Usually it’s my students who are a nuisance during Halloween, but this year it’s the English department. I may be an English teacher, and I do consider myself a bit of a dork, but I’m Elvis when compared to my department. This Halloween the teachers have dressed up as their favorite literary characters. In the past there have always just been a few of the teachers adorning costumes, but over the years that number has crept up to the point where I’m the only one who doesn’t participate.
I mean, come on. With Halloween there are vampires, zombies, or other cool things to choose from, and you’re going to come as Verena Tarrant? Way to dispel the lame perception we’ve got going.
Besides, I’m not too keen on adults getting dressed up when you’re supposed to be an authority figure anyway. Now I realize that there are those out there that do, and that's cool. That's your thing. Some people don't like coffee, where as I am eagerly awaiting the release of the Starbucks IV drip. So, I understand. With that said, my rule of thumb is if a pet can wear a Darth Vader costume, then maybe you shouldn’t.
Still, I think I’ll give in next year and just not show up. “How’s that giving in,” you ask? I’ll be Godot.
Good Lord. No wonder the counseling office was having a fundraiser. It sounds like they live way above their means. Today we got an e-mail from them asking if anyone had seen the key to their Coke vault because they were unable to get into it.
A Coke vault? A security device for an item that is readily available at any dollar store? Talk about your extravagances. What am I going to be hearing about next? A ruby Lazy Susan? That’s a Lazy Susan only used to rotate the counselors' ruby collection around their meeting table, if you were wondering—a table made of exquisite mahogany, most likely.
Maybe the vault is the first sign of the counselors turning into eccentrics like some billionaires can do. If so, then I can’t wait to hear the details of College Night. They'll probably hold it at the North Pole and the only way you can get there is by ballooning.
So I went to some professional development over the weekend. If I haven’t made it clear before, I hate it. I don’t find the information they provide all that practical. You know what I mean. It’s always based on something to do with some study conducted by some Ph.D. student like, “I asked a measly five students to draw the ideal teaching environment—now read my 200 page analysis.”
Sure, a better attitude on my part may improve the experience, but they better bring something to the table. I mean I have to be there. They don’t. Anyway, Saturday...
It’s some class on encouraging reading or something. I don’t know. I just picked it because it had “Read” in the title.
“Ready, Set, Read!!”
“Read-A-Palooza”
“I’d Rather Read the Poetry Tattooed on the Back of a Sweaty Man Than Attend Professional Development.”
Anyway, the expert provided a handout entitled “Twenty-One Lessons Teachers Demonstrate About Reading.” Would you like to hear some?
“Reading involves drawing lines, filling in blanks and circling.”
“It’s wrong to become so interested in a text that you read more than the fragment the teacher assigned.”
“Readers in a group may not collaborate; this is cheating.”
“Errors in comprehension or interpretation will not be tolerated.”
“Teachers talk a lot about literature, but teachers don’t read.”
I’d give you more, but I’m too busy compiling “Twenty-One Reasons That The Creator of This List Should Have It Shoved Up His Arse.”
Oh yes, because drawing circles is what it’s all about! Sure it’s impossible to make deep thought provoking assignments with limited time, classroom over crowding, and soulless district requirements. Thankfully, I don’t give a crap.
No, a kid in second period texting test questions to a kid in fifth period is cheating.
Reading is for suckers. Talking about books from a set curriculum to a bunch of blank faces, who didn’t read what you had to teach is where it’s at! Down with reading for pleasure! Up with reading for pressure!
Teachers resort to sarcasm in order to suppress the urge to strangle people who write dumbass lists.
Every once in a while the school nurse will have lunch in the teachers' lounge, while I’m having lunch. It doesn’t happen often because she has to be in the clinic in case of an emergency. I guess from time to time she can escape, which I hate.
It’s not because I have some sort of medical phobia or anything. No, I dread seeing her because I have to talk to her. Let me explain.
She’s a Mono Speaker, meaning she frequently says a single word to express herself, and you, the listener, have to crack the message. I feel like I’m on an episode of $10,000 Pyramid. And let me tell you that I suck at that show.
Like today she looked at me and said, “Diabetes.”
While I’m staring at her in my head I’m panicking, “Things that are diagnosed. Things that scare me. Things that B.B. King has. What a creepy nurse says!”
Once the silence had become awkward, she broke it with, “Right?”
What? What’s right? That you’re crazy? I am an adult, so talk-to-me-like-an-adult!
The next time I have a “conversation” with her, I’m just going to fire off single round shots of my own and see what happens.
“Lice”
“Dinosaur”
“Soap”
“Carp”
“Right?”
