Key West

The Chief and I recently went to Key West for vacation.  His company ran a promotion for the sales people, the winners won the trip and because he is the Vice President, he got to go too.  Lucky me!!  After spending four months in this miserable freezing weather, I was desperate to get on a plane (despite my airplane stresses) and get somewhere warm.  

If you have never been to Key West, you must go.  The water is beautiful.  The weather is beautiful.  What did this people do to deserve God gracing them with 75 degree weather in the middle of winter?  

This is an area full of interesting people.  The Chief and I spent some time with just the two of us, and we also spent time with other couples in the group.  Something that is popular in this area is “Sunset Celebration.”  Every night people can go to the tip of the island to watch the sunset.  This is like a circus on steroids.  There are hypnotizing acts as you walk the strip.  Just walking by, you get dragged into the act that is being performed.  There are cats walking on tightropes.  There are dogs performing tricks that would put an acrobat to shame.  There are 50 year old men sitting on top of ten foot unicycles.  There are men juggling knives on fire while walking across a tight rope that is dangerous inches away from the angry ocean waves.  There was a woman, younger than me, standing with a guitar pouring out her despair through the soulful mixture of her guitar and her raspy voice.  She played with an open guitar case at her feet with a few dollars thrown in (probably by herself), hoping for more to make rent...or maybe even dinner.  Laughing crowds surround each act hoping desperately to be amazed, as promised.  Most of these crowds are tourist, only there for a few days of vacation.  All the performers are residents of this area.  This is their life.  This is how they make a living.  It all depends on what they have rehearsed or repeated night after night, week after week, year after year.  It works, the entertainment was exactly that.  Entertainment.  The crowds laugh at the jokes, the clap at the dangerous accomplishments of the backflip on a tightropes, they scream with enthusiasm as the performer informs them to (so they can draw in a bigger crowd).  This is an adult fight for attention.  

My favorite act (that I didn't get on camera).  An old man playing a guitar.  His sidekick, a filthy golden retriever in desperate need of a bottle of shampoo.  As the old man plays, the dog walks around and takes money from the onlookers hands.  If you are holding a dollar bill, the dog walks up, takes the dollar from your hand, walks over to the bucket in front of the guitar player, and drops the money in.  Then he goes back and looks for more money.  The dog doesn’t have to be signaled to do this.  He simply spots the dollar like a mouse spots a piece of cheese.  At one point he went and collected four dollars from different suckers, before walking to the bucket.  He didn’t drop a single dollar.  People see this, and start pulling out dollars for a chance at the dirty pup to come take their money.  Genius.  Pure Genius. 

When the Chief asked what I wanted to do on this trip, I immediately said jet ski.  I had been on one before, and it was one of the most exciting things I had ever done.  So we happen to be walking by the pool when he noticed a group of work people signing up for a group tour.  So we walked up and joined them.  The guide explained that we would ride them around the whole island, and it would be about a two hour excursion.  Trying to keep from jumping up and down with excitement, I said, “Hell ya! Let’s do that!”  We put our name on the clipboard and were told to be back there at 10AM the next morning.  

I want to remind those of you that haven’t read about my fear of sharks, how deathly afraid I am of them.  I won’t even step foot in the ocean.  Crazy that I would consider going on a jet ski?  Well, I don’t think so, because to me I am separated from the water, and I am moving quickly.  It isn’t like I am sitting on it dangling my toes in the water.  My feet are safely planted on the floor of the jet ski.  No part of me is touching the water.  That doesn’t mean I didn’t toss and turn all night with nervousness adrenaline rushing through my mind, because I assure you, I didn’t get my beauty sleep.  

