No Pressure Here

What have I gotten myself into? I heart me some Eris, so if she did ask nicely for me to come to her hellacious workplace and pull some asskickery out of my back pocket, I probably would. Thankfully, she hasn't. Yet.

Instead we've been charged with guest blogging/funny style. Oh sweet sallie mae. WHY WHY WHY?

When I told my husband about this, he reminded me that "it's kind of like substitute teaching...and that went well for ya." Snark. And walked away.

Sigh.

Student teaching (wavey lines indicating I'm thinking back to my most painful past... you can even make the Wayne & Garth sound effects if ya want), yeah that seemed like a good idea when my friend (a teacher) suggested it as a means to make money during grad school.

What could possibly go wrong? Well, let's review:

1. I don't much like teenagers.
2. I'm not too familiar with things like "poorly organized high schools and their humungous maze of identical hallways."
3. NO ONE WILL HAVE CHANGE FOR A $20 BILL SO I WILL STARVE TO DEATH BECAUSE HELLLL NO I'm not going to try and find the cafeteria, buy some lunch lady special and eat it in the 35 minutes I have for lunch.
4. Because during that incredibly small window of time called "lunch," I'm going to need to find the staff bathroom. Using the students' bathroom? So not ideal. I can't even go there.
5. And I forgot to bring snacks. OOoooh the snacks.
6. I'm not very good at snappy comebacks that don't include obscenities.
7. I should probably not even acknowledge snarky comments by said teenagers.

And this list quickly surfaced before I'd even been in an enclosed classroom in front of students. The high schoolers? Most weren't terrible, but as with most things and people, you really only remember and talk about the ones who drove you nuts.

In one classroom, I had instructions to write their in-class assignment on the blackboard and let them go to it. I can handle that! Where's that chalk? No, really. Where's the chalk? Am I suppose to write in my own blood?

Aside from the snarky comments (girls) and inability to plant their butts firmly (or even lightly, I don't care) onto the seats (boys), the high schoolers weren't nearly as bad as the middle schoolers.

On my third (and final) gig as a substitute teacher, I spent the longest day of my life at a middle school. With 5th and 6th graders.

"I was that age. I'm sure I was an angel at that age. This should be fun!" I stupidly, stupidly, STUPIDLY thought to myself as I headed into the school.

Oh dear lord...what a nightmare. A nightmare. I swear, these kids were larger, LOUDER and crazier than the high schoolers. Just getting through reading roll took like 17 minutes, but how was I to know that some crabby lady from the main office stops by 3 minutes after the bell rings to find out who is absent. I'm still on the "Bs" lady!

One large and angry gem, by the time I got to her name, assisted me by yelling "MY NAME IS SHAKEEEESHA NOT SHAKAHSHA SO DON'T EVEN SAY IT WRONG BECAUSE...YELL YELL YELL THREATEN THREATEN BEAT DOWN YELL YELL." Ok, so thank you Shakeesha. Present! Next, onto...the activity.

On this day, I was substituting for a music class where the BRILLIANT teacher had chosen to show these budding culturistas (and os) Broadway musicals, such as "Into the Woods." Who here as seen into the woods?

Welllll let me fill ya in if you haven't seen it (I hadn't either, so I was as shock and awed as the students), it's a take on the nursery rhymes, and I was asked to start the DVD at Chapter X which featured the Big Bad Fully Developed Balls Out Huge WolfSword Wolf. Serious Wolf Dickage allll over the next like forEVER which, naturally, the kids took really well.

The two little buttkissers in the front row (obviously, my favorites) just kind of traded glances while the horned up jackelopes in the back were all snickering and wondering aloud and YES, YES THAT IS A WOLF'S BIG OL' PENIS.

At least the affectionate girls in the back who would NOT get off this other boy's lap (oh you think I'm kidding? I'm not.) stopped dry humping to see the wolf dick. Seriously. Mayhem.

Horrendous. Now I know why the teacher couldn't make it in today.

That class overall taught me how terrible I am at discipling and sticking to my threats (I'm going to have to write you up, Janeece, if you don't stop trying to get onto the internet PLEASE TAKE YOUR SEAT, JANEECE Thank you Janeece? Do you want me to write you up? Do not log onto the internet. No, your teacher does NOT allow you to do this during class. No. No. No. No. What is your last name? Thank you. Janeece! and on...).

But it ended eventually, and I met the teacher who uses the room after that class. His words of advice (did he notice my state of shock and fear?): "I just think of middle school as a holding cell."

Um, I'm not sure that's the best way to frame what you do and who these kids are. Mind you, I'm a terrible substitute teacher, and I will NEVER be a teacher, buta holding cell? Ouch. I mean, I kind of understand, but that's no way get through the day.

After the Warden's class, I had to use that same classroom again and (oh sweet sucklin' baby J noooo) show the video again. When I moved the video cart next to the desk, as I had before, guess what I did? Oh just guess.

Yes, I somehow pulled the DVD player off of the cart and CRASH. Then it began...

"oooooooooooooooooh the substitute broke the DVD player"
"ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh she's in trou-bull....."
(repeat...add in some swear words...)

But at least I didn't have to watch the wolf penis again.

Sorry, Eris; but can I thank you for this most therapeutic outlet?