Mocking Him on the Internet

Friday. Integrated math 1 (read: algebra). Seventh period. 

Note: Ms. G's co-teacher in this period, Mr. R, is going on leave in December and has requested me to cover for him. So, there may be more stories about this group come December. 

Because of all the middle school classes I've covered over the last couple years, this year's freshman class are well-known to me. When Ryker walked in late, I totally recognized him. 

He sat in the back far corner. Not surprising. He did not remain in that seat, however, but that was the least of my worries. 

Then there was Joaquin. Next to him was a girl who was applying her makeup. (Insert eye roll here, but she wasn't bothering anybody.) Joaquin was saying things to her and about her. At some point, he realized he was pestering her, and he actually stopped, and he actually apologized. 

The girl? She informed Joaquin that she would beat him up after school. And she said it in a tone that said she could totally do it. The girl wasn't even 5 ft tall, and she was a slight thing besides. But she had the attitude of someone who was a black belt and knew she could take anyone down.

Joaquin turned to me then. "She threatened me." 

I pointed out that he'd been mocking her. She said it had been for the whole period. 

If I thought she was going to follow through, I'd've called someone about it. But the threat? Totally warranted. 

Joaquin turned his attention towards Ryker, and Ryker turned his attention towards Joaquin. 

The verbal sparring came to a head when Ryker called Joaquin a dork, loudly, and for the whole class to hear. I was in the process of chiding Ryker when Joaquin leaned in and very quietly called Ryker something worse. (I think it was b**ch, but if not, it was something along those lines. I heard it, but the memory has faded.) 

Ryker went to sit on the other side of the room. He wasn't calling attention to himself, although Joaquin was calling attention to the move. (Ryker had been loud before, but he was quiet then. I'd take the seat change with him not disturbing the class.) 

Eventually they settled down. But as the end of the period approached, both Ryker and Joaquin asked the usual question. Was their name in my note?

The answer to that question is always yes. If they have to ask, then they did something meriting inclusion. 

But, just because, I mentioned to Ryker that not only was his name in the note, I would also be writing a blog post about him. And I would mock him on the internet. 

Ryker's response? He wanted the name of my blog and he wanted to see the picture I'd use. (Yikes. As if I'd even use his real name. I may mock him on the internet, but he's a minor, and I'm not about to use any actually identifiable information about him.) 

I guess Ryker doesn't mind being mocked on the internet. Actually, that's not surprising, now that I consider it. 

Acting Like Middle Schoolers

Wednesday. Twelfth grade English. First period. 

Seniors. What could go wrong?

They were starting Hamlet, and we were doing some preliminary work with a Shakespearean sonnet. I had been running late that morning, and so I hadn't had much time to peruse the lesson plans, so I gave the directions very, very badly. 

This isn't the first time I've given directions badly, though. The problem was, the class wasn't exactly trying. Getting them to pay attention to the instructions and then getting them to work wasn't going well. And, I had a co-teacher (who I've worked with before) who is in the class all the time. They weren't listening to her, either. 

For the last fifteen or so minutes of class, they were to start listening to the play. Ms. S had left a CD and a boombox with which to play it. The boombox was plugged into the in-ceiling speakers. Technology I could manage. 

But, not so much. I put in the CD. Pressed play. And I got no sound. 

I turned up the volume. I switched the inputs. I stopped and restarted the CD. Nothing.

The class? Went wild. 

So, while I was dealing with the technology, the class was getting louder and louder, and someone threw a pen at us. (It missed. It hit the teacher's desk, but it did not strike either of us.) 

Ms. K was livid. They were acting like middle schoolers. Seriously, I expect that behavior from a middle school group, but from seniors? Yeah, no. 

I finally got the CD working. (I had to turn the boombox off and turn it back on. Then it all worked.) The class? Not listening to Act 1, scene 1 of the play. 

Ms. K wanted to know who threw the pen. (From experience I know I won't find out who it was. Many times the teacher can figure it out later.) The class mocked her for not being a real teacher. (Which was ridiculous. She's the special ed teacher in the co-taught class. She knows her stuff and has been teaching for many years. They seem to think she's an aide or something, which is also not fair to aides.) 

Ms. K? Held them in at snack. 