The next morning, I put on my two piece with a light summer dress over it.  We walked down to the water to see our group gathering and chatting.  They walk us over to sign the paperwork (probably saying I won’t sue them if a shark takes a bite out of my arm).   Then they tell us to head around the corner (on the other side of the dock) to our jet skis (after grabbing our life jackets).  I practically skip over there and then stop dead in my tracks when I see the jet skis are a football field away from me.  In.  The.  Ocean.  I panic.  How the hell am I supposed to get on it, if it is way out there?  Our group of 10 heads into the water.  I am just standing there like an idiot.  This is NOT what I signed up for.  If I wanted to take a leisure swim in the ocean I would have done that on my own time, not sign my damn life away!  I see fins teasing me as they pop up around my jet ski.  I am now the only person standing in the sand.  Everyone else is swimming to their jet ski.  The Chief must have seen me, because he was no longer at the head of the group, he was coming back to the beach towards me.  I could see in his eyes he was pleading with me to come.  I immediately starting crying.  He holds out his hand and says, “Come on, you can do this.”  I slowly comes towards him as the water splashes up on my bare feet.  I was trembling with fear as I follow him in, clutching him from behind.  There I was on his back, trying to climb up him like a cat as he trudged deeper and deeper in.  Once the water was sloshing precariously under his chin, he says between clenched teeth, “Babe, your going to have to swim or your going to drown me.  It’s only another ten feet.”  As my mind is spitting out images of bloody water, I let go and frantically swim to the jet ski.  It seemed like it took me another five minutes to reach it, as I am swimming I’m cursing myself for ever thinking I could do this.  What was I thinking?  Why didn’t it occur to me that the jet ski would be in the middle of the ocean for me to swim to?  Do you KNOW what can happen in 10 feet?  There are sharks swimming under me now, I can feel their movement as they weave through the water.  They smell fear.  I tried to bring what the Chief always says to the front of my mind, “They don’t want a toothpick when they can eat a steak.”  I looked over and he is still swimming.  I am secretly thanking God that he hasn’t quite reached his weight loss goal.  I’m so going to hell.  He has just risked his life helping me get to my jet ski, and here I am, hoping the shark eats him first because he is the steak.  

We were both lucky.  The sharks decided neither of us were worth the time.  

Later, after the tour, we were laying on the beach as the next tour group were heading into the water.  I noticed a woman standing on the waters edge.  I felt sorry for her, knowing she probably assumed, like me, that they would start the jet skis in the sand.  She waited and waited.  I started to wonder if she was going to back out.  Then I hear one of the jet skis fire up.  I noticed the tour guide was on it.  Do you know what that dipstick did?  He drove her jet ski up on the sand.  I turned and looked at the Chief, wondering if he had seen this.  He looks directly at me and says, “Oops.”  

US Map

Recently I learned that Alaska wasn’t an island.  I know you are laughing, then you are questioning whether I am smart enough to be a teacher.  I am going to blog about this so I can set some people straight.  First, I want to say I am not the only adult that recently learned this.  Sorry Brunette BFF, I am throwing you under the bus too.  

When I went to school (kindergarten through 8th grade), there would be a huge poster on the wall of the United States.  On the bottom left hand corner of that poster, were two boxes.  One held Alaska, and the other held Hawaii.  They were islands.  

Now think about this for a second.  If all a child ever sees is those two states out in the middle of the ocean, how would we know that that isn’t where they are actually located?  As an adult, I assumed that Hawaii was located next to Alaska out in the middle of the ocean under California and to the left of Texas.  If I have never been there, how would I know any different?  Can you blame the stupidity?  YES YOU CAN!  You can blame the education system.  This tiny little piece of information was left out of the Geography lesson in the 1st, 2nd, 3rd, and 4th grade.  After that, you are on your own and are expected to know where the states are.  I remember studying the states.  I can even recite all 50 of them in alphabetical order, along with the capitals, but I must have been absent the day they explained that Alaska wasn’t an island.  

