The Competition

Monday. Tenth grade English. Co-taught. 

The kiddos had some questions to answer from their reading of "The Masque of the Red Death" by Edgar Allan Poe, and then they were to begin reading the articles for their district writing essay (that they do once a quarter). And other than the kiddo in period eight who thought that that was the perfect time to blow up balloons and make balloon animals for everyone, the students spent their time making progress on their assignments. 

It's early October (at least, this day was), and while I had been scrambling for assignments, August and September were mostly filled with working days. While I was booked for most of last week, that was the extent of my bookings. The rest of October and November (and December and after) were completely blank. 

But this is when the jobs start popping up. 

I was seated, watching the kiddos work, when I got an alert on my watch. New job. I grabbed for it. Missed. Damn.

Then another job popped up. This one I caught. 

I looked over at my co-teacher for the day. Mr. H. The usual co-teacher was also out at the meeting (or whatever) that had taken Mr. E, so it was us two subs. Mr. H has been a sub about as long I have been, and we get along. We've both been trying to keep busy working. So, when I realized that someone (likely Allie) was putting in gigs, I let him know jobs were being input. 

Then another gig popped up. I grabbed for it. Missed. 

I turned to Mr. H. "Did you get it?" Nope. 

He got an alert that I did not get. (I heard his phone alert.) He grabbed for it. I think he missed it, but I'm not sure. 

Why didn't I get that alert? It could be that it was on a day I already had a job, or it could be that it was taken before it got to me. No matter. 

We both kept looking. Not much was input for a while. Or, at least I didn't get alerted. 

The class was working quietly. My computer alerted. I grabbed, and I got it! "Yes!" I probably shouldn't have said that out loud, but it just slipped out. 

Mr. H? He was still trying. 

At the end of the day I had picked up three assignments. During the rest of the week several jobs came up for grabs, and while I would have liked to have gotten more of them, I got a fair number. 

As of this writing, I have at least one gig booked for each week of the next six weeks (two weeks with one, three weeks with two, and one week with three), and a teacher reached out to let me know he'd be out for December and could I cover his classes? 

So, I'm working. Mr. H? He's working, too. Hopefully more days will pop up. I mean, it's likely. People get sick. Things happen. It'll be fine. 

At least I've got some things coming up that are already booked. 

Cure for Sub Boredom

Culinary arts. Friday. Sixth period. 

Yes, that's cooking. Yes, home ec is still around, although they don't do sewing anymore. I think it's considered a CTE class, that is career and technical education. 

The assignment was a cooking video and then they had questions to answer. 

The video: 

They had the video in their Google Classroom as well as the questions. I played the video on the big TV, but I wasn't too concerned when they ignored it as I could hear it playing from some of their computers. 

I walked the room to talk to a student about something, I forget what. Then another student said something, and I offered my help. I said what I always say. 

"I have nothing else to do, so please, if you need some help, let me know."

The student? 

"You can stream a TV show from your computer," and as she said it, she motioned towards the teacher's desk as if to say I should go there and not bother them. 

Yikes. That was dismissive.

But, teenagers. 

And seriously, they didn't need my help. I was being way too much. Which is part of the fun of subbing with teenagers. It is so much fun to be way too much when they are doing their sullen teenage thing. 

I got my revenge. I took a picture of their cell phone storage which wasn't holding many of their cell phones. And I sent it to their teacher. Bwa-ha-ha!

Phoning It In

Signs I've been subbing too long:

When I got the keys for the day, the secretary told me that Mr. J was in room 908. But I knew that was wrong. I knew that Mr. J was in room 911. Room 908 doesn't really exist. So, I asked for the key to room 911. 

I got to where Mr. J's room was, between rooms 910 and 912, and sure enough, the door now says room 908. I tried the key for 908, but it didn't work. I tried the key for 911 which did. 

So... why? One day (a day I was on the campus for, it happened last year when I was in that vacant art class) people on campus tried calling Mr. J in his classroom. The number to dial is the room number. But on this day, that 911 ended up going straight to the outside emergency line, and it broke the entire school's phone system. 

They reprogrammed his phone to extension 908 (as nothing else worked and that extension number was free), and I guess they had to make the room number match the extension number. 