“Meow”
Usually, I complain about lunch being too short for students and teachers. Trust me this was the longest lunch of my life.
Are you kidding me? Are you kidding me? Wasn’t I just talking about teachers pandering for money via a second job? Well a new low has been reached!
This morning we got an email from our counseling office that announced they were having a fundraiser--a fundraiser that involved selling Chick-Fil-A wall calendars, which contain over $50 worth of “tasty” savings inside. It’s not a fund raiser to cure Spina Bifada or anything, but for their “general fund.”
Why in the hell would I keep the counseling office’s petty cash flowing? And I’m not just offended because they almost got me killed once. No, I’m pissed because just when you thought there was no other way to be harassed in this job—BOOM! This insanity comes along.
Pay for your own crap. I do. How else could I do this job? The teachers have an unrealistic paper budget, which leaves us me with some creative recycling (remind me to tell you about how I incorporated the back of used envelopes one day). And I get 100 Scantrons a year. Hello? I have 181 students!
And if the counselors can’t figure out what to do, then here’s an idea to start out with—-cut back on delivering a birthday pack that consists of a candy bar, rub-on tattoos, and a helium filled balloon in the middle of class, while I'm trying to teach, to the birthday boys and girls.
Actually, that shouldn’t be done for a number of reasons.
I kid you not. Somehow, yesterday got crazier than the day before. Again, we’re in the computer lab, and I have a kid come up asking for something. This time it’s not scissors, but money.
“Hey!”
I love how they hail you like a cab.
“I’m on this Web site, and it only takes credit cards. I don’t have one, but I’ve got the cash.”
You’d think my sigh and eye roll would stop him.
“Could I use your card and just give you the money?”
From my head down, rubbing the temples position I ask, “And what is it that you think is vital enough that I, a teacher, would give you, a student, my credit card number?”
That question doesn’t seem to stop him either.
“We need to make an analysis of what we read, right?”
“Yessss…”
“Well, I found this site where they do analysis on such stuff. I found five papers on my guy Paint alone. All I need is $24.”
“Paine,” I corrected.
“Yeah, so can you?” as he scoops into the pockets of is jeans to pull out his money.
I took a look at his outstretched hand and responded, “Two things—one what you’re doing is cheating—to take someone’s analysis. Two—that’s three dollars and a McDonald’s Monopoly game piece in your hand.”
Honestly, have we gotten to the point where we cheat on layaway? The joke’s on him regardless. I maxed my credit cards out a long time ago.
Yesterday was the first day of two where I had my kids in the computer lab. The whole idea is for them to put together a presentation consisting of various media concerning Colonial American literature. Each group has been given a piece of relevant work to be the cornerstone—The Declaration of Independence, the speeches of Thomas Paine, and so on. You guys know what I’m talking about; you’ve had similar.
Anyway, it didn’t catch me off guard when a student asked me for a pair of scissors due to the nature of the assignment. Luckily, my jack-a-ninny-dar kicked in a few minutes later.
Scissors + Student = Craziness
Or better yet:
Scissors/(Student + History of using bitch in every sentence)(Two weeks without being written-up) > Shite Storm
As I approached his carrel to investigate, I discovered my little MENSAnite taking his scissors to his computer. It turns out that he desired its mouse because his brother had broken theirs during a disagreement over whose turn it was on RuneScape.
After explaining to him that it was not only immoral to steal the school’s mouse to use on his own computer, but cutting the mouse off instead of the zip tie that bound all the wires and then unhooking it, would leave him with a useless mouse.
That’s when he corrected me and revealed his plan was not to replace his mouse, but to use it in retaliation by whipping his brother with it as he did him.
So I'm returning a book I checked out from our library last Friday... It's too bad I was the only one.
I thought it was strange to see Hammer in the library since just last week the librarian had commented that she had not had any face-to-face time with her since Hammer took the AP position last year. Even in e-mails, Hammer calls her Suzy. Poor Sarah.
Anyway, the strange-o-meter needle was jumpin' because Hammer was having a conversation on her walkie-talkie. Evidently, Trembley took her passion for literary criticism too far and got caught trying to steal reference books. There was her rolling suitcase, which many teachers unfortunately use, lying on the checkout desk, being autopsied. Extracted were these 800 page, gold leaf books.
The librarian, wide-eyed, was identifying the evidence.
"Dammit! I'd just replaced that son-of-bitch!" screeched the 5’2” librarian.
Really, what kind of a teacher steals books from her own school? It may not have an effect on these kids, but we're still supposed to set examples. Honestly, the real question is who steals in the name of literary criticism? How lame is that? Thanks Trembley for confirming that teachers are nerds.