Okay, why the hell is it tucked inside of Canada?  Why isn’t it part of Canada?  They should take ownership of it since it is in their territory!  No, lets just confuse kids even more.  Call it one of the 50 states and then stick it in China.  Good call.  Oh but wait, even though it’s over in China, we are going to stick it in the middle of the ocean but expect 10 year olds to know that it is secretly tucked away in China. Excellent.  Now you have 30-year olds that look like idiots.  Or maybe just me.  Or me and the Brunette BFF.  Or so you think....

So I am a substitute right?  Last week I was in a 4th grade class for the day.  Do you know what I did?  I tested my theory.  I had a little extra time between subjects.  We had just finished Geography, so I told all the kids to put their heads down.  Confused expressions appeared all over their little faces.  I assured them, this was just a fun thing and to put their heads down and hide their eyes.  They did.  I then asked them to keep their heads down, but raise there hands if Hawaii was an island.  Sixteen out of 16 students raised their hands.  I then told them to put their hands down, I had one more question.  I told them to raise their hands if Alaska was an island.  Do you know how many students raised their hands?  Out of 16 students, 11 of them raised their hands.  Fourth grade.  That is more than half of them!  Does anyone else see anything wrong with this picture?  Maybe we should change the maps!  After they lifted their heads, I explained that Alaska wasn’t an island.  One student promptly jumped up, ran over to the US map and pointed to it and informed me it was.  I explained that it is placed in the ocean, because it is tucked into Canada, and they don’t really show Canada on a US map.  I felt that I did some good that day!  Not only did it make me feel better that I wasn’t the only one who missed that fact, but that I was able to correct it in their minds before they reached adulthood and looked like morons.  So there!  

I also want you to know, that a couple semesters ago, I took a Geography class.  For the final, we had to write a paper about one thing we would change about Geography education.  This is what I chose to change.  There were 42 students in my class, and my teacher emailed my paper to the entire class because he thought it was awesome.  Most of you probably think this is a common sense thing, but apparently it isn’t.  Educators aren’t doing any favors to kids by saving space on the map.  Stick Alaska where it belongs and while your at it, put Hawaii where it goes too (don’t stick in under California).  

Spinning Wedding Rings

I want to take a short blog to talk about wedding rings.  Women wait a long time for a man to get on one knee and propose with the ring she has always dreamed of.  Then we wear that ring with pride, showing it off to family and friends for months.  Then we get another special piece of that ring on the day we walk down the isle.  Fair trade right?  We agree to take on the men, take care of them, cook them dinner, do their laundry, and in return we get a pretty ring with a matching band.  The men on the other hand.... they typically get a simple band.  The girly or flashy men add a diamond to it.  Let’s face it, nothing says “mans-man” like a plain old wedding band.  I am not sure they wear theirs with the same pride that women do.  Simply said, they probably hate that 7 gram piece of scrap that weighs them down in more ways than one.  They find every excuse in the book to take off that commitment.  Ten of those excuses, that we women have all heard, are:

1. “I can’t sleep in it because my fingers swell throughout the night.”
2. “Babe, you can’t golf in a wedding band, it screws up my swing.” 
3. “Showering with it is plain dangerous.  If it falls off and lands on my big toe, it could cause serious damage...did you know the big toe is the most important one?”
4. “I don’t need to wear it in the house, you know I am married, you remind me every minute that I look at your beautiful face.”
5. “Can’t swim with it on, if I lose it, it is gone forever.”
6. “I have lost weight, and now it is too loose.”
7. “I have gained weight, and it is cutting off my circulation.”
8. “When I play sports with the guys, I could hurt someone with it.”
9. “I accidently left it on the dresser.”
10. “I want nothing more than to wear it to signify how in love I am with you, but I can’t find it.”

It is important that when we are handed these mamby-pamby excuses that we come back with the correct response.

Man: I can’t sleep in it because my fingers swell throughout the night.

Woman: I will remember that when other things swell though out the night.  

Man: Babe, you can’t golf in a wedding band, it screws up my swing. 