Once in the room I found no lesson plans. But as the kiddos were arriving, the phone rang. Mr. J. I knew he wasn't going to leave me hanging, but he was running late, and he let me know to stall until he got there. (He was going to be out of class for a meeting, but he'd be on campus.) 

And after getting the kiddos going (he got there shortly after I took roll), he promised to put another assignment into Google Classroom for the students who were ahead. Alas, he did not do this as once he got to his meeting he got involved in his meeting. 

(I texted him to remind him, but he didn't check his phone until way later. Not in time for that class, but he put the assignment in for the next group.)

The class? Eighth grade science. 

The last class of the day was 8th grade success. It's basically a study skills class. Mr. J had thrown together a plan, and I was in the process of getting them started when another adult arrived. She explained that she was there to do a drug prevention presentation to the group. 

Considering how the day had gone thus far, I was not terribly surprised that Mr. J had forgotten. 

Did the kiddos pay attention? Once the presenter bribed them with candy, they were more receptive to the information. 

Some days... 

Stylin' the Eighties

Chemistry. Tuesday, eighth period. 

The lesson plan for the day was for them to complete some surveys the district was requiring of all the high school students. Mr. U said that it should take the whole period, but teenagers rush through things, so many were finished with much time to spare. 

Mostly they were sophomores, and mostly sophomores know how to not make a nuisance of themselves when they've finished their work. Most have learned how to sneak onto video games. 

But not Jessie. No. Jessie first distinguished himself by taking 20 minutes in the restroom. In a building where the restroom was steps away from the classroom. Deep sigh. 

I'm not going to list all of Jessie's misdeeds, mostly because as I write this it's been four days since I covered the class and I've forgotten exactly what it was that made him stand out. Self preservation, I think. I can't keep all of the silly things they do at the forefront of my memory. 

Why Jessie made the blog has to do with the last thing he talked about, just before the final bell rang. 

He asked me if I wanted to cut it off. Cut what off? 

He reached around his neck and pulled out a long, narrow braid... 

A rat's tail?!?

Suddenly, I was a seventh grader again. I think that's the last time I saw one of those. They're back? Really? 

So, I said the first thing that popped into my head. 

"1983 called. They want their hairstyle back." 

But the bell rang at the same time, so Jessie did not hear me. 

I'm not upset. It was a rather weak joke. It's been made hundreds of times. Just not about rat's tails. 

Rat's tail. 

Wow. 

I did not expect to see that style return. 

Still a Wanderer

I've been subbing too long. That's what this is. Because today's story has quite a bit of backstory. 

Wednesday. Senior government, special ed. Third period. 

It was day one of a three-day assignment for a teacher I did a long-term assignment for three years ago. So, I knew what the lesson plan would be going in. (And I was right.) 

As the class filed in, I greeted many students I already knew. They had been sophomores in that special ed world history class I covered in February/March of 2025. They had been a good group. A fun group. So, I wasn't too worried. 

Well, except for Ariyah. She's not a bad kid, but she had a wandering problem. 

We were to go to a launch event in the gym. California is doing a free community college thing, and there's a community college just down the street from this high school. That community college has partnered with the high school, and so personnel from the college spend the year getting the seniors all set up so they can slide right into college after graduation. 

(I ran into the end of the sequence last school year. This was the beginning.) 

I got roll taken (quickly, as I already knew most of the kiddos), and we headed out to the gym. 

Remembering the last time I was in this position, I made sure to keep an eye on Ariyah. Did she follow along to the gym? Of course not. She "had to use the restroom", which was code for meeting up with a friend. I walked on ahead to keep up with the rest of the class, but I did note when Ariyah did arrive in the gym. She took a seat in the bleachers. Whew. 

The group from the community college ran through their program. A lot of it would be new information for the seniors. 

I saw when Ariyah got up (with a friend) and walked out of the gym. Deep sigh. 

Did she return? Of course not.

But the program didn't take the whole period, so the kiddos went back to class. And Ariyah did actually return. 

So, I asked. She claimed that she had not left. I said I saw her leave. She said she had been outside with security. I could call and check. 

(Which security person? If I just call "security", I wouldn't get an answer.) 

Uh huh. Sure. But again, she's only hurting herself missing things that will be useful for her. 

Ms. M, the instructional assistant, said Mr. B gives her a long leash. So, I mentioned this in the note. The next time I had Ariyah in class, she only left for a reasonably timed restroom break. So, maybe not a major issue? I don't know for sure. Mr. B will take care of it.

