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'We are all the same'. Really?

'We are all the same', is emitted like a drum beat from the dopey, uneducated Drama Teacher.

I am going to say but don't... that this view 
might be termed pathologically homogeneous.

I struggle for something to say how to methodologically undo  her SO consecrated assertion. I formulate something as she continues the blind leading the class with her notions of what art is. 

I think of something, I formulate it, 'but surely...a world in which people have undifferentiated emotional and social attachments would be a bleak one, wouldn't it? I don't say. For I know this 'teacher' will brook no argument, besides I might be accused of an excess of erudition if I say something like that.

The teacher's mantra is heard again...'Yes, we are all the same.'

Why are people in the arts, generally viewed as can I put it without enflaming opinion, well...they are viewed as not very academic.

I know what I will say, so I say it, 'if we are all the same....then we have no choice do we?'
'So? Forget about all that...we are all the same.' (she is sounding a tad autistic now).
'Well a definition of fascism is ...if you have no choice then you are under the yoke of fascism. Besides why do my values have to accord with your values?'
'Look, I don't want to argue with you and if you don't like it 
you can f...k off out of here.'
I can't believe my ears. I can't believe she said that. I am gob smacked, non plussed; the audacity; the sheer temerity to say such a thing.

I am very, very angry. I walk up to her and look straight at her
'You have just told me to f...k off.'  You could hear a pin drop in the class, I then say, 'F....k off does not belong in any argument.'

 I walk our of the Drama School, into the lights of 
London's, Soho.  I have never been so angry.
I know there are options that could make this person lose her job, but hey I am not about doing more damage to hippy type thespians.  I tell the family when I get back, they, no mean actors themselves turn into a comedy about actors and we roll about laughing for the weekend.

Still hear it though, 'f'...k off and get out'

 it is iterated in my brain like some buzzing hornet.

A week later

But it faded that insult, now I am sitting back and thinking of how I could make my tennis serve comforting indifference is.

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