Woman: I think the tiny ring is the least of your worries.  Have you ever seen your swing?

Man: Showering with it is plain dangerous.  If it falls off and lands on my big toe, it could cause serious damage...did you know the big toe is the most important one?

Woman: Lets talk about importance here.  Marriage, big toe.  Marriage, big toe.  You can live without the big toe, you can’t; however, live without someone there to do your laundry.

Man: I don’t need to wear it in the house, you know I am married, you remind me every minute that I look at your beautiful face.

Woman: Yes Dear, and you remind me of it every time you open your mouth.  

Man: Can’t swim with it on, if I lose it, it is gone forever.

Woman: Just like other things.

Man: I have lost weight, and now it is too loose.

Woman: I’m proud of your weight loss, let’s celebrate by getting one that fits nice and snug. 

Man: I have gained weight, and it is cutting off my circulation.

Woman: A few less french fries might fix that problem.

Man: When I play sports with the guys, I could hurt someone with it.

Woman: You play sports with the guys?  

Man: I accidently left it on the dresser.

Woman: I accidently left your dinner in the grocery store.

Man: I want nothing more than to wear it to signify how in love I am with you, but I can’t find it.

Woman: At this point, just stare at him.

So yes, we have heard every excuse in the book.  I don’t know about you, but mine never comes off.  I sleep with it, I shower with it, and I work out with it.  I golf with it, cook with it, and do laundry with it.  My ring doesn’t come off for any reason at all.  I treasure this gift from my husband.  This symbolizes I am in a committed relationship, and I want nothing more than to show that off.  Oh, and it is beautiful.  Little vomit in your mouth yet?  

The Chief on the other hand.  Another. Story.  Do you want to know what he does?  He spins his.  Yes.  S-P-I-N-S it.  He takes it off his hand, and he places is upright on the table and he spins it.  He does this if we are at a restaurant waiting on food.  If I am sitting at the kitchen table in a deep conversation about my day with tiny terrorists, he acts like he is totally enthralled with my story, then he takes off the ring and starts spinning it.  Doesn’t matter where we are, if there is a flat surface, he has it out and is playing with it.  Forty-one years old.  I don’t get it.  I don’t get the fascination.  I don’t get the game.  Are you that bored?  Don’t you know what can happen with such a silly game of spin-the-ring?

Chief, if you lose control of your ring when you are spinning it, it could be lost forever.  I have told you this a million times.  Keep it on your finger.  Don’t take it off.  Ever.  Don’t spin it.  When I am in a deep conversation with you, don’t pull it out.  Am I that boring?  Don’t answer that.  When we are at a restaurant, other men see this 4th grade act of entertainment.  Then they start spinning theirs.  Wives get angry.  Angry doesn’t do laundry.  Well, for most women.  You know me well enough to know there isn’t anything you can do, that will allow ME to allow YOU to ruin my clothes.  Love you, Chief.  Don’t spin the ring.  Period.  

Chief: Do not watch the following two videos.

Followers: Apparently, my husband isn’t the only one with this fascination.  Don’t let your husbands see you watching these videos, or you too may get a wedding-ring-spinner on your hands.  Not fun.  Not fun at all.  

NO SHARING PENCIL LEAD

Last week I substituted for third grade.  I took the job thinking it would be a nice break from the New London High, terrorist I had been dealing with.  I get there a little early, go to the class, and sit down to read the instructions left from the teacher (who was going on vacation).  At the bottom of his two-page letter, were these words:

NO SHARING PENCIL LEAD, NO GIVING PENCIL LEAD, AND NO TRADING PENCIL LEAD

The whole letter was written in pencil.  The words above were written in permanent red marker, as if an after thought.  I was thinking in my head: this guy has lost it, and it is blatantly obvious that he needs a vacation.