They were not happy. Also not happy? Ms. S. When I saw her the next day, let's just say first period is now in a world of hurt. And she was closing in on the pen thrower. 

Covering senior classes is supposed to be a cake day. Not so much with them. But, I had sophomores for the rest of the day, and they were lovely. 

Enjoying the Cooler Weather

Tuesday. Tenth grade chemistry. Second period. 

After 100℉ (38℃) temps the previous week, our weather fell off a cliff, and on Tuesday we were forecast to have a high of 72℉ (22℃). Ah, bliss. 

When I walked into the classroom, the thermostat (which was off) read 64℉ (18℃). And it was perfect. Just a bit chilly, but once the kiddos arrived, the room would warm up. 

The kiddos were not as cooperative as I would have liked. There was a table of girls who were having way too much fun. They had an assignment, but they "finished" it way too quickly. 

One of those girls, early in the period, mentioned the temperature of the room. "It's cold in here."

Me: "Yes. Isn't it glorious?"

Because it was. I was comfortable for the first time in months. I didn't have sweat dripping down my back first thing in the morning. 

The girl didn't see my point. She urged me to turn on the heat. 

Heat? Hell, no. 

I'm not insane. When we get to the colder months and I walk into a classroom and the thermostat reads 54℉ (12℃), the first thing I do is turn on the heat. But 64℉? 

By the time the girl complained, the thermostat was well above that. It was 70℉ (21℃) by the end of the period. (I did turn on the a/c after that, but mostly to blow air to keep the temperature there. It'd climb quickly and get very stuffy if I didn't.) 

It wasn't like the girl was dressed wrong. She was in long sleeves and jeans. And it wasn't that cold. But I suppose we had been so warm for so long that it felt positively frigid by comparison. 

The next day I had a similar argument with a senior girl. When she complained of the cold, I pointed out that it was forecast to get into the 90s (30s in Celsius) in a couple days. She said that was way too hot. 

Yup. Agreed. So, let's enjoy the cool while we have it. A blissful two days. 

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. 

The Chills

Whenever I find myself dealing with a challenging class, the teacher usually says something about them being "good kids". Only once before has a teacher referred to a kiddo as "evil". (I don't know if I wrote about her at the time, but I had her in a class later. This student.) 

I have encountered another. 

Damien (alias picked for obvious reasons) was noted in the lesson plan as "he won't do any work, but he won't disrupt the class". 

Okay, then. Tuesday. Eighth period. Eighth grade success. 

They were working on a Mission Map. They were to figure out a mission statement (for their life, I guess) and their four pillars (ideals of some sort), and then they were to make a poster with this information. 

They were given a packet of work to go through with setting goals and figuring out where they wanted their life to go. (This is the end of the year, so it was kind of a culmination assignment going over stuff they've been talking about all year.) They had instructions online. Ms. T said she went over all the instructions the week prior, so they should have known what to do.

But eighth graders with a sub for a week. They played weaponized incompetence. 

So, I wasn't much watching Damien. I did note that his desk had brown marker all over it. And he clearly wasn't doing any work. As promised. 

Half way through the period I passed out poster board. They were to make a poster, after all, and while I did not expect them to start the poster yet, I wanted them to have the materials they'd need. 

I warned them that they would only get one sheet of poster paper. (Otherwise the middle schoolers will make a mistake and need another. Not all, but most of them will. This is not my first rodeo. I know how they work.) 

And while most of the kiddos continued with their packets, Damien folded his poster paper into little boxes, and then he proceeded to tear them into little cards. Okay, then... 

I had Damien in class again on Thursday. The first thing he did was to grab the bottle of glue... 

Oh, no. Absolutely not. 

I took that glue from him so fast. (I didn't know what he was going to do with it, but it wasn't going to be good.) Then I noticed he had a blue marker. I attempted to take that away from him... 

And that's when I saw it. He kind of growled at me. 

Not his marker, but I decided not to have that fight. 

I tried to get him on task. I mentioned that he had already destroyed his poster paper. "Oh, was that what it was for?" Someone wasn't listening when instructions were given. 

But, I did give him another packet. (I had extra.) He then did with that what he had done with the poster paper. 

