In retrospect, Mr. Creeper (obviously not his real name) really did look like a typical pedophile. But then again, he was a teacher in his sixties, so of course his usual work outfit consisted of sweater vests, button down shirts, khaki pants and loafers (with not-matching socks). And those huge circular square glasses, all the better to see you with, my dear. And requisite thinning salt and pepper hair.
I never had Mr. Creeper as a teacher for anything, but he was my best friend's English teacher in 8th grade and she regularly filled me in on his...exploits. His conquests. He liked to give special attention to those girls who had developed early and boutifully. He liked to come over to them and give them shoulder massages as he spoke to the class. Keep in mind, this was middle school, when tween girls are just coming into their own, and the desks were sometimes arranged in four or five table islands, so it wasn't like Mr. Creeper was obstructing someone's view of the black/chalkboard as he massaged. Ugh, I shudder. I know we students complained about him to each other, but surely someone had to have complained to someone who was in power to actually do something about it, like another teacher or administrator or the middle school guidance counselor. Actually, scratch that last person, she was pretty worthless, barely did anything from what I could tell, but that's another story, another sketch.
Hopefully he doesn't still teach anywhere...
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