The last thing I want to do right now is think about going back to work tomorrow, but I cannot put it out of my mind. Anxiety over the things I wanted to get done has set in as swiftly and viciously. I really did not need to do anything but rest, which I did for two glorious weeks, but I had lofty goals which I did not meet. I loaded a rolling crate full of “things to be done” on December 21. The crate road home with me, but it sat in the car the first week and the garage the second week. I brought it in the house today. I shuffled some things around in it about an hour ago and sighed heavily. I stopped after I decided it was a better option to do laundry. I do not know whether that is pitiful or brilliant. Next up, I will write a “to-do” list for tomorrow before bed. Maybe.
Snippets from my 11 hour day at work:
I was thirty minutes late for work (because I am exhausted and feel like I am dying from The Plague … again) and still managed to beat one of my co-workers in by 20 minutes. She is late every.fucking.day.without.fail because she has “three kids to get ready.” Well, I have two Boston Terrorists and a husband … neverfuckingmind.
I held a conference with a student who was previously expelled for distributing vicodin and morphine on another campus. ”But I never use, Miss, That shit ain’t good for you.”
Another student: ”God wants us to do marijuana. It’s ‘of the earth’ which means it’s natural. You know, like a woman.”
I am now on injured reserve because I took one for the team with a kick in the ribs (not the boob like all the students were reporting) breaking up a fight in a crowd of 1400+ at lunch today. I shit you not when I tell you that a male student asked me if my boob hurt when he was leaving campus this afternoon. My only response … Do you kiss your mother with that mouth?
YES! I still have it!
Wednesday, bring it! I have my ass-kicking boots on!
What? You did not know I was incarcerated. Yes, I was help captive in my home by the couch monster most of the summer, but I returned to work yesterday. After summer break, educators always get asked the same old shit kind of questions. How was your summer? What did you do? Where did you go? Yadda yadda yadda. This week I have decided to be brutally honest about the things I did this summer. Here are my answers to 10 of my frequently asked questions. I will let you imagine what the questions are.
1. I don’t remember anything before coffee.
2. This is my feigning enthusiasm face.
5. If I have to put pants or a bra on before noon, the answer will always be no.
6. Some things are not important.
7. I was so sick of those fuckers.
8. Desperate Minds High School.
9. Hey, I just met you, and this is crazy/But here’s my number, so call me maybe.
10. If you never try, you’ll never know.
To start class today, I handed out progress reports (yes, upside down) for yesterday’s work, or should I say lack of work. The grades were as follows: 1 A, 3 B’s, 9 C’s, 9 D’s, and 14 F’s. The comments were priceless.
The Late Bird: Miss, if I am doing so bad, why is it called a progress report? Me: You made 32% on the pretest; therefore, 44% is progress.
The Teacher’s Pet: I have an A (repeatedly in a sing-song manner).
The Ginger: How did I get an F on the essay? Me: A sentence is not an essay.
The Drooler: I have 70%. You can call me The Doer now.
The Hooker: Dammmmmmmmmmn, Miss, I never had a B in English before.
The Cross Dresser: All this typing is chipping my nail polish.
At this point, I shushed everyone and pointed to the white board where I wrote the following note:
TO DO: ALL THE WORK.
Day 2 of 14: Check.
Who is a glutton for punishment? This girl is. Oh yeah. I volunteered to teach a summer school credit retrieval class. Don’t feel sorry for me. It’s only 14 days, and it’s all computer based. I started the day off with a few simple expectations and reinforced that paying for summer school does not guarantee passing summer school. It was at this point that one of my frequent office flyers commented, “It’s all fun and games until summer school. This lady don’t play.” This was swiftly followed by another student who claimed that “summer school is just a fancy name for juvie.”
SIGH. I hope I don’t have to beat the children.
I knew it would be with the most apathetic of all students, but I was pleasantly surprised when I only had to deal with two other students today. The Drooler slept on his keyboard for a solid hour and a half until the student next to him complained, “He was talking in his sleep about getting beat by the teacher.” Then there was The Hooker. Yes, my underwear were longer than the shorts she was wearing. ”But, Miss, it’s hotter than Africa outside, and my momma says she ain’t driving my lazy ass to school.”
Day 1 of 14: Check. Days 2 through 14: Expect further reports.
I can no longer contain myself. I must let you know that I feel your same day request for me to write you a letter of recommendation is quite unacceptable. I would propose that you consider asking me at least a week in advance in the future. If you do not, I will be required to dispense an unintended undesirable notification of investigatory conference or a voodoo curse. All this may come as news to you; however, for what it is worth, lack of planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part. I implore you to a) not take this personally, b) let us never speak of this again, and c) seek help from another colleague.
Your Stabby Supervisor
If I had not participated in this conversation after school today, I would strongly object that it had happened.
Male student: Are you going to miss me when I move to Cincinnati?
Female student: Totally. I won’t be able to visit you there.
Male student: Why can’t you come to Ohio?
Female student: My parents would never let me go there. It’s in another country.
Male student: You’re joking, right?
Female student: What do you mean?
Male student (who turns to me for help): Please tell her, Miss.
Me: I think he just broke up with you.
The last few days have been bananas. As many of you already know, I tend to lose my priorities with blogging when I get bogged down with other responsibilities.
On Thursday I learned that it is possible to have the shit beaten out of you. Yes, literally. I almost stepped in it when attempting to clear the crowd to break up the affray. It was one of those “just when I thought I had seen it all” moments that I will write in more detail about some day … when I quit gagging.
On Friday I learned that more than 20 staff members can and will call in sick on the same day without thinking of how much stress they leave the rest of us who already had full calendars.
On Saturday I learned that volunteering for home visits to get teenagers to “reclaim their futures” often means encountering ganja-filled living spaces houses and fathers who are drunker than Cooter Brown before noon.
Today I learned that it is a new week, and anything is possible if you “Dream big, and dream fierce.”
You seemed surprised when I found the empty bottle of vodka in your backpack. You thought that was the “perfect place” for it. You “drank it for breakfast on the way to school” and from a Gatorade bottle during your semester exam for algebra. Instead of filling out your scantron answer sheet, you scribbled a drunken love note to some boy who”probably does not know you exist. You drooled on the desk. You literally had to be carried to the office. You lost control of your bladder while fumbling with the door handle to the restroom. You stated that you have been drinking for a long time … since you were 12. You are only 16 now. Your mom sent you to the grocery store to purchase tomatoes. You “jacked a bottle of vodka” while you were there to share with your sister if she promised not to snitch. You drank the entire bottle by yourself because your sister is a “goody.” You know your parents are going to be “hella mad.” You know that your dad is going to beat your ass and “then he’s going to beat it again.” You probably will not remember talking to the stapler on the desk. You named him Fred. You told everyone, including Fred, that you loved them “always and forever.” You cried when you saw your “Mami.” You probably will have the worst hangover ever. You will live, but will you learn?