Inappropriate Names?

Tuesday. Ninth grade integrated math 1A (special ed). Second period. 

Ms. G warned me that the class contained a core group of autistic boys. As I have of late found that I identify strongly with certain autistic traits (I have not been, nor will I seek to be, diagnosed as autistic), I figured we'd be just fine. 

I had met the boys before, in other classes. 

They had the usual math-type worksheet. They solved problems. Those problems had colors associated with them. If they got the correct answer, they used the correct color on the coloring sheet portion of the assignment. It's a quick way to visually see if they're doing the math right. 

The coloring sheet was of sea turtles. 

As the boys worked, they talked. And at some point, one of the boys suggested naming the turtles. 

The other boys objected. They couldn't name the turtles. I chimed in with the suggestion that there was nothing wrong with assigning names to the cartoon turtles on their papers. 

Then one of the boys commenced with the naming. "This one is Mr. T, this one is Ms. B, this one is..." 

He was using teacher names. I recognized all of them. They were all special ed teachers. Probably their current teachers, but maybe a couple from the previous year. 

Now, if the paper had been something weird, I might have objected. But they were sea turtles. It was a cute paper. I could detect no malice, nor was there any snarkiness. It was like the boy needed names he knew.

But the other boys objected strongly. "You can't name them that!" 

Again, I chimed in. "Those names are fine." 

Then the conversation went back and forth between whether they should name them that or not. 

Of course, that didn't last too long before they moved on to other topics. 

Often it is fun to be the fly on the wall, listening to their conversations. 

In Italian

Monday. Forensic science. Fifth period. 

The assignment: they were to watch the second half of a video on Amanda Knox. They had questions to answer that went along with it. 

And... I hate showing videos. The kiddos don't watch them. They talk. Do they do any of the writing they're supposed to do? Of course not. They had received the questions in the previous class period when the video was started. (I had extras if any student needed another paper.) 

So, it was the end of the period, and I was going around and collecting the work. One of the students who had spent the period ignoring the video and talking to her friend had nothing to turn in, naturally. When I pointed out that she should have been watching the video (I had repeatedly shushed her during it), she complained that she couldn't understand the video because it had been in Italian. 

Italian? Uh, no. 

I'm not going to rehash the whole Amanda Knox trial and such, but the whole ordeal took place in Italy. And, some of the people interviewed spoke in Italian. Not everyone, but yes, some of the video was in Italian. 

But the subtitles were on. The captioning was on. And when someone was speaking in Italian, on screen was the translation in English. (I watched the thing with them. No glitches. The subtitles were working.) 

I pointed out that the subtitles were on. Her reply: "I couldn't see the screen." 

Uh... So, all classrooms now have the big screen TVs that the teachers use for slide presentations as well as videos. The classroom is configured in such a way so that all the students can see the screen easily. If a student can't see the screen, they are generally moved to someplace where they can. 

Did this student say anything about having trouble seeing the screen? Nope. She just talked to her friend. 

If you want to do something, you'll find a way. If you don't, you'll find an excuse. This girl. All excuses. 

Those excuses won't help her grade, though. At least she'll have some excuses to explain to her parents as to why she doesn't have a good grade this early in the school year. 

Dressed for the Wrong Occasion

Two of the most beautiful words appeared in the lesson plans for the day: student teacher. Woo-hoo!

It was eleventh grade U.S. history, so I wasn't expecting difficulties, anyway. (I've subbed for this teacher many times in the past. Her classes are generally fine.) But all I had to do was input the roll and keep track of restroom passes. The student teacher, Mr. B, did all the actual work of teaching the kiddos. 

The lesson was on inventions that made life easier. I wasn't really paying attention, though. I was more focused on how the students were dressed. 

It was a spirit week. That's a week where the school encourages the kiddos to dress up to various themes of the day. I mentioned Adam Sandler day on Wednesday. I was at other schools for jersey day and "Anything but a Backpack" day. (Kiddos carry their stuff in something other than a backpack. Look it up on social media. It can be hilarious.) And I would miss the assembly on Friday where they were told to wear black. 

But this day, Thursday, they were to dress for the wrong occasion. And many participated in interesting ways. 