We kind of looked at each other. Damien just looked at me... Yeah, I like to joke that eighth graders are evil, but it is a joke. I know they'll grow out of it. They really are good kids. But Damien... 

Before I could contemplate how to get the blue marker away from him so he didn't make a mess of the desk again, the school psychologist came in and asked to take him for counseling. 

Yeah, I was good with that. Sadly, he returned after a half hour. 

Damien did not do any work. But he did not sacrifice any small creatures, so a win? (And I was able to clean off the desk.) 

Stupid Eighth Grade Games

I caught a week-long assignment in an eighth grade success class. And it was as bad as I anticipated. Oh well. 

Ms. T left me a packet of instructions with students who were likely to be issues and places to send them to. Many of the kiddos I had met in other classes, starting with that vacant art class at the beginning of the year. 

First period. Monday. 

Six boys spent the period in play mode. 

If I wasn't spending the period putting out (figurative) fires, I would have written down a list of their random conversations. They were at various parts of the room, so their conversations involved the whole class. And nothing would make them settle. 

So, when I had them again on Wednesday, I had a hair trigger. (The school is on a block schedule, so each period meets every other day.) 

Class hadn't quite started when Royce dropped an f-bomb loud enough for me to hear it. I didn't hear the conversation, but Royce had spent Monday joking with Antonio, and that was a good enough reason to send him out of class. (A neighboring teacher had offered to take a kiddo if need be.) 

Once Royce was gone, Ignacio started in. Well, not started. He sat in a corner, and he didn't do all that much. I had had him in the art class, and in the times I've seen him since then, he's only behaved worse. He was on Ms. T's list of students to look out for, and I was already irritated. So, out Ignacio went. 

As Ignacio was packing up, Joaquin decided it was a good time to start a rock-paper-scissors competition with Ignacio. I went to stand between them. Joaquin tilted a little so he could continue to see Ignacio on the other side of me. Okay, then, Joaquin just volunteered to go, too. 

I told Joaquin to go to the room directly below the one we were in. At this point Joaquin remembered he was on the escort list. (A fact he denied on Monday.) He refused to leave the room without an escort. 

Luckily, I had already called one for Ignacio (who was being sent to the in-house detention room), so I just asked her to escort Joaquin downstairs. She agreed. 

Three down. The class got very quiet. 

Then, Antonio started to talk... 

Me: "Do you want to work in another class, too?" 

I had three more classrooms to send kiddos to. 

Antonio wisely decided that that conversation was not one he wanted to have. 

It was amazing how peaceful things got once they were gone. Well, for a little while. 

The students complained of some high pitched tone. "Can't you hear that?" 

I didn't hear a thing. I closed the door. They said it didn't help. 

That's when I remembered the tones that only teenagers can hear. I spent a class period playing the tones several years back. 

So, I mentioned that someone was probably playing tones on their Chromebook that only the kiddos in the room could hear. As I am old, I was deaf to it. 

Kiddos were plugging their ears. Complaining. But as I couldn't hear it, I couldn't determine where it was coming from. 

The kiddo managed to annoy their classmates and their classmates only. 

I sat back. Watched for issues I could deal with. 

The kiddo must have decided that me not reacting at all wasn't any fun. The rest of the class no longer seemed to have an issue with a noise that I could not hear. 

Not too terrible. Sadly, Friday did not go as smoothly. 

(I'm writing this Sunday afternoon. I already got an email response from Ms. T. She is not pleased. The kiddos aren't going to be having a nice time upon her return to class.) 

Broken Record, Student Edition

Wednesday. English 9, special day class (read: special ed). Fourth period.  

The lesson plans had all sorts of warnings about this class, including the note that this was her least favorite class. The instructional assistant went on to warn me that the half the kiddos just didn't care no matter what they did. So, I was prepared for the worst. 

And... things weren't that bad. They were doing a vocabulary assignment that went along with their reading of To Kill a Mockingbird, and then they could use that assignment on a quiz for the last couple chapters they read in class. 

Early in the period, Kaleb asked to use the restroom. He returned in a timely manner. 

About halfway through the period the instructional assistant left (as that was her usual quitting time). 

It was almost the end of the period, and Kaleb again asked to use the restroom. I said no. 

