Pécan sent an e-mail that gave us the heads-up on a visit that the school would be receiving. Later this week during the morning hours a Coast Guard rescue helicopter will be landing on campus. It is coming for an educational visit, and Pécan wanted to notify us ahead of time so as to make sure no staff members panicked with it’s approach.
Though this job does give me a “lost at sea” feeling with great frequency, I don’t expect the sighting of a Coast Guard Helicopter to worry me. It might be because I think that this place needs something a little bit more lethal. At times, the chopper I imagine that would come to this school would be devoid of markings, so as not to be traced back to any specific government entity, and filled with a rag-tag, but the best at what they do mercenaries to take out this country’s most deadly enemy: the teenage jack-a-ninny.
What? Like we couldn’t do with less sexual deviants, sociopaths and plain old dumbasses. Oh, wait. That’s right; it’s my job as a teacher to steer these children clear of any transgressions, armed with state testing exercises and lesson plans for The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock. Great….
Now that I think about it, though, perhaps the Coast Guard being here isn’t so bad. I mean they do deal with drug trafficking, and this school is a regular illegal pharmacy.
During one of our ever-important department meetings, one of the teachers made the comment, “I’m not here for the students. I’m here for the literature.” I have to admit that it was a bit awkward, given the fact that the topic of discussion was our colored paper supply. Like I said, it was quite a crucial meeting.
Anyway, I consider myself as a guy who gripes about his students like no one has before, yet what she said had to be one of the dumbest things I’ve ever heard. She comes to a high school for a proper literary fix? That’s like going to McDonald’s for the fine dining. Does reading analysis from the students like, “Huck’s dad is an ass,” and “Pap does bad stuff because he’s mean; therefore, Pap’s a bad man,” get her juices flowing?
There’s got to be better ways to get a literature fix. You can always just read a book. There are libraries are all over this country. Or if you want to be cool, lounge around in a Barnes & Noble. They have cafes, Ooh-la-la.
“I’m not here for the students. I’m here for the literature.”
I wonder if you can hear stuff just as ridiculous in other lines of work. You know, people doing jobs for the silliest of reasons.
I’m only a coroner because I like tables with wheels.
I’m not at the slaughterhouse to kill cows. I’m here for the industrial aprons.
I clean toilets because porcelain is pretty.
I don’t know. Maybe she has a point. I mean, when’s the last time I ever read a book just to read a book for my own pleasure. When I’m off work I’m always, well, working. All the grading and prepping demands such a schedule. With that said, the only reasonable time to spend with a good book is to assign it as schoolwork. At least that seems like the only reasonable time, unless they invent sleep/reading. What am I saying? This job doesn’t let me sleep either!
This morning a teacher sent an e-mail saying nothing more than this:
Is there anyone who would consider performing with me Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five’s “Rapper's Delight”? I need a couple of people.
I’m going to be honest with you everyone. I would be no less disturbed if she asked, “I need someone to wear a leather outfit during a donkey show.”
Seriously, I can’t feel like a professional if colleagues are asking me to participate in some sort of lip synching/American Idol type thing or whatever. Now if this was common in other fields, then okay. I imagine, though, that e-mails aren’t floating around law firms that say, “We need an Indian to complete our Village People tribute group.” Fighter pilots are probably not passing around pillow fight sign-up sheets either.
Again, I’m not too sure why she needs performers. I’m left guessing because she puts her request in no context, which, by the way, is another culprit in why I’m left disturbed.
Besides, “Rapper’s Delight” is The Sugarhill Gang and not Grandmaster Flash and the Furious Five. If you don’t even know that then there’s no way I can help you anyway.
You may not believe it, but I am all for students keeping their hands busy while class is going on. For some, they need to fiddle while learning. Somehow it helps them concentrate. I don’t understand the science behind it, but hey, I remember acing a Shakespeare class in college, while sketching out the most bitchin’ rollercoaster design on the back of a legal pad.
And I wish I could let it happen more often in my class, but I can’t. The math just doesn’t work out because for every student it benefits there’s at least a half-dozen kids who are crazy-distracted. Take this one girl, for example. She is very sharp, one of my sharpest students, and is really into knitting. If she could knit all day, then she would. She’s even substituted chopsticks for knitting needles, so as not to be in some sort of violation of school policy. I told you she was sharp.
Shoot, even without the needles, I’ve got boners in the class running up to her and pretending to stab each other with her chopsticks. You know what I’m talking about, where they put the chopstick under their armpit and act like they’re suffering an agonizing death.
This is my point. The knitter can handle the responsibility of doing her hobby and participating in class. She is capable, but I have to ask her to stow her knitting away because others are not. If she isn’t being harassed with requests to make stuff (from caps to a freakin’ magic carpet), then they’re taking her yarn to create/enhance certain body parts.
Yuck, the thought of seeing that again makes me want to shove knitting needles in my eyes.
There’s a basketball pep rally this Friday. Like all pep rallies, we adjust to our “Pep Rally” bell schedule. That means taking a whole hour out of our day to get fired-up. If I thought forty-five minutes wasn’t enough to lead a sufficient lesson, then what the hell am I going to do with thirty-six minutes? Fortunately, if I’m going to stay positive, this also limits the amount of trouble a student of mine can get into by jacking around in my class. Don’t get me wrong; a jack-a-ninny will get himself into something even in a shortened class period. He always does. It’s just that he has nine less minutes to make the most of things. In my book, nine minutes can be the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.
Speaking of schedules, they gave us a very detailed agenda for this pep rally. It’s got like thirteen bullets listing activities and each one has its duration next to it. Let me tell you, these durations are very specific. Only the meticulousness of an educator could create such a document. One activity, a Stomp routine by the sudoku club, is listed at a minute and forty-five seconds. Oh boy….
If you think that’s ridiculous, then you need to know that there will be a Tug-of-War as well. The student council will be pitted against the coaching staff. Thankfully, the English department isn’t involved. I can’t speak for anyone else, but I’m not sure how much restraint I could display when given the opportunity to yank students down to the ground like rag dolls. Have you ever heard of those stories where a frantic mother generates enough strength to lift a car off her child? It would be like that for me, but in a less noble, Hulk Smash! kind of way.
Now that I think about it, there should probably be a bullet that says, “Sign waivers created by the school district’s lawyers (30 sec).”
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.