I caught a few students in Christmas gear. More beachy stuff, though. One boy in class wore an inner tube along with board shorts. (He was dressed for a pool party.) There were girls in fancy dresses. Two teachers were dressed in marathon gear. (Ms. V, who does run marathons, said it was very comfortable to wear her marathon stuff that day.) And many students came to school in their pajamas. (No pajama day this spirit week. That day tends to be the most popular.) 

It was kinda fun to laugh at some of the ensembles. I marveled at wintery gear as it's still in the 80s here, but the kiddos clearly understood the assignment. 

What would you dress as? The idea is that they're dressed wrong, and of course, they were at school. So, if that was the assignment, to dress for the wrong occasion, what occasion would you dress for? 

Taking the Assignment

About three weeks ago, I got an email from a teacher asking if I would be able to cover her class. Of course, I replied. 

Then last Friday I got another email from her. Ms. S was going to be out on Wednesday of the next week. Could I cover her class? 

I was already booked for Tuesday and Friday. The Friday I'd be working for her. I would be glad to take the assignment. 

The district does some things weirdly. It took them forever to get with the times and get the sub scheduling app. (Like, they were a good decade, or more, behind the neighboring districts.) And, in their infinite wisdom, they have decided that if a teacher wants to request a specific sub, they have to have a person at the district office input that into the system. 

So, since it was late on a Friday, I knew I wouldn't get the booking until Monday. Not a problem, really. 

Monday morning, I did not get called in. So, I was playing games on my phone when a job popped up. Because of how fast the open jobs go, I grabbed for it. It was only after looking at it after I managed to snag it did I notice that it was for Wednesday. The Wednesday I agreed to cover Ms. S's class. Deep sigh. 

So, do I cancel the job and hope the one I said I'd do pops up? Or do I keep the one that I now have? 

They can, at the district office, drop me from any assignments I have and reassign me. And, it I happened to grab the assignment when they were putting the other in, I might have missed it already. It was hard to tell. So, I stuck with the assignment I grabbed. 

It was a history assignment at the same school. And it went fine. (I won't be mentioning it any more as nothing very interesting happened.)

At least I worked that day. Things have been a little slow, but we're only just getting into the second month of the school year. Slow is standard for this time of year. 

Not That Alert

Tuesday. Middle school yearbook. Seventh period.

It was Adam Sandler day. Which meant everyone was dressed in shorts, sloppy t-shirts, sandals, and a baseball cap worn sideways or backwards. 

The yearbook staff was coming up with interview questions. They're going to have to go out and talk to their fellow students to get quotes for the yearbook. But, middle schoolers. Some weren't so very focused. (But things could have gone a lot worse.)

Mostly, I was keeping track of restroom passes. 

It's become a thing. We only allow one student out of class at a time, but each student takes a while, so there ends up being a line for the restroom. Keeping track can take half my attention most days. 

So, when the student asked to go while someone was out, I gave my usual response. "As soon as the student who's out gets back." 

While we were waiting, three other students asked to go. As usual. They got added to the continuing list. The last student who asked got a no response, however. We were at maybe twenty minutes left of class, and by the time the previous three went and returned, we'd definitely be at less than ten minutes left of class. We're not supposed to let students out that close to the end of the period. 

The girl returned. I called for the boy to go. He did not hear me. He was sucked into his phone. (Because it was yearbook, because they had come up with interview questions, because it was that kind of day, those are all reasons why phones were out and I wasn't making an issue of them.) 

Well, fine, then. If he wasn't going to go, then I'd go to the next person on the list. 

After she had left, and by that I mean that she had been gone for a couple minutes, the boy again asked. What happened when I called for him? But, it was ten minutes until the end of the period. So, even when the girl came back, I wasn't going to let anyone else go.

"But I really have to go..."

I mean, how serious was that need that he was completely tuned out when the person we were waiting for to return returned, and he didn't notice? When kiddos need to go, they usually are watching that door. (And the girl was not gone that long.) 

I told him he could go after the bell rang. At that point it was something like seven minutes until the end of the period. 

The time passed. The bell rang. The students filed out. The boy? I found him sitting in one of the nice chairs in the entryway to the classroom after I had done my final check and I was ready to leave. 

"I thought you really, really needed to use the restroom." 