Twenty minutes later the classroom fills with 26 third graders.  I was also given a paraprofessional (she is there to assist with the two special education students).  I get the class started on classwork.  The students are diligently working quietly.  I sit at the desk and lean back thinking how easy this is compared to high school.  These kids listen.  They work.  They work without talking.  They work without the use of their cell phones.  When they have a question they raise their hands.  Their vocabulary consist of simple words.  The most devious word they dare say out loud is “crap”.  There is no dropping of the puppy bomb (see previous blog).  There is no female dog names being muttered.  This is the life.  Just as I am about to kick my feet up on the desk, I hear a shriek, “LOOKEE WHAT I FOUND!”  I see a student on the floor, under a desk that isn’t her own.  Irritated with myself for not noticing that she moved from her desk to the floor, I jumped up and walked over to her.  Now the whole class is straining to see what she has.  Then I hear this shriek from the other end of the classroom, “THAT IS MINE!  MRS. J, SHE TOOK THAT FROM ME!” 

“I DID NOT, IT WAS ON THE FLOOR!” the instigator screamed back.  *Note these words are in all caps for a reason.  

I walk over to her and hold out my hand.  She sadly drops in a mechanical pencil lead.  Stupidly I stare at this third grade “hot commodity”, and say, “It’s pencil lead, get back to work.”  The classroom goes quiet.  No more screaming, absolute silence.  Every student is staring at me.  I walk over to the trash and drop it in.  You could hear the led fall against a sheet of paper that I had tossed minutes before.  Then this happens:

     

I hear a student wailing.  Shocked I walk over and ask what happened.  I was sure she was going to hold up her hand and have blood gushing out.  I was positive she was going to be physically hurt somewhere on her body.  I was not ready for this.  

“THA THA THA THATTT WAS MYYYYYYY LEADDDDDDDDDDDDDD!”

It took 25 seconds for her to get that out between tears and gasping for air.  Then it took me another 25 seconds to replay it in my mind, deciphering what she said.  Trying not to laugh, I said, “How do you know it was yours?”, wondering to myself if the lead were somehow magically marked.

“BECA BECA BECAUSE I HAD THREE AND NOW NOW NOW I ONLY HAVE TA TA TA TWO!”

This kid isn’t just sad.  She is EXTREMELY TORN UP.  You would have thought I had just killed her kitten right in front of her eyes.  She is beside herself with grief.  Over lead.  And I thought that third grade was going to be easy.  

It took me ten minutes to calm a class down that spiraled out of control in 32 seconds flat.  All the students started pulling out their lead and counting it making sure they too weren’t missing lead.  Then I had students crawling on the floor in search of the missing lead.  I stood there in shock that this was really happening.  

It was a catastrophe.  I had students on the floor, I had students pulling everything out of their desks, I had students running to their backpacks emptying them out all over the floor.  Papers everywhere, books flying, kids crying.  Over LEAD.  

I gladly spent the following two days in New London High School.  Where they didn’t care about lead.  They just wanted to cuss me out.      

Innocent Little Man

So do your kids have anything that they do, that makes you cringe?  I am sure every parent goes through what I am going through.  A couple weeks ago, I made a surprise visit to Little Man’s school.  He didn’t know I was coming.  I had him called to the office.  Here he comes.  Wait for it.  Wait. For. It.

With his pants down below his butt.  

Lord have mercy, if the old woman didn’t come flying out of my body!  I grabbed his ear and through clenched teeth said, “Pull those up NOW.”  Catching him off guard, he wasn’t even sure why I had a hold of him so tight.  I grabbed the top of his pants and yanked.  They didn’t budge.  I jerked his shirt up, tried to ignore his boxers slapping me in the face, and yanked at them again.  At this point I am pulling so hard, his feet are coming off the floor.  He is desperately holding onto his pants, and scanning the halls for any students that are witnessing this violation.  After three jerks, I realize the reason they aren’t budging is because he has his belt on.  THEN, I come to the realization that not only is his belt on, but it is fastened so that his pants stay safely below his bum.  So this is no accident.  My sweet, precious, beautiful, baby angel boy looks like a damn thug.  My angel below:

Watch this quick video of my sweet little man at the age of five... (I shot the video for my mom-Nama) 

You have no idea how much this disgusts me.  I want to rip my hair out.  I want to rip his hair out.  I am scarred for life.  In 30 seconds, his innocence has been ripped from my heart and thrown out to the homeless people.  