I don't think that Trembley will be let go for this. Let's face it--when's the last time you heard a teacher being fired for anything less than sexual deviance. If only she was making out with the book, which knowing her, may have been only a couple weeks away.
Do you remember when I was teaching some Ben Franklin? ‘Member? Well, for bonus points every year I have the kiddos do their own aphorisms, plus they must translate the meaning. Unfortunately, their grasp of what’s involved with an aphorism is paralleled by their inability to understand what it means to translate.
So without further ado I present Ass-o-risms ’07:
We’re all going to die, eventually. / Eventually, we’re all going to die.
When?
Watch your back! / Because I don’t have eyes in the back of my head!
Good, then you didn’t see me mouth, “what the hell,” when I read this.
If your nose runs and your feet smell, then you’re built upside down. / My grandfather use to say that all the time.
Ah senility…
You’re mom. / Your mom is ugly.
Don’t you mean you are mom is ugly?
Happy times for many / Life is fun!
Happy times for many? What is this? A fortune cookie? I flipped the thing over looking for lotto numbers.
So why do this every year? Because they’re freakin’ hilarious! Trust me—it’s perfect for calming your nerves at this time of year, and, well, booze is expensive.
*Today's the last day to vote. Here's to a strong finish.
In the past I’ve gone off on being harassed by students with their fundraisers. Now I feel like I’m getting the same from my fellow teachers. Unfortunately, they have to make ends meet, and they do so by having jobs on the side. It’s not tutoring or waiting tables kind of stuff either. It’s usually something that involves a flyer that can be stuck in your box at school.
Like this morning, I got one from a teacher selling five pounds of shrimp for ten dollars. At the bottom of the flyer it said, “I’ll even de-vein them for you!!!!” Four exclamation marks? That’s a ton of enthusiasm for handling alarmingly cheap, raw shellfish.
Anyway, she’s not the only one who has created unappealing advertisements. Let’s see, there’s the theatre teacher offering Friendly Fingers Massages. How appetizing…
Or, you have the Feng Shui specialist/business computer teacher/lacrosse coach. Uh, no thanks. How about I tell you where you can put your couch. I’ve got some ideas.
My favorite is the woman who does glamour shots for pets. Because just the other day I was saying, “You know what I need? A hazy picture of my Shih Tzu tugging on the lapels of a tiny leather coat I put on it.” Great business plan, Lee Iococa.
Then there’s the obligatory jewelry lady. Here’s a hint; you may not want to feature paper clip bangles. Administration may inquire about your office supply use.
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A new policy has been put in place, which is great because new policies created after the school year has started always work. Wait a second…
This new plan involves what is called a dress code cart. Before morning duty the teacher is supposed to pick up a cart from the office that holds neon colored long sleeve shirts, these suspender like thingies and these loud Hammer pants (that’s redundant). All of this merchandise was purchase by the school, so that during morning duty, we teachers, can identify dress code violators and adorn them with the, ahem, appropriate replacement clothing.
A couple things:
First, am I to understand that I am now dressing these kids? Shouldn’t that be the parents’ job? Now I really do feel like I’m the major contributor in raising them. I promise you if I’m next given something that’s called an ass wiping cart, then I’m quitting.
Second, this is obviously an idea of someone who doesn’t spend much time with kids. If they did, then they’d realize that high school kids really don’t care what they look like. Things have changed since The Breakfast Club.
Don’t believe me? Then just ask my kid in 2nd period who wears the same kilt everyday. Or, go see the junior in my 5th period who wears his middle school gym uniform top religiously. If you’re still not convinced then approach my 7th period student who actually wears Hammer pants!
And this isn’t a case of the have-nots either because these kids are rockin’ iPods and Jordans.
If anything these kids will be coming up to my cart wanting to buy the stuff. Wait a second…
Do you guys remember when I had that biter? ‘Member? Well, I had a similar encounter yesterday. This time it was while I had taken my kids to the library.
While in there, the librarian and I heard a ruckus. A quick head count to relieve myself with the fact that all my kids were present, then I was off, following the librarian to the back of the library. There we found a student gums deep into a fellow student’s arm. After prying him off, it was time to pry some answers out of the two jack-a-ninnies.
It turned out that he bit his counterpart in retaliation of having his hair pulled. In fairness, though, the hair pulling was only a reaction to be spat on by the eventual biter. But in the biter/spitter’s defense, the hair puller did punch him in the arm.
A retelling of a kick, push and a “fag” later, we learn that biter/spitter/kicker/fag caller had his favorite chair taken away by hair puller/puncher/pusher.