I guess it wasn't as critical as he was making it out to be.

Identification Snafu

Friday. Peer counseling/mental health class, third period. 

(This class was a new one for me. The teacher has been with the school for several years, and I believe she taught this last year as well. As for how long she's taught it, I couldn't tell you.

It's kind of a psychology class, at least that's the foundation. But it's more geared towards teaching the kiddos about themselves with a bit about teaching them to do peer counseling through a couple programs at the school. I think. At least, that's what I gleaned.) 

This was my second day in the class. I had been there on Wednesday as well. (They're on a block schedule, so each class meets every other day.) And they had been generally okay. (Fifth period, which came after, was horrible. But, of a class of 33, five of them weren't freshmen. Age makes a difference.) 

However, this day got an extra degree of difficulty. It was pass-out-their-IDs day. And that's when they learned that they were now required to wear their IDs on campus all day. 

They did not like this.

And, the passing out of IDs did not go smoothly. Not at all. 

Having gotten a heads-up, I had gone to the teacher's mailbox to get the IDs and lanyards that I would need to pass out. But, there were not 27 IDs in the stack I got. It felt short, and then I counted. Yup, I was about 10 IDs short. 

As the announcement went out that they were getting their IDs, I held them up to show the kiddos that yup, they were getting them for sure. But not everyone. Once the IDs I had went to the proper students, I gave the students missing an ID a lanyard for when their IDs showed up. 

You'd think they'd be happy they didn't get an ID. Nope. A couple of those without IDs were visibly upset that theirs had not arrived. And those that got them? Yeah, not happy with them. (They hated their pictures. I can relate. I hate my employee ID picture as well. And they let me retake it when I got it.) 

Then I got a call from the office. They listed off seven names. Could I send them to the office? They had their IDs. 

So, at least a few of them were happy to get IDs. 

To say the rollout of this was a mess... Yeah, that did not go well. 

But then again, having worked for this district for a while, yeah, that snafu is an acronym really, really applies here. 

(Some people have a word for each new year. Something they strive for. I am beginning to feel like this school year has a word, and it's snafu.) 

Phone Forgotten

I was out the door on time Wednesday morning, even, maybe, a bit early. It was supposed to be a blazing hot day (we ended up with a high of 105°F--that's 41℃). I had been sweltering all night, and I was already drenched in sweat before leaving the house. 

I had noticed the day before that my usual route to work was under construction, so I took a slightly different route. Traffic wasn't an issue. Things were going well. 

And then, my Apple Watch buzzed. "Cell phone left behind". 

I was ten minutes away from my house. Do I go back for it? Do without? Do I have time to go back for it?

Well, no. I didn't really have time to go back for it. But, I turned around and went back for it, anyway. 

Now, of course, on the way back, I hit more traffic. Certain spots get congested with to-school traffic. And I knew. I made the wrong choice. I was going to be late. 

I called the school secretary. I have the school phone number on my phone, and I knew her extension, so while stopped at a red light, I called. I decided not to explain, just to apologize and say I was going to be late, but I would be there. Apparently there was an accident on the freeway, so she assumed that I was stuck in that. I did not correct her. 

I drove past the main office just in time to hear the one minute warning bell. I parked shortly after the bell rang to start first period. I joined the group of students coming into campus late. Security was there. She saw me. "You're for room 209?" Yup, that's me. She said that security had let the students into class. 

I had told the secretary I might be about ten minutes late. Turned out it was only five-ish minutes into the period when I got to the room. So, not too bad. 

The class was "early college academy" aka a college credit class they can take in high school. So, the kiddos had already gotten their computers and were logged in to the work they needed to do (presumably--they might have been doing something else as well, like typical high school students). 

I made sure that the official stuff got done (attendance, introductions, etc.), and then while they worked, I settled in for the day. By the end of class, I was in the rhythm of the school. And I needed my feet under me, as the other classes, especially the last class of the day, didn't go nearly as smoothly. 

The expectation is that we're supposed to be on campus about a half hour before school begins. So, by that metric I was very late. But we don't really get into trouble if we get there a bit later than that. We do need to be in class when school officially begins, though, so that was a fail. But, I haven't been that late on a day when I booked the assignment at a reasonable time in a very long time. (I have been late for very late calls, but that's another thing entirely.) 

Such a Cliché

Tuesday. Eighth grade U.S. history, fourth period. 

Mr. R, who was on campus at some meeting or other, told me that his fourth period class was really good, his sixth period class was meh, and his eighth period class... Well, he'd be stopping by to get them started off in the right way. 

(Note: Mr. R did drop by eighth period. He did talk to them about how they should behave. And they proceeded to spend the period not behaving well at all. Unsurprisingly.) 

So, I had high expectations for fourth period. Which they did not meet. Deep sigh.

The bell had barely rung when I noted a boy folding paper. I didn't look too closely as I was busy taking attendance. They were supposed to be doing a quick write and then reading in their textbook. (Mr. R had written the list of what they needed to do on the board. It was very clear.)

Hutton (the boy folding paper) then turned and passed the paper back to the boy in the seat two seats behind him. As Winston received it, I could see what it now was. A paper airplane. 

"How cliché." 

Yes, I said that. However, eighth graders do not know what cliché means. 

(They also do not know what it means to abbreviate nor do they know what state abbreviates to Conn. Those are two questions I got repeatedly all day.) 

Winston handed off the paper airplane to Axel who then did the obvious thing with it. Just as I said not to. 

To his credit, Axel did retrieve it and then threw it out. 

If it had stopped there, well, no harm done. But those three boys... They had lost their focus, and no matter what I did, they could not figure out how to do the assignments. 

(They were to compare and contrast the Pilgrims and the Puritans. Then they had a map of the 13 colonies to label and color. It wasn't hard, and they had all the stuff they needed. Well, except their attention.) 

It was a problem I had with them all day. I directed them on what to do. I pointed out that it was all written on the board for their reference. I passed out papers and gave them instructions on the next thing when the previous thing should have been completed. But eighth graders with a sub. It just wasn't happening. 

So, I resorted to my usual consequence for these sorts of things. I left names. 

The next even day (the school is on a block schedule), I was sitting in sixth period, minding a very good class, when Mr. R walked in. He had notes of apology to deliver. 

He had had a conversation with Hutton, Winston, and Axel. And they were required to express their contrition in writing. 

(Mr. R was just going to leave the notes with the secretary to give to me, but she informed him that I was on campus.) 

Apology notes are always fun. Hopefully, the boys learned something from the exercise. 

Actually an Improvement

Tuesday. High school art, second period. 

They're really cracking down on cell phones, and so Ms. G had asked me to make sure to collect their cell phones at the beginning of the period. I did. And, the students gave them up easily. 

Towards the end of the period, a pleasant ring tone rang out. Calm. Melodic. A ring tone I would choose for my phone. (Is it new? I must go and check my phone to see if it has it.) 

I looked around. The ringing phone was in the box of cell phones. Where it was supposed to be. 

I continued my circuit of the room. 

The students? Looked panicked. Whose phone was ringing? They had to stop it. 

As far as I was concerned, the phone would stop ringing soon enough, and the students would be more aware of making sure their phones were on silent before turning them in. 

But one student came up, searched through the box, found their phone, and silenced it. 

I mean, this was a win as far as I was concerned. 

Thursday. Eighth grade English, fourth period. 

This was a co-teaching day, and the kiddos were doing some standardized testing. Phones were put away in backpacks which were stored at the front of the room, or they were on a charger in the back. 

Midway through class, a phone on the charger started to speak. Clearly a ring tone. Ms. C (the general ed teacher) started to comment that the phone was where it should be and the kiddos should ignore it, until the phrase continued with an F-bomb. Oops. 

Ms. C made a comment about ignoring the profanity, and she said something about phones on silent. But, again, mostly a win. The phone wasn't in the possession of the student, especially during standardized testing. 

So, so far this year, no major problems with kiddos giving up their phones as required. Now we just need to teach them how to put them on silent. 

Baby steps. 

Naturally, Of Course

Wednesday. Seventh grade world history. Fifth period. 

The kiddos had work in their Google Classroom. They had vocabulary words and questions to answer. Easy enough. 

They were working pretty well, for seventh graders. There were a couple not doing much. One boy kept turning to the boy behind him, annoying the second boy. The usual. 

I went to look something up on my computer when I got the spinning wheel of doom. I tried a different tab, and spinning wheel of doom. Oh no.

A student noted that they couldn't get something to load on their computer. 