Kaleb was not pleased. He asked why he could not go. 

I explained that he had already gotten one restroom pass in the class, and getting one pass out of class was all he was going to get. Besides, there were only ten minutes left in the class period, and the school administration had instituted a rule that no students were to be allowed out of class for those last ten minutes. 

Kaleb did not see my point. One pass per period? That was unreasonable as far as he was concerned. 

So, he asked again. Could he go and use the restroom? And again, I said no. 

"But why?"

Me: "I already explained why." 

Kaleb argued that when he asked the first time there had been eleven minutes left of class. (According to the clock on my computer, it had been less than ten minutes.) But even he couldn't argue that since the first time he asked time had passed, and at this point there was definitely less than ten minutes left of class. 

Then, Kaleb: "Can I go to the restroom?" 

Again, I answered no. Again, Kaleb asked why. And again, I said that I had already explained. 

This time Kaleb offered that he would be able to get to the restroom and back before the end of the period. (Likely true, as the restroom was just steps away from the classroom.) I did not doubt him, but I did not give permission. 

It was now time for the class to start getting packed up, so I made that announcement. Kaleb? Asked to use the restroom again. And again, he asked why not?

Now the rest of the class was invested. They encouraged Kaleb to just walk out. If it was them, they would just walk out. (If it was them and earlier in the period, I would have let them go as they hadn't used their pass for the period.) Kaleb did not take the dare. 

Around we went again. Maybe twice? I lost count. Eventually, time ran out. The bell rang. And they all left. 

Deep sigh. I'm not sure why Kaleb thought that repeatedly asking me the same questions would get different results, but freshmen. Kaleb did not realize just how stubborn I can be when pushed. 

Yikes, Kiddos

Monday. Middle school intro to culinary. Fourth period. 

(Yeah, it's called "culinary" not cooking and not home ec. Weird, I know.)

The assignment for the day was a worksheet where they had to convert measurements with a pirate theme. That is, there would be a question about storing fish in a barrel (so the pirates had food provisions) and asking how many fish (or how many barrels) and converting from pints to quarts. Or tablespoons to cups. Or gallons to pints. 

The questions made sense. And I thought it was a very clever busywork assignment for the kiddos for the day. 

But middle schoolers...

Yeah, they didn't like this assignment one bit. 

Since I have the science/math background, I understood what they needed to do. And I offered my help to those who asked for it. Some did ask for it.

And then I caught Irene writing on a paper that was not hers. 

Damian spent the period whining. The work was hard. Why did he have to do this? He didn't understand. 

But, did he ask for help? Even when I stood there offering? Of course not. 

Irene? Was writing the answers on Damian's paper. 

No, Irene. Damian must do his own work. But she didn't see my point. Nor did Damian. 

A student asked to use the restroom. I had another girl, Nina, out. When she got back... "But she doesn't come back when there's a sub..." She doesn't? 

Okay, then, time to call security. Nina returned, 25 minutes after she left. In passing I mentioned that I had already added Nina's excursion to my note to the teacher. Suddenly, Nina was apologetic. Could I please leave her name out of the note? Yeah, now she's sorry, now that she knows she'll be held accountable. 

Students taking forever to "go to the restroom" has become ridiculous this school year, so I've been keeping track of how long everyone goes and leaving that information for the teacher. Every day. And especially when I have to call security. 

Then I look up, and Damian is chasing Irene. And I can't get over to stop them as there are a bunch of kiddos standing between me and them. Standing? They had work. There was no reason for them to be out of their seats. 

Yikes. It was quite the class. 

The period after this? Totally mellow and on task. Sigh.

Did you take cooking in school? Do you like to cook? 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter...

Motivation Lacking

Monday (the week before spring break). Tenth grade world history. Eighth period. 

The assignment: work on the study guide to prepare for their test on Friday. For the last thirty minutes of class, show the movie Midway. Apparently they'd been watching it in thirty minute increments for a couple days. 

The test was for their unit on World War II. As I meandered around I got relevant questions. One girl verified who the Axis were. Another student was verifying who the leader was in Italy. 

But not everyone was on task. 

