Giant blades saunter about this school. The blades casually cut into classrooms to divide each teacher into sixteen equal segments that are usually cube-like in dimension. (Although sometimes they seem more blob-like with the organs.) With sixteen teacher cube-blobs and sixteen students, the teacher to student ratio is one to one.
When the blades stroll in each morning, the students jump and cheer wildly as their teacher stands silent. It's a ritual of sorts: the bell rings, the students recite the national anthem, the full-bodied teacher draws up the schedule on the chalkboard, and then the blades arrive through the thin rectangular cut in the door. The poor students have to endure sixteen minutes or so of "sharing" teacher before Daily Division. Afterwards each student is the center of his own universe, madly grinning as he sits down with his own red, fleshy sixteenth of teacher.
For the rest of the day, the students sit at their respective desks and learn from their respective sixteenth of teacher. However, not all teaching is equal. For example, the girl jotting notes down dictated by the right foot receives a slightly skewed lesson on the merits of birds-eye-view. Another girl carries the left half of the abdomen like a newborn, being careful not to drop him, as modern life demands today's lesson in long division. With constant personal attention, Daily Division enables the students to absorb knowledge at a maddening rate. However, it requires sacrifice: By the end of the school year, neither the students nor the teacher will know nothing of each other. They will not even know each other's names.
Upon opening the door, I know not where to offer my “hello” so offer no greeting at all. Instead, I approach a tiny girl having a heart-to-heart with the heart at the arts and crafts table. From my view six inches from her, she seems to be embroidering a tee shirt with a flower motif with the heart’s guidance. I point to an irregularly large pedal and thereby offer my sound advice. But instead of thanking me the girl screams “Daily Division!” All the students look up from their respective sixteenth, point at me, and cheer wildly yet again. The girl nudges me away from the arts and crafts table although I am the next arts and craft victim. The blade rolls in.
