I can’t seem to have ONE complete thought in this joint! My name is constantly being called, someone always asking me to give answers to questions I have already covered…wanting, wanting, wanting something! By the time I get home, I have nothing left. I feel like a victim of some sort of elaborate government mind control program. I remember nothing. I know nothing. I am nothing.
At the end of the day, I walk to my car…tightly clutching my purse to my chest…attempting to piece together the events of the day and figure out WHAT IN THE HELL JUST HAPPENED???!!!!!! My non-teacher friends never understand. They think I am exaggerating. I say to all of you non-teachers out there…if you have three or more young children at home…think of rainy, Saturday afternoon when no one can go outside. They are ALL in the house…and they are ALL vying for your attention. Now, multiply that feeling and imagine a different set of THIRTY people doing that to you every fifty minutes.
Yesterday, during my last period class…I was having one of those moments when I would rather (a) stand in the middle of I-75 and wait for the next barrage of cars to put me out of my misery, or (b) make a run for it, right through the cement walls and all…leaving only an outline of my fleeting figure as evidence of my existence. I desperately craved a moment of sanity.
It was our first day back after Spring Break…I have Seniors…and they could not give a rat’s ass about learning to wield literary voice, tone, audience, and descriptive/narrative writing. It was like that scene from Ferris Buellar’s Day Off, “Anyone…Anyone…” *sigh* At that point, even though I knew I really didn’t have their FULL attention, I only hoped to muddle through it all and get them brainstorming with me. And just before I reached the center of the Tootsie Roll, a grainy voice interrupts, “Ms. Friendly, do you have a moment to pick up the phone?” God!? Is that you? I thought, excitedly…a reprieve to this torture…death! Yayyy! But, no, it was one of our dearly loved assistant principals, Mr. Tightly Packed Afro. “Yes, I do.” Fuckity fuck fuck! I don’t want to talk to you, fool! I’m…like…TEACHING!
I pick up the phone.
Afro: I have Never Does Shit here in my office with me, and I’m wondering if we can all come up
with a way for him to graduate.
Yeah! Come to class and do your fucking work!
Friendly: Well, I sent failure letters home and everyone should have received them during Spring Break (Don’t judge me! LOL!). I included a list of the assignments I was missing from them, along with the link to our class website. All the work is uploaded on that site.
Afro: Can we set up a few times for him to come after school so he can get this work from you?
Hell no! I gave time for doing make-up work, in class, the entire week BEFORE Spring Break! This is on him!
Friendly: I can send him to the Media Center, tomorrow, when he comes to class.
Afro: No, I don’t want him missing any instructional time for make-up work.
He doesn’t care about missing instructional time! He NEVER comes to my class on time. I have him first period, and his mother drops him off to school on time…but he never makes it to class on time.
Friendly: Okay, well, I will come to your office and talk to you about it another time. I really need to get back to my class.
Liar! Liar! Pants on fire! I have absolutely NO intention of doing that. I will tell Never Does Shit that he will need to do the work. Period.
Afro: Okay, thank you, Ms. Friendly.
I hung up the phone. My class was derailed. All of the pseudo-attention they gave me earlier was lost. I was furious. How dare that man interrupt the learning of twenty-eight other people on behalf of ONE person…and one person who repeatedly shows just how much he doesn’t care about his education? I taught him during his Junior year, and he did the same thing. I was not impressed…Social graduation dressed in it’s Sunday best!
A teacher’s efforts never go unpunished.
Thank you, No Child Left Behind!
*WTFFF = What the Fuckity Fuck Fuck?