Tuesday, May 10, 2011

What's a dewbiee? IDK.

I've been sitting on this one for awhile, but I discovered this little gem sitting on my desk at the end of a particularly tough day last month. I was a bit testy with seventh hour, and I wrote a few preemptive referrals to make a point with some hard-headed children. Apparently, someone felt entitled to return the favor.

Friday, May 6, 2011

If it's not Kool Aid and grapes, what the hell is it?

This week I gave my students their final essay exam. Several of them didn't finish within the allotted time period, so on Wednesday they stayed after to complete it. One particularly adorable young man was hard at work when some admirers came to call. These two young ladies hovered around the door, giggling and tripping over themselves to get a glimpse of their Romeo. The boy, looking a bit sheepish, squirmed in his seat.

My co-teacher quickly shooed them away so they would not distract our little scholars from their academic endeavors.

I tried (quite unsuccessfully) to refocus my attention on the monolithic stacks of ungraded papers on my desk. I was interrupted by more whispering in the hallway. It was the neighboring teacher. She was whispering and motioning my co-teacher to the door.

I looked up and noticed both of them hovering in the alcove just outside our classroom doors, pointing to something at their feet. Then I heard the word "blood."

Whenever one hears the word "blood" uttered outside the context of a health or science classroom, it's a good idea to investigate. I decided to check things out.

Lying just beyond the threshold of my door was a haphazardly scrawled note which read, "Payback for being a dumb fart. Karma's a bitch. P.S. It's not Kool Aid and grapes." Lying just beneath the note was a rubber glove. It was filled with a red-tinged liquid. A blackish mass had settled into the ring finger of the glove. Smudges of bluish glitter graced the contours of this latex mystery.

I immediately drew the conclusion that those twittering female visitors must have been responsible.

The neighbor teacher had other ideas. She looked at me knowingly. "You know...some of my students are very angry at me too..." she began.

"Oh, I don't think this was meant for me," I replied. "I think some young ladies left it for one of my students."

I gestured to the young man, who was now pacing nervously inside the classroom, mumbling, "Don't touch it, Miss. What is it? Don't touch it!."

She looked at me somewhat apologetically. After an awkward pause, she offered, "Well, it DOES say bitch..."


"It's OK...you know, some of my students are REALLY mad at me too. I hope that's not what I think it is." She hurried off down the hall, and left me to deal with a glove filled with something other than Kool-Aid and grapes.

Thursday, May 5, 2011


My students are convinced that I have killed people.

Last year's group was the first to clue me in. I was shocked. I am, after all, one of the most patient people I know. I don't have many management problems, I hardly ever raise my voice to them, and I rarely have to write referrals.

I was slightly hurt. I said, "But I'm so PATIENT and CALM."

They said, "Exactly."

They went on to explain that I seemed like one of those people who is calm and patient for years on end...and then snaps one day and hacks someone to bits.

This year's group echoed the same sentiment, only they added that the scar on my arm made them think I had been shanked during a murder spree. I appreciated their attention to detail and their rich imaginations.

I was more offended when I found out they think I'm a Republican. I do my best to avoid talking politics with them, save for the occasional current event topics. Still, I think it's pretty clear from my politically correct, live-and-let-live attitude that I'm no social conservative. Yet, I was accused of voting for McCain in '08, supporting Joe Arpaio, and attending pro-SB1070 rallies.

"Why do you accuse me so?" I asked.

"You're white," they said.

So it wasn't too surprising when, just this past week, I was accused of being a member of Al-Quaeda.

It was the day after news broke that the US special forces had killed Osama Bin Laden. A student (who most recently accused my beloved Coyotes of being human traffickers) approached my desk after I dismissed the class to lunch. He had a rather smug look on his face, and he was wearing celebratory Army fatigues. He said, "So they finally caught your leader."

"My leader?"

"Yes, your leader. Osama Bin Laden."

"Oh. He wasn't MY leader."

"Yes he was. You are a member of Al Quaeda. You've been posing as a teacher while planning terror attacks against U.S. Citizens."His left hand sort of hovered in the air, as though he were performing the Jedi Mind Trick.

"Hmmm...is this about last night's homework?"

"Yes. Homework is a form of torture."


So there it is. Murderer, Republican, Terrorist, Master Mutilator of Human Rights.

I wonder what they would think if I were actually strict.