Crap! Did the internet just go down? 

I called the office. The internet had just gone down. 

Deep sigh. 

Why does this always happen when the work is all online?

The teacher had left extra work in case the kiddos finished early. They could work on other class's work. Mr. D also left word searches. Okay, then. 

I announced to the kiddos that without internet they could not finish their online work, but they could work on, and then I gave the list. Several of them pulled out the success assignment (as I had had them earlier in the day). Several of them wanted to attempt the word searches. One girl pulled out her book, and she asked me if I liked to read. (She said I looked like someone who likes to read. I think she meant that as a compliment.) 

I no longer had the good, studious behavior I had had before. But, that couldn't be helped. At least they had something to do. 

The internet returned towards the end of seventh period. At least the seventh period class, another success class, had work on paper. 

Burning Question

Wednesday. Seventh grade success, third period. 

(Different campus than the one I did the week and a half of seventh grade success at, but they were doing the same thing I had done last week. The counselors came in to get their student portal accounts set up. Looks like I had the vacant classes right on schedule.) 

The students had a school rules kind of an assignment (they were doing the A to Z of how they should behave), and mostly they were on task. Someone made a comment about the air conditioning. 

After the prior week's heat, this week was a nice cool down. We were still in the 80s (Fahrenheit, Celsius would be about 29 degrees), but it felt so much better. However, it was still air conditioning weather. 

Instead of responding, I noticed that the kiddo sitting right in front of me had on a black hoodie. And I finally asked the question. 

I mentioned that we adults have had this conversation. Why do the kiddos where black hoodies in the heat? What are they thinking? 

Several students chimed in. Mostly it was about having the sads. They said sometimes they just want to huddle in the comfort of a hoodie and wallow. (That's the gist of it, anyway.) 

Mystery solved. 

And then one student piped up with how they'll sometimes wear shorts in the winter. To which I emphatically agreed. And why is that? But to that I did not get an answer. 

Absence Modified

Thursday, while sitting in the teacher's lounge/workroom in the main office, a job popped up on the subbing app. A job I was kind of shocked to see. 

The previous Friday, Mr. K at the continuation high school had texted me to see if I was available to sub for him the following Friday. I said no as I didn't know how long the vacant success class would go, and so I was booked through the week. 

I had assumed that Mr. K had put in the request that day. Apparently not. 

I don't look too closely when jobs pop up, because if I don't grab it quickly enough, I miss it. (I'll click "accept" and then be told that another sub was already assigned to the job.) It wasn't until I got the "successfully booked" message that I looked to see what I had snagged. 

I was surprised to see the assignment for the next day. But there was a problem. It showed as a half day, afternoon. This I knew to be wrong as the continuation high school only has morning classes on Fridays. 

So, I called the school. 

I knew the secretary could fix the assignment, and I knew which secretary to call. When the system picked up, it asked me to dial the extension of the person I wanted. And then it told me that extension didn't exist. Deep sigh. 

The phone list I had for the school was from the 2023-24 school year. 

Well, I knew the front office staff. I dialed O for someone to pick up, and I recognized the voice. "Hi, Shelly. Could you please transfer me to Sabrina?" 

And when Sabrina picked up, I identified myself and told her what had happened. 

She was hesitant to touch the assignment as she didn't want me to be booted from it. I assured her that I get "absence modified" notifications all the time. So, she fixed it, and I retained the assignment. 

Of course, part of me just wondered if something went wonky and put in a job that didn't exist. But no. Mr. K just put in his absence the day before. (He is out a lot. I think he's trying to fly under the radar sometimes with his sub requests.) 

Fridays are pretty mellow at the continuation high school. Not much happened. But at least I had the sweet, sweet air conditioning. (The kiddos complained it was too cold in the room. I. Did. Not. Care. It's been icky hot here.) 

And Just Like That...

Tuesday. Lunch. 

I had just finished getting the students into their online gradebook (see yesterday's post), and I was organizing my stuff as things kind of go all over the place during class. The classroom door opened, and in walked a stranger to me. 

He identified himself as Mr. N, the new teacher. 

I had heard the prior Friday before leaving school that they had hired someone. We were in waiting mode, waiting for his paperwork to clear. As soon as it did, he could start. 

Mr. N told me he was starting Wednesday. 