I immediately start asking myself.  Where did I go wrong?  What did I do to deserve this?  Why is my child the one that looks like a thug?  Did I ever lead him to believe that this was acceptable in our house?  What is he thinking?  

He is frantically trying to pull his pants up and adjust his belt again as he muttered, “My  belt is too big.” 

Trying to keep from physically strangling him, I say, “Are you freaking kidding me?  What are you trying to do to me?”  My voice is escalating and I can see in his eyes he is panicked that I am going to ruin his chance at any “popular” status in his middle school years.  “I had better not EVER see this again!  I am going to email every one of your teachers right now and tell them to tell me if your pants are ever below your belly button!  Do you understand me?  DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”  

“Yes, ma’am.”

I stomped out of the school with him keeping a safe distance behind me.  After taking him to wrestling practice, I made a trip to Walmart.  I walked in and headed straight towards the boys underwear.  Shoving three packages of whitey-tighties under my arm, I practically ran towards the checkout.  I was on a mission.  I drove home, went straight to his room, and emptied out his underwear drawer.  I then dove into his dirty clothes and yanked out all of his underwear.  I scoured his room for any other evidence of boxers or boxer briefs.  

An hour later, he walked in the house with the Chief to find a bright, white surprise on the kitchen table.  He immediately said, “PLEASE NO.”  

I simply said, “You're lucky they aren’t Strawberry Shortcake panties.”  I then stated, “If I receive a report of any sagging, the next step will be commando.” 

Problem solved.           

Connecticut Seasons

Moving to Connecticut I was told by 572 people how beautiful the seasons were in this state.  I decide to try and capture it.  I will say now, I have no desire to be a photographer, I am not even close to being good at it.  I tried really hard on these pictures to get the lined up correctly.  This is my backyard.  I started in January, and went all the way to December.  This is 12 months, captured in my own way.

Beautiful, isn't it?

Substituting Day One

I will start off by apologizing.  I have been a slacker.  I could say, “I have been SO extremely busy”, but that would be a lie. Frankly, I haven’t done a damn thing for like a month!  As many of you know, I have had a battle with getting into Connecticut schools.  It originally looked as if it were going to be easy, and then I stepped foot into this lovely state and have found that nothing is easy when it comes to being an educator.... 

As most of you know, it has been very difficult for me to get into the school system in Connecticut.  I finally have everything sent to the State of Connecticut Department of Education.  Now I have to just sit and wait for them to pass around my paperwork for six long weeks.  THEN they are going to tell me I need to take two of their state tests.  This I know, I unfortunately can’t take them until they tell me to take them.  Once that is done, I will be able to apply for jobs.  In the meantime, I have started substituting.  I first applied to all the districts around our small town.  Nothing.  

In Connecticut, to be a substitute you have to have a degree.  Check.  Then you have to go apply to each individual school district.  Each school district has their own paperwork and their own list of hoops to jump through.  I have been fingerprinted, tested for TB, and had a physical done.  I originally started with the school districts that were closest to me.  They were small and simple enough.  I did that and waited a week.  Nothing.  So then I decided to go for the goal.  Apply. In. New. London. Schools.  

Close your eyes, well don’t really because then you can’t read.  But just think back for a minute to a movie.  Let me help jog your memory.

Have you ever seen the movie Dangerous Minds with Michelle Pfeiffer?  That was me last Friday.  Once I applied with this school district, I was immediately offered subbing positions.  I was super excited.  Little did I know, the reason there were so many subs jobs in this district is because no one wants to sub in this district.  So my first job is high school art.  I was a little nervous because I am used to dealing with middle school, not high school....but it is art, how hard can that be?

