It was ten minutes into class, and the teacher was nowhere to be seen. The worktables that went from the front to the back of the room were filled with ponies of all ages sitting silently, staring at the front of the room. Assortments of tools were precisely placed along the table tops while large hurks of clay had been plopped into trays in the center of the room.
Hoofsteps were heard from outside the classroom and a tall skittish mare suddenly waltzed into the front of the room. Her fur was gray, her mane was purple, and a pair of glasses sat precariously on the bridge of her snout. She walked over to an official looking teacher’s desk and snatched a clipboard from one of the drawers with ease. She had obviously done this a million times before as noted by her quick and carefree motions. It seemed that being late was her specialty.
She looked at the class and scanned down the list of names on the paper, nodding silently at each she read. Quickly tossing the clipboard back onto the desk, she addressed the class.
“Every once in awhile, a student comes up to me asks: “Ms. Press, why do you teach pottery?”” She smiled and walked a bit closer to the front row of worktables. “They say it just like that. Why do you teach pottery class…why you? Why not baking...or music, or sewing?” A frown puckered into her face. “I mean, surely it must be in my nature to teach you something feminine and motherly?”
Her jaw tightened. “Well I’ll tell you why I teach pottery, it is none of your business. Alright? And I don’t want to have any conversations about what a kind and caring pony I am.” She took a long pause and breathed in deeply. “I AM A POTTERY GENEIUS!”
“In pottery college my nickname was the Clay-Tiger! Because my knowledge will bite your face off! So don’t you question Ms. Press or you’ll get bit...ya' bit. YA' BIT!”
Taking another pause, Ms. Press returned to a cheery attitude and clapped her hooves together. “So, seeing as it is the first day for all of us, everypony can free-form with the clay today, just to get a feel for it. And we’ll start our first project tomorrow, ok?” No pony said a word in response. “Wonderful!”
Everypony slowly got up from their seats and went over to the rusty metal dish in the front of class. A quick crowd formed around it, but pretty soon everypony had a piece of clay and was getting to work.
For awhile the class worked in silence, still shaky of the introduction they just been given. But over time, some ponies brave enough slowly began to converse and pretty soon everypony was enjoying themselves. Smiling at the casualty that had come over her class, Ms. Press got up from her desk and began to converse with her students.
She introduced herself individually, learned nick-names, found out interesting facts, picked out the students she disliked, and decided her favorites. The normal teacher duties.
As she moved down the rows of worktables, something caught her eye, and she stopped in her tracks. Adjusting her glasses, she made sure she had seen what she thought she just saw. She did.
An angry grimace creaked its way onto her face. How had she missed it? Something this important and she didn’t even see it! Gosh was she stupid! Why hadn’t the community center board told her!? Probably some new “be nice, see everybody equal” garbage that had been put in place for this person.
Of course if this was just another pony she definitely wouldn’t be reacting like this. But unfortunately, it wasn’t. Sitting at one of her worktables, kneading some of her clay, playing with one of her tools, was a human, a measly, male, dopey looking human.
He had on him a gangly old brown cloth of some sort that looked like a cross between a coat and a cape. He had brown hair, slight amount of acne, these weird fur pelts on his…feet, and a placid expression on his face as he fooled with the clay.
Forcing a cheery smile, she briskly passed several other students she meant to talk to, and made her way straight to the bi-pedal buffoon. Hearing the clicks of her hooves against the linoleum, the human looked up.
“Hello there!” she greeted politely, “I don’t believe I caught your name?”
The human blinked a moment “Oh, its Alistair.”
Ms. Press smiled an even more uncomfortable and forced grin. “Well, it’s very nice to meet you Alistair. What are you making there?” She gestured her hoof to point at the ball of clay he was playing with.
“I’m not really sure what it’ll be just yet. I haven’t worked with clay before.”
Ms. Press nodded in approval. “Well you keep up the good work!” Turning around, she made her way back over to other students and continued her routine introductions. Twenty-minutes later, the bell rang and the class quickly filed out the front door. Ms. Press stood behind the exciting crowd, wishing them fair well.
“Goodbye class! Be prepared for tomorrow’s project, it’s going to be a doosy!”
Once everypony had left the room, her smile quickly disappeared and was replaced by a face of utmost annoyance. Slamming the door, she plopped herself down behind her desk and relished in her anger.
“Of course I’m not notified” she said to herself, “If I had been, this would be over by tomorrow. But no, I’ll have to start preparing tonight then.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her desk and began to write a letter. “Better get started on this, they’ll want to be notified of this immediately.”