These are the days...

I love my job -- I swear I do. BUT some days are just more challenging than others.
Friday, April 11th, 2008 would qualify as one of those days.


Everything was going along swimmingly, until my 7th period American literature class. A group of high-spirited, talkative students faced me on this second day we were discussing the master-work The Great Gatsby. Since it was obvious that only about one-third of the students even knew who the narrator was the previous day, I devised a five-question pop quiz. "This will get 'em" I thought to myself on the way into the room and wrote "5 ? Pop Quiz" on the whiteboard as the first item on the day's agenda. Of course I received the usual moans and groans, and the "I wasn't here yesterday because I was on a field trip" complaints. I, ever so coolly, replied with my sarcastic "Ouch! That's a shame" and "Unless you are oozing bodily fluids out of every orifice, you had a reading schedule and were capable of reading."

On with the quiz! I devised easy questions for it on the spot (sometimes you are required to think fast) to simply gauge whether the students made an attempt to read. Before reading my questions aloud, Miss X asks to run to the bathroom. The very same Miss X that I agonizingly decided to give an A- to for the quarter, even though she fell .01 percentage points below the cut-off for the grade. I figured she was a smart student and liked learning, despite the fact that she consistently shows up late to my class with a pass from a mysterious teacher. I asked her if this was an emergency -- she answered no, but she would be much more comfortable during the rest of class if I let her go. I asked her why she didn't take care of this before class and her response was enough to make my jaw hit the floor. She was eating sushi and didn't have time; however it was quite delicious (no joke, exact words, WTF?????). Where have those passes been coming from -- an Asian fusion restaurant???? I gave myself a mental tongue lashing for even contemplating, let alone, giving this student the benefit of the doubt earlier in the week when grades were due -- then I explained to her that I had to go to the bathroom too, but I'm not leaving during class, so she will just have to wait.

End of class nears and I seriously did have to go. Ahhh...the bell rings and I head out of the room to quickly pee before my next group of degenerates enters the room and breaks everything in sight with their super-trendy (in the teenage world) bouncy balls that I take away every day. Miss X decides to follow me out of the room asking if the novel is ever going to get better. I forgot to mention that Miss X also wanted me to recommend her for Advanced Placement English next year. With a comment like that sweetie -- NO WAY. Walking down the hall sideways, I tell her that it would get better if she changed her perspective toward it, give it a chance, set aside negative judgment regarding the novel. She laughed at me and said, "How am I supposed to do that?" Good question...very relevant to the situation. I do it every day honey, just not with novels.

A quick bathroom trip and a thorough washing of my hands and I am back on! Ahhh...these are my AP seniors. This will be easier. After all, student groups are giving 20 minute presentations on assigned poems. These are fun! This will be fun!

Wrong!

Class starts with the bouncy balls. I hate these damn things. I see them everywhere. Can I burn things in school and not get fired? A frantic student brings up a scholarship contest entry to me asking me to review it. It must be post-marked by Tuesday, I need to mail it for her, and it is only half-done. Could she email it to me over the weekend to look at? I would have to print cover letters for her on letterhead, get it assembled, and run to the post office to get this done for her. Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

First group finally finishes a presentation from yesterday. It went smoothly, although they totally bashed Sylvia Plath's "Metaphors" and said it was negative in tone. I tried to get them to see the light, but to no avail. The next group up read Emily Dickinson's "These are the Days the Birds Come Back" and began to break it down. The usual suspects in this class complain that it is a Dickinson poem. They hate her work because it is just too abstract for them. They refuse to put in the work it takes to find the meaning of it. The use her personal life as ammunition and call her a freak. I have to ask them to sit back and listen to what the group is going to tell them. After all, they could be faced with a Dickinson poem on the AP test and would need to work to explicate it. It was going well until I heard an annoying noise behind me. It sounded like a dripping faucet. I immediately turned around to the student I knew was doing it and asked him to stop. As I turn back around, I heard it again. My blood is boiling. Two straight periods of insanity and I am ready to quit. Just to push me over the top -- in the middle of the presentation Miss Y (the one who never brings her book, is smart and knows it, is snarky and just draws in her notebook or reads another novel in class) asks me to go to the bathroom. Two periods in a row -- are you kidding me??? I tell her that unless it is an emergency she can't, and that it is rude to get up in the middle of someone's presentation to go to the bathroom. She gives me attitude. She pleads her case to others in the room saying, "She won't let me go to the bathroom...hahaha!" Ummm...how about "shut up?"

After the presentation was over, I asked if there were any questions. You will never believe what I heard. The student that so desperately needs me to look over a last-minute essay for a scholarship, take time out of my weekend to do this and run around to mail it for her, asks to go to the bathroom! Is there something going on in the bathroom that I am missing? I was just there...it was the same stinky, disgusting, dingy place to me.

I took a few deep breaths and proceeded to explain to the class that I was extremely disappointed in them for being so rude. The noise-maker outed himself (exactly who I thought it was) and the girls rolled their eyes. Maybe something sunk in though?

As I said, I do love my job. It is just hard. It is hard dealing with young adults that are growing up in a society of immediacy. They are isolated, careless, and ignorant in many ways. In other ways they are humorous, light-hearted, and alive. When everything is in balance, I leave my job feeling great about what I do. It's just those days when things get out of balance that sting.

Thank God it was a Friday :)