This story doesn't have an ending yet! If you have any questions, comments, suggestions, etc, etc--tell me!  Constructive criticism helps out!

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          There's a man. A little man. He teaches biology. He has black hair, brown skin and a black mustache. He consistently wear khakis and button up t-shirts that look like they were inspired by graph paper. He wears different outfits everyday, but they all follow the khaki and graph paper t-shirt guidelines.
          At first his students came to the class prepared, terrified of the subject they were going to tackle. They were unsure of how hard each test would be and whether or not they could remember everything. Nerves got to the students and their hands grew hot, some with perspiration on their foreheads, some with anxiety growing in bellies that wish they would have eaten the second half of their bagel this morning. Nevertheless, the students waited. And waited. Some making idle conversation and little jokes, but none overstepping the unknown boundaries of the classroom.
          Then the little man who knows so much about Biology, but little on people, came into the room with his notebook and brown leather messenger bag. He situated these things on his desk then looked up at the nervous and anxious students. Thirty-two pairs of eyes looked back at him, scrutinizing his mustache and choice of clothing. One girl questioned his leather bag while another tried to think of what he would look like naked. One boy decided the teacher was too small to teach such a large class and immediately stopped paying attention even before the lecture started. He later failed the course. Some students had notebooks and pencils out, ready to write down whatever the teacher may have to say. However, the majority sat down watching him, waiting for something to happen.
          Then he spoke.
          It was a simple, "Good morning." The two simple words that would define an entire man. In his eyes, he simply greeted the classroom. However, what the students saw, was something entirely different.
          The students saw a man who avoided eye contact, gazing down as he said good morning--a greeting more directed to the ground rather than the students. He put his hands in his pockets and when he wasn't looking at the ground, he was looking around at everything and nothing at the same time; anywhere but directly at a student. His mannerisms and persona screamed nervousness, shyness, a lack of good self esteem or confidence.
          It was in this ultimate moment of judgement that the teacher had lost his classroom. Half the classroom stopped listening to him and started thinking of him as a joke and quickly wondered if he would let them out early. Some looked at each other as if something funny just happened and they should laugh together, roll their eyes and take a sigh of relief--this wasn't a REAL class, this was one of those classes.
          A few felt sorry for him, but consequently couldn't pay attention to what he was saying because they were too busy paying attention to how sorry they felt for him. One girl hoped she could find a wedding ring on him, as if that could give him a happiness the girl didn't think he had. (She didn't find a ring on any of his fingers.)
          The rest were overachievers who tried to track everything he said about the class, but soon realized he was repeating himself and what they had already read in the course syllabus. As a result they shrugged him and his entire class off as an easy A. In their academic minds, he had been crossed off as a source of help.
          The only person who liked the teacher was the girl who imagined him naked. She liked him because she was an art major and thought that since he was a small man, he would be interesting to draw.