I noticed that Jasper and his buddy weren't on the study guide on their Chromebooks. I pointed out that perhaps they wanted to get to the work. They needed to be ready for their upcoming test. 

Jasper didn't see my point. It was Monday. The test was Friday. He had plenty of time to do the study guide. 

Oh yes, I've had this conversation before. Many, many times. 

Somehow Jasper got on the topic of his grades. He was doing fine, he said. Three Fs was just where he wanted to be. Um... 

The low grades, the having plenty of time to get his work done that he was not doing, those are topics I usually discuss with the students at the continuation high school. I said as much. Jasper? He thought the continuation high school sounded like something he should aspire to. 

While I do not begrudge the students at the continuation high school, as they were probably going through some things, I do not encourage students at the traditional high schools to go there. The continuation high school is to help the kiddos out of the bad situation they got themselves into. If they can avoid this, they should do so. 

But again, Jasper thought the continuation high school sounded way easier than his school. Sure, in ways it is. But if Jasper is going to avoid work, he won't get anywhere at the continuation high school. Which I said. But he didn't see my point. 

Deep sigh. 

I left his name in the note, and I let Mr. M know what Jasper didn't do. I assume Jasper bombed his test, and Mr. M can follow up to remind Jasper that he did not use his time wisely when it was given to him. 

Will that do any good? Likely not. But if Jasper hears it enough, it might eventually make some impact. 

Then we got to watch some of the movie Midway, which I had not seen. I'm including the trailer just in case you missed it, too. 

Have you ever seen this Midway? Do you enjoy history? 

Today's A to Z Challenge post brought to you by the letter...

Shut Down

Wednesday. Integrated Math 2 (read: math for sophomores, kind of geometry). Sixth period. 

If the above room looks familiar, it's because I was there two years ago in a long term for Mr. J. Ms. L, his co-teacher, was there, and she was going over the topic of the day, special right triangles. 

I was in the back of the room, and I noticed a student hadn't gotten out her notes or anything. She was on her phone, but she was using it for pictures that she was drawing in a sketchbook. While I have no problems with students drawing, it was time for the girl to do math. I gently urged her to get out her notes and follow along with Ms. L. She ignored me.

The girl next to her had her notes. And then it was time for the kiddos to get into IXL which is a math program. They are given a problem to solve. If they get it right, the problems get harder. If they get it wrong, they are given how it should have been solved, and then they get another similar problem. 

This girl had the computer open, the program loaded, but she wasn't starting the assignment. I leaned over and clicked open the assignment. (She was right there. It was one click.) The girl? She immediately backed out of it. Sigh. 

Later, girl one had her head on her desk. Girl 2 was busily writing a paragraph on the back of her math notes. Whining. About having to do math. (I didn't read the whole thing, but I glanced at a couple sentences.)

Ms. L, who also went over and urged them to work, told me that the girls hadn't been doing much in the way of math this school year. Ms. L said she was kind of happy that at least girl one was coming to class, as the last year she had spent more time in the wellness center than in class. So, progress? 

Baby steps, I guess. 

So, I helped the students who were actually trying and who actually asked for help. There were several of them, and they really did seem to catch on. 

This is how some students fail. I can only do so much in a class period, so I'd rather help the students who will take the help. 

Sophomore Meltdown

Wednesday. Tenth grade English, special ed. Seventh period.

It's district writing assessment time, and that includes the special ed students. Ms. C gave me very specific instructions on what to do. 

Their routine is to grab a Chromebook, log in, and do a warmup. But we were switching things up so they'd have more time to write. As I got class started, I informed the class they wouldn't need their Chromebooks, so would they please put them back. 

Adrian was not pleased. While the rest of the class put their computers back and I passed out the packets they'd need for their writing, Adrian wailed. He did not want to give up his computer. 

Luckily (or maybe obviously), Adrian had a one-to-one aide. Mr. J went over to Adrian and pointed out that Adrian was disrupting the class. Adrian needed to put his Chromebook back. 

Adrian? Laid on the floor. Wailing. 

One is not often treated to a fifteen-year-old throwing a toddler temper tantrum. At least he wasn't flailing his limbs and screaming. 

While the rest of the class looked on, Mr. J calmly pointed out that Adrian was disrupting the class, and maybe Adrian needