorry, ‘bout that, couldn’t hold it back. I can only imagine that his relationship with his mother is similar to that depicted in the Alfred Hitchcock’s classic thriller ‘Psycho,’ or Principal Skinner with his mom.

I eventually graduated from his class with a decent grade, I did not deserve. He probably thought I would beat him up or something. Maybe he just figured I’d be his friend. I had heard that he had left my high school, and I was disappointed that I would never be able to see him again. But thankfully, I was wrong. I ran into him one last time, at the beginning of this school year. I was sitting in the cafeteria eating lunch with my friend, TheBabysitter, when I turned around and who did I see sitting at a table, eating his salad alone, but Mr. Douville. Poor, sad, skinny, depressed Mr. Douville sitting 5 feet away from me, and I didn’t go over to say hello. Why? I felt too damn sorry for him. It’s like when you see a really fat person alone at an all you can eat buffet, with two stacked plates of food, and they’re standing there checking out the dessert tray. You wanna go keep them company and help them out, but you’re too afraid you might throw up. Besides, a few seconds later an older woman sat down with him. I can only assume it was his mother. Turns out that he went back to University to get his degree. Yup, my High School Law teacher is attending the same school as I am, only he’s in his 40s. God bless the Canadian education system.

The one thing I did learn out this whole thing is this. If you’re ever driving down a highway in the middle of nowhere and your car breaks down near a motel run by a tall, skinny, guy, with a small beard… sleep in the car.

P.S. I’m surprised I didn’t make a ’40 Year Old Virgin’ joke, too. Oh well, maybe next time.