So let me paint the picture.  I walk into the front office.  There is an eleven foot picture of Obama on the wall.  It had two inches to spare at the top, and ran all the way to the bottom.  Not exaggerating.  I wonder what trash can someone found that in. I'm not sure I have even seen a dumpster that big.  Didn’t see THAT in Texas schools!  So I get my assignment, and the receptionist gives me directions to the classroom.  About 18 turns and three stair cases later, I arrive to the class.  I unlock it and step in.  First impressions are important.  I should have looked more into this one.  The room was a disaster.  Remember, this is art.  Artsy people are lacking in the organization.  They are free, and creative.  They are flamboyant, and artistic.  They are not orderly.  I should have taken a hint at that moment.  If the teacher is a disaster, then the classroom structure is so far out the window, that it is unseen by the human eye.  Probably in the same trash can that held that 11 foot Obama mural.  So I sit down and read the lesson plans for the day.  She has three jewelry classes and three ceramics classes.  For the jewelry classes, she has them watching a VHS.  The ceramics classes are supposed to work on the art that they started the day before.  Okay, I can do this.  The class one, three, and five are getting the movie.  It doesn’t get easier than that.  The bell rings, and kids pile in the class.  Some look at me and groan, others say nothing at all.  With the attendance in hand, I wait patiently for the tardy bell to ring so I can get started. Or. So. I. Thought.  

The tardy bell rings and I say loudly, “Okay y’all, hush down so I can take attendance.”  Not a single student so much as turns my way.  They are talking, laughing, playing with their cell phones, and dancing.  I have two students grinding while another holds up his phone that is blasting music.  This is what I see:

This is how I feel:

I guess I wasn’t loud enough.  Surely they aren’t purposely ignoring me, right?  What should I do now?  Try again?  Walk out of the room and hope for the best tomorrow?  I’m sure they just didn’t hear me, they DO have earphones in...at least most of them do.  Going with that conclusion, I try again.  “Good morning!  If you all will take a seat (thought it was best leaving the Texan “y’all” out of it), I will take attendance.”  No movement towards seats.  Hmmm...guess I have to go with plan B.  I take my bad ass voice out (that I hide deep inside, although the Chief might say otherwise) and yell at the top of my lungs, “HEYYYYYY!”  This, they heard.  The room quickly got quiet.  “Please have a seat so I can take attendance.”  I begin calling roll, not waiting for them to move towards their seat (in fear they aren’t).  I manage to get about three names down before I can no longer hear myself speak.  I decide not to do this:

I yell again, “PLEASE HAVE A SEAT.”  I think all of one student stopped talking.  I move around the classroom and walk over to the students standing telling them one by one to sit down.  After about five students, they get the picture and make their way towards their seats.  I continue down my list.  About three more names in and I hear talking.  I stop and look at them.  The two students stop talking.  I continue gaining more confidence.  Once I am done with the roll, I explain that the teacher has left a movie for them.  I grab the VHS and pop it in the VCR.  It immediately pops back out.  Keeping my cool, I check and make sure it is powered on, and try it again.  It comes back out.  Now, I am silently cursing this ancient technology. There is a reason we moved passed VHS tapes. This. Is. That. Reason.  I’m not going to cry.  I’m not going to cry.  I’m not going to cry.  I turn towards the students, who are back to talking.  I’m gonna cry.  I try the tape again, saying a silent prayer.  It very diligently pops back out.  I laugh to myself and think, “Of course this is happening to me.  This is my very first day of substituting.  Not only that, it is my very first class."  I look around at these terrorist.  A couple are staring at me.  Their eyes are screaming, “What are you gonna do now, you fool?”  I look down at the tape.  Do you guys even remember what these hideous things look like?

