I Keep Hearing that Song by The Police...

Due to the suggestion of one of my loyal readers, we're going to talk about something near and dear to my heart: stalkers. Now, I've already talked about one stalker from when I was in college (We called her Kelly). However, I had a stalker back in high school, and a student who actually stalked me during my student teaching.
When I was a senior in high school, there was a junior girl (we'll call her Laura) who followed me no matter where I was in school. If I was in my English class, she was outside the door both before and after class. Bio II, same thing. During an appointment with my college counselor, she was there when I got out. I didn't tell anyone I was meeting with the CC, so Laura must have followed me. Don't get me wrong, she was a pretty girl, who was quite smart, but I was not interested and was getting ready to go away to college. Beyond that, there's something very creepy about a person always being there when you turn around. She followed me home, she would call me at odd hours, and she even showed up at the theatre one afternoon while I was working on the lights. I climbed down off some scaffolding, turned around, and there she was. It was like a bad horror movie. I could hear that music from one of those films whenever she was around me. I ended up telling her that I needed space, and that she was creeping me out. I guess, from what others told me, I made her cry...alot. Several of my friends thought I was a complete ass for doing that. One guy even told me that I should take her on a date. "You know, like a pity date. Make her think she's got a chance." That, to me, would be much worse.
Now, the girl who stalked while I student taught was different. I want to make this clear: this is not Emma I'm talking about here. She has her own story for another time with its own issues. No this girl we'll call Kristen. After two months of teaching, I began to notice that no matter what room I was in, Kristen would come by and ask me questions. If I was on the third floor, she would be there. It got so bad, at one point, that when I headed out to my car, she would be next to it waiting for me. That's dedication, folks. She discovered which car was mine. Anyone else starting to wonder if the bunny is in the pot yet? (Anyone really get that reference?) The worst moment, however, was while I was working on a show for my supervising teacher.
I had finished my student teaching and was subbing for a colleague while he was out recuperating from (for lack of a better term) dislocated muscle. While breaking up a fight, he pulled his bicep muscle off the bone. It required surgery.
So, I'm working on this show, and I have to paint the set. Because I am painting, I have changed out of my nice teacher clothes and into painting clothes (which is to say I look like a hobo). Having put everything in my bag, I begin painting. While I am painting, I notice that Kristen is hanging out near my bag. I was not aware that she knew I was back. I finish painting a wall and turn to see her holding my wallet. She flips over my license, telling me about how she, "loves the picture," and starts looking through my personal photos. When she gets to my wife, her entire face goes from smiling, to frowning, to anger. "Who's this?!" she yells at me. "That would be my wife," I respond while grabbing my wallet. "She's not right for you," I hear back as I walk away.
The piece de resistance (excuse my bad French), however, comes from the last day of school. As I hug the seniors goodbye and tell the rest of the students I will see them later, Kristen comes to me for a hug. I, honestly, don't feel comfortable, but I give her a guy hug (one quick pat and move away). As I start to pull off, she grabs on to me tighter and kisses my cheek. The two faculty members standing next to me stare at me intently. "I'm going to miss you sooo much," she tells me, "I really hope college guys are like you." Then off she goes with tears streaming down her face. My two colleagues start to ask me what the hell that was, and I can only muster, "that was weird. Must be hormones or something." (Hey, I was embarrassed. Wouldn't you be?)
I haven't heard from Kristen since the day after she said goodbye. She showed up at my home to tell me about her upcoming trip and to say "Goodbye forever." She was visibly disappointed when my wife answered the door.
Between my stalker, and the student who was infatuated with me (that would be Emma), St. Thomas had to start prepping teachers for what to do if these things happen. I was asked back during the spring semester if I would be willing to speak to student teachers about my experiences. The program also interviewed me in order to create a new page in the student teaching handbook about how to deal with these situations. It's always a thrill when an administrator tells you, "Because of you, we've had to change the handbooks. Nice work."
So there you go, oh loyal readers, even little ole I.T. here has had his share of stalkers. Which is odd, because, as one student told me, "you're really not that good looking." She may be right, look at the picture...