Geez, things sure escalated fast with these two. If we had shown up 20 seconds later, a Molotov cocktail may have been thrown.
I’m going to have to tinker with my syllabus a bit to fit in The Butter Battle Book. Hey it’s Seuss, my kids might actually like it.
So here’s the weekend Homecoming scoops. The football game had a record low attendance. It was due to the fact that the athletic director changed the night of the game from Friday to Saturday at the last second and didn’t go out of his way to announce it. That meant a ton of students showed up on Friday to experience a stadium in the dark with locked gates.
Let’s just say that many chose not to return the next night. Are you surprised? You have messed with their game and their dance. Teenagers are spite driven animals. I remember this one time when I got their research papers back to them two days late. Each page 268 was torn out of every single one of my dictionaries.
To this day I’m not sure if their point was that I was a “liar” or a piece of “licorice.” You would assume the first, but with this group…
There are not many kids wearing mums this year because there is no dance this Homecoming. At first, I thought Santa got my letter, but it turns out that we’re only having the Homecoming game tonight and the dance will be in December, and I guess most of the students will be wearing them then.
Evidently I was wrong when I claimed that the construction was completed. The gym is not finished, so they can’t have the dance yet. My bad, but that thing is way over on the other side of the school. I don’t know anything about it. Now that I think about it that does explain the kids climbing the ropes in the cafeteria. I’d just thought they had taken truancy to a whole new level.
The school should have stepped up on this one, seriously. No, I’m not being sympathetic for the kids. I just don’t want them pissed because that just falls into my lap. Then again, I should get a chuckle. I mean how funny would it be to see the school football team’s nose guard flail his mum coated arm and declare that “This school is so gay!”
I can hear the tinkling bells now.
***Allow me to break that fourth wall for a moment:
Ever since this blog was deemed as a Blog of Note by Blogger last month, the response has been fantastic. I got flooded with e-mails saying some really cool stuff. Now one of you jack-a-ninnies has nominated this blog for The Blogger's Choice Awards (both in the Education and Humor categories). I'm not one to pander much, but I mentioned it to one of my friends and she got all excited, so I thought it would be neat to see how far I could take this sucker with only a week left in the voting.
Anyway, if you like this blog, then would you mind registering and voting? Simply do a search for hoboteacher.com/blog and you will find it in the two categories. You can vote for both!
Seventh period yesterday got into a heated discussion about having an open campus during lunch, which makes sense because I was trying to do a lesson on Poor Richard’s Almanac. The general view was that not being able to leave campus during lunch was “pretty retarded.”
By that time I’d had gone to that tree house in the back of my mind and imagined what life would have been like if I had taken that introductory nursing class my freshman year with that hot girl from my dorm rather than that first education class. What brought me back was one of the kids asking me my opinion.
“What do I think? I think that last week I gave you a pass to the bathroom, and you came back thirty-two minutes later with a Coke. So opening up campus might not be playing to your strengths.”
That’s when another kid piped in, “Hey I want a Coke. Can I go to the vending machines?”
“No that would certainly go against my stance.”
“Can I have a pass to the bathroom then?”
From there I had tried to envision how things would have turned out if I had just taken my uncle’s offer to work in his auto supply store.
Okay it’s Homecoming week here at SLHS and I’m not going to give you a play-by-play like I did last year, mainly because there’s not much different. One of the theme days is even the same with camouflage. How original. It reminds me how they changed the format of Wheel of Fortune because people kept picking the same letters (RSTLNE). Maybe we should do the same thing with these days? Of course, contestants now pick the same second set of letters now too.
“Okay, it’s a theme, so let’s put up Camo, Western, Crazy Hat, Pajama and Sports Days and we’ll need two more. Go ahead.”
“Hmm—let me have All Black Day. You know; where you’re symbolizing blacking out your opponent. And, um—let’s see—shoot. Let’s go with All White Day I guess.”
I tease, but they did actually try to come up with some new ones this year. And for that—I must tease again. One day will be Wall Street Week. How do you celebrate that? Serve Martinis at lunch? Staying up late and analyzing the Nikkea?
Maybe it’s not that crazy. I mean a bell does start the day. Now that I think about it; I’m sure insider trading has been going on with my tests for years.
What’s worse is Broadway Day—Wear a t-shirt from your favorite Broadway show. Talk about your STUCO being out of touch with its constituents. What kid has that?! While you’re at it, why don’t you ask the kids to wear a t-shirt with their favorite Bollywood star on it? There’s one thing I can guarantee you though. Some of my jack-a-ninnies are on-line this very moment, trying to score a Vagina Monologues t-shirt.
There’s no such thing as a stupid question, right? By that I mean there are no stupid questions left because I’ve heard them all. The final one came last Friday at Open House.