This is what the one I am holding looks like:

Okay, not quite this bad, but the inside ribbon is loose.  I don’t think the ribbon is supposed to be loose, so I try to turn the hard plastic to wind up the disaster going on inside this prehistoric toy.  I can’t figure out which way I am turning it, and it only seems to be getting worse.  I this point, I would say I am desperate in saving this senior device that once brought all us old people so much joy.  It isn’t working.  I am getting no where.  I walk over to the folder the sub left me.  I open it and find “back up lessons”.  It is an article the students are to read, and then answer the questions.  I began to pass it out as the students start to protest.  I explain the movie doesn’t work, and we have to do this instead.  I decide to read it out load as a group (the English teacher in me).  I ask for volunteers.  I get none...surprising.  I look at the attendance list and call a name.  A student answers me, “I don’t read out loud.”  

“Why not?” I ask.

“I said, I don’t read out loud.”  

“Okay....moving right along.”  I call another name, and a student begins reading.  As the student is reading, I notice a young lady playing on her cell phone.  I walk over to her and say, “Please put that away”.  I am going to substitute a common word in the teenage language with the word “puppy”.  This is the response I get.

“Get the puppy out of my face.  It is too GD early in the morning for you to be in my face.”

After my ear drums explode, and I pick my jaw up off the floor, I make my way as far away from this hideous creature as possible.  My hands are trembling.  My heart is pounding though my head.  My stomach is turning.  I am focused and determined not to show my fear.  Luckily, she put it away.  Five minutes later we are still reading the article.  I look over and she is clearly working on math homework.  Do I approach her?  I decide that I can’t be a sappy pushover.  I walk over to her and politely ask her to put her math work away and read along with the classroom.  She gives me the stare down.  I don’t take my eyes off of her.  She shoves her math homework across the table.  I decide to throw a little more gas on the file.  I do the unthinkable.  I sit next to her.

“I KNOW you aren’t puppying sitting next to me.”  

I don’t respond to her.  I remain in that seat until the bell rings doing the rest of the lesson and questions from her table.  As she walks out she mutters some sweet nothings under her breath.  

I go the rest of the afternoon with a very similar experience minus the pleasant student episode, about four more times.  I quickly realize substituting is no cake walk.  It isn’t even fun.  I am relieved when the last class of the day walks in.  I get started on the same article as first period.  I have another sweet female student that decides to give me a problem.  Little did she know, it was the end of the day and I had heard enough of the puppy word, I had seen more cell phones than my eyes could handle, and worst of all...I was hungry.  Don’t mess with a tiny woman when she is hungry and moody.  The student is talking while a student is reading the article out loud.  I say, “Please hang on for a second, let’s let Maria finish her conversation.”  She stops.  The student continues reading.  Maria starts talking again.  “Hang on just a second,” I say again.  Maria looks at me.

“What is your problem?”  

“What is my problem?  My problem is you are being disrespectful to Jose.  He is reading, and it is hard to hear him with your mouth running.”

“Sounds to me like YOUR mouth is the one running.”

Last straw.  

I walk over to the phone, pick it up, and call the front office.  I state loudly, “I have a student that I need escorted out of my classroom.”  I replace the receiver, and say, “Jose, you may continue.”  Jose starts reading, at this point Maria has decided it doesn’t matter what she does.  She pulls out her cell phone.  Without hesitating I walk over and hold out my hand.  

“I’m not puppying giving you my phone, B.”  

“No problem, the officer will be here in a minute to deal with you.”  

As if on cue, the door swings open and a 300 pound, donut eating officer floods the doorway.  I have never been so excited to see a police officer.  I almost hugged him.  I pointed to the culprit, and signaled Jose to continue.  The lovely Maria, slams stuff around to let me know how upset she is.  I smile and tell her to have a nice day (feeling like an officer myself).  I then look at the clock and watch it tick down to 2:10.  Dismissal.  Substituting day one = FAIL.