Fun Time is Over

I am sitting at K and Unitarius’ house-I still don’t have internet.   We are watching a marathon of trading spouses-and incidentally-Unitarious is excited that I am updating-and K is telling me that her house is not a public library.  I should be lesson planning-but I am not.    I am a bad, bad teacher.    I am also hungover.  Have been all day.

Things have been difficult at school- I really don’t understand why no one will do homework.    The other day, in my 11th grade class-I had 10 people out of 35 complete their homework.   My 9th graders are even worse.  One of them told me “Ms Uberfrau, you make it more clear, you know?  Like have it up there on the board where we can see it all the time.  I mean, that’s why I don’t have my homework.”       I looked at her and pointed to the homework section on the board,  how I had reminded them all week that it was due that day-that at the end of every class I showed them the papers,  and that short of going home with her,  and sitting down at her desk and actually watching her do her homework, I didn’t know what else I could do.   She stared at me for a minute and starting laughing and said “My bad Ms. Uberfrau, I guess you have a point.”    Other teachers tell me not to bother assigning homework because they’ve given up on their kids actually doing it.  I mean, it’s not that I was all that great at doing homework myself-but come on.   I compromised with myself and weighted the grades so that homework would be only 20% of the total.     When I was explaining this to my new 11th grade class-this kid raised his hand and said “So I can still pass if I don’t hand in a single homework assignment?”    I told him that if he wasn’t doing the homeowrk assignments he probably wouldn’t do that well on other things either.   “But what you’re saying is that I could probably pass with a D?”    I told him not to sound too excited at low achievement.

I am really different with my 9th graders than with the juniors.    I think I am more goofy with my 9th graders-and also stricter disciplinarian.    To be honest, by the the time 6 period rolls around, I am exhausted.  They’re also exhausted.  And squirrels.   And Rowdy.  It’s a class of mostly boys.   Boys that smell and one of them at least, likes to eat staples.    I like them, I mean, they say the funniest shit.  LIke the other day,   this kid had a copy of a Herman Merville book of novellas I had in my class library.    I had noticed that he had been reading it for a week.   In between activities, he was talking to another boy: “It’s crazy.  Try to read it”,  he said,  “It makes absolutely no sense.  Open it to any page!   See?   You can’t understand it.  It’s so weird.”     Then he kept reading it.      After a test,  I told them they weren’t going to read.  this girl said “Thank God.  I can’t handle it Ms. Uberfrau. I can’t read another thing today.  Seriously.”     I started laughing.     she had been trying to re arrange her hair the entire reading period,   and insisted that she’d rather read a copy of the school rules than a book.   They are so crazy.   And have no filter.   And most of what they say is real.   Sometimes, it’s creepy,  especially when one talked about killing a neighbors pet.

I just got the 11th graders this week.    I’ve just decided that I am not going to tolerate behaviors from them that are a normal part of my 9th grade class-because, you know, they’re 16 and 17.   Seriously, I think if you’re old enough to drive,  then you shouldn’t act like a fool in a history class.     That’s not to say that everything is runnign perfectly, or smoothly, or that I am even a good teacher or that they are learning anything. It’s not that I don’t get frustrated.   That I don’t sometimes find myself in the chaos of sixth period taking deep yoga breaths and counting down the moments until the school day ends.   On the balance though?   I  am really loving it.   It can be a lot of fun.

Pita is still around pissing me off.   She continues to be  just a font of memorable aphorisms.   Let’s reveiw shall we?  “is that a tampon?  the only thing allowed in my vagina is my husband’s dick.”   “You look so pretty today!  Are you wearing makeup? No more pants and shirts for you.   You should also get contacts-no one can see your eyes.   You’re not getting any younger.”     “You’re vibrator is tired!  It’s saying turn me off!”,  “You bitch!  why didn’t you flirt with him?  Did you know he is single just like you?”.

Last week, I went to get some copies from her room-and she mentioned this other teacher who isn’t bad looking-and is seemingly single, as he is 37,  an aging hipster who wears horn rimmed glasses,   matches his  many pairs of sneakers to his shirts,  and rides to school on a motorized skateboard.  Frankly, I would not have even been remotely interested were it not for his voice-which is oddly deep and mysterious-the sort of voice you’d expect to hear on the other end of a dirty phone call at 3 am.    So she tells me that she thinks is he single and I said  I didn’t know.   I was trying downplay any perceived interest as she is the last person I would want to know anything about my personal life.

So Pita has taken over my lunch spot in the social studies teacher’s lounge(Of course, she doesn’t even teach social studies).   She eats there every day now, which horrible.   Yesterday, I saw her talking to skateboard aging hipster man.  What with all of the lesson planning and, you know,  new teacher meetings I have to go-I had forgotten about our conversation.      Until he got up to throw away his lunch bag-and Pita begins motioning to me wildly from the other end of the table, while mouthing something.  At first, I  didn’t understand-and then I  remembered.  And I go down there to get her to stop-and she says, quite audiblely:  “I’m so sorry-but he has a girlfriend-a serious girlfirend.”   I was mortified. I didn’t even know what to say, because it was so-welll mortifying-and eve more so becasue I actually was secretly interested him-which of course, I would never mention to any of  my work collegues.  Because I want tenure.  And not been seen as some crazy person who has boundaries, and a drama queen.

At lunch , I realized that I  AM back in high school.   I have no idea what Pita said to aging hipster man-but he was creepily nice and overly friendly  to me on Friday.  LIke before, he was always helpful and cordial-but never creepily nice. He actually punched my arm during some weird cajoling/howdy doody moment of horror and shame.  I hate Pita. I hate her so much.   I realized that I just can’t eat there anymore.  Instead, I am going to have to trek across the quad to another wing to eat with my other people-the english people.  They’re very nice, and usually don’t let me leave without a new lesson plan.   My advisor from college is telling me that I am being sexually harassed at work by pita, and that I should report her-especially because of the vibrator thing. I don’t know though.   I think I have to tell her that she’s pissing me off and that what she’s saying is completely inappropiate.

Shame that he has a girlfriend though.