I kid you not, all six of my presentations were dominated by questions on one subject—bonus points.
Do you give bonus points?
How many bonus points do you give?
Can bonus points be paid towards tardy forgiveness?
Tardy forgiveness? I’m left wondering where I am. My students are usually the ones who go on and on about bonus points. What’s with the obsession with the most insignificant factor towards their child’s grade? Maybe they should focus on other issues, like due dates, or the tutoring sessions I give—two topics I brought up all night, with zero reaction.
I couldn’t help but to think that these parents might be putting too much emphasis on other trivial things where they should be focusing on the more important. Like retirement, how are these parents planning for it? By playing the lottery?
That would explain why that Stephanie’s mom asked me my birthday, while she was filling out that Power Ball ticket.
I’m wiped out. Grades are due today, and I’ve been working like a madman to get them done. It doesn’t help that this district requires four major grades in a single grading period. Four major grades in six weeks?! That’s not enough time to present, teach, and reinforce enough lessons to justify a major grade. Part of my job is to teach composition; therefore, I need the time to read all of it.
What am I supposed to do? Give a test about my other tests?
3. Your other tests required your name and date. A. True B. False
18. The last test included the following (select all that applied) A. Matching B. Short Answer C. Cheating D. Multiple Choice
36. Compare and contrast the pencils you used in our first test and the third test.
Well, look at that. This thing is half written already. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t half tempted.
Oh well, at least Monday is a staff development day. Certainly I'll be able to get a nap in during one of the meetings.
The teachers got an e-mail from the librarian asking us to keep an eye out for students who look like they have checked-out books. She might as well have asked us to keep an eye out for the Easter Bunny. Knowing my kids that sighting would be more likely than seeing them with books. Shoot, the Easter Bunny making out with the Tooth Fairy would be more likely.
It seems like some students have found a way around the library's book security system and pillaged the 420's of the collection. She hypothesizes that they targeted that portion due to the number's relation to the drug culture.
Hey at least they're not sitting on the shelves, right? Being used is being used, if you ask me. Don't worry librarian; I'm just kidding. At least all your page 420's haven't been torn out like they have in my textbooks. Now the kids will never know the whole story of Twain's influence on regionalism! Somehow I have this feeling that they're fine with that.
Usually, I’m the first one around in the wee mornings of school days, but not today. Today, I walked into the teachers’ lounge to see a group of history teachers sitting at the table. They were adorned with backpacks and tote bags and were spooked. No one spoke. Some even had that jittery leg going, where the knee bounces up and down. They looked like a stick of paratroopers in the belly of a Ju-52 over occupied France.
It turns out that today was a field trip to our local history museum—poor bastards. Seven busloads of students in six buses, a maze-like environment of a museum for the kids to scatter throughout and do God knows what. No thanks.
As they shuffled passed me out the door, I half expected them to hand me letters to their families. You know, in case they don’t make it back.
We got an e-mail from Pécan informing us that there is a serial flasher in the area who has been targeting students as they walk to school. Besides being disgusted, I can’t help to think that this animal used to sit in a classroom like mine back in the day. Most likely that means I have a potential future violator on my roll. You don’t see that in teaching theory books, do you?
Chapter 4: Your Scumbag and You
The thing is, though, is that you’ll never know until it’s too late. Sure you may suspect the kid who stands too close behind the female students, while they sharpen their pencils (my fourth period), or it could be the guy who never takes his hands out of his pockets, even when at his desk (seventh period), but it’s probably the quiet kid, who maintains a low profile and stays off people’s radar (every period).
Good Lord. This last Friday was the worst day ever in my teaching experience, and it really had nothing to do with education. So there are no gripes today about parents, students, or colleagues, just oranges.
I had one of those large navel oranges with my lunch. The thing is so large that I think it has violated a performance enhancing substance abuse policy. Trying to peel that thing made me feel like I was skinning an animal. Citrus blood coated my fingers as I tore its hide from its body. I wanted to dry out the rinds and then draw stick figures, shooting arrows at a buffalo, on it.
Lunch ended before I had even finished peeling it. I had no choice but to bring it back to class. I wasn't going t come that far just to quit. The trick was that I had to somehow tie it into my lesson, so fifth period experienced how "reading a book is like peeling an orange." Sadly, my tips on how to take your time, ask for help, and go back over where you had just finished to make sure you got all of it didn't seem to work.
The best reaction I got was a girl saying that she would never eat oranges again because she wouldn't be able to get the "constipated face" I was making while struggling with the thing out of her head.
All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. That's our story and we're sticking to it.