All-righty, then. 

They gave us two days of transition. Mr. N needed the time to get his feet under him. I showed him what was up with the success classes. He was also hired as the school's new athletic director, so he had a lot of stuff on his plate. (It's been crazy without someone in that position as the school year begins.) 

But Mr. N is close in age to me. He's been at several schools. He's taught, coached, and done all the educational things, so he knows what he's in for. They're in good hands. 

That was the gig I signed up for. This is probably the shortest vacant position I've ever done. That's a good thing, really. 

And now, back to the day-to-day subbing of it all. 

(I told the kiddos this wasn't goodbye. I'd be around. A lot. And I will.) 

Winning

I connected with the middle school assistant principal, and she sent me a bunch of resources for the seventh grade success classes I was covering while the school was in process of hiring the teacher. In those resources was an offer that the counselors had made of coming to the class to help the seventh graders create accounts so they could access their online gradebook. 

After the previous week's debacle, you'd think I'd reach out to the counselors and have them help. Wouldn't you? Yeah, that's not how I roll. 

I could do this. 

The school is on a block schedule, so the class I met on Monday was not the class I had the issues with on Friday. Rather than chance another computer mix up, I put the students' credentials on paper that I handed out to them. 

I went through the slideshow. And I had the same issues I had Friday. 

"You have to create the password. Just make one up."

"It's giving you an error message? Did your password contain one capital letter, one number, and one special character?"

"Just go to your email and click on the 'confirm email address'. No, don't put in a code..."

Oh, and they had no idea how to find their email. 

Hands in the air, and I'd go over to find that they just weren't listening to my instructions. They plowed ahead, and then they got stuck. I'd have to answer the same question individually several times. So, basically what I expected. 

I handed out their credentials. I went back to showing them how to log back into the account they just created. "No, you don't have to do this screen again. You created the account. See how it says this account exists." 

And then, suddenly, they were all in. Poof. 

I just... 

I looked around, and they were looking at their grades. (I had not input any grades yet, but other teachers had. Their history teacher had maybe one assignment, so pretty much everyone had an A+ in that class. Some were amazed.) 

The feeling of accomplishment overwhelmed me. They did it! Mission accomplished. 

I won the day. Whew. 

Yeah, I knew I could get them through it. 

(As for the other class, the lady at the district office sent me an email early Monday morning. She had disconnected all the accounts that were attached to Sadie's info. This time I put their credentials on paper, and that worked. They got it all set up, too.)

One Minor Glitch

My little counter at the top of my posts page tells me this is post #4500. Wow. I'm kind of amazed I noticed it. I guess I've been doing this for a while.

Here we go again... 

New school year, new vacant class. This one is seventh grade success. It's basically a study skills class that is kind of an elective for the kiddos, but it's also kind of required. 

I was informed that one requirement of the class is that we're to have them do grade checks every week. Okay, no problem. For them to be able to check their grades, they have to have access to the online gradebook. As they are new to the school, they were going to need to set that up. 

They gave me the instructions on how the kiddos needed to set up their accounts. They also gave me the log in credentials the kiddos would need: their student ID numbers, their official phone number, and a verification passcode. 

Knowing how these things go, I tried to be clever. I typed in the info they'd need into the computer, and I sent that info to each student before class began. 

So, we were in the midst of it. And it was going as well as could be expected. That is, I had many students unclear on what to do even though I had slides with what they needed to click on up for them. I explained to the class, and then I had to explain again to individual students. 

While I was helping the students who were struggling, the students who got it had worked ahead. And found the credentials that I had sent them. 

Only... they all had the same credentials. They had the credentials for one student named Sadie. 

Sadie alerted me to the problem. Several students now had gradebook access to her gradebook. 

Ugh. 

I do not know what happened. I sent each student a different set of credentials. I typed them in myself. I double checked that I was doing a different one for each individual student. It took me over an hour. 

Doesn't matter. It was wrong. 

I deleted what I could. Many students hadn't even gotten that far. And it was the end of the period, so we were out of time. 

So, now I have to track down the person who can reset these things. The main office sent me to the IT guy who sent me to someone in the district office. But it was late afternoon on a Friday. 

At least I wasn't to see this class again until Tuesday. Maybe it'll be fixed by then? So we can try it again? 

Just when I thought I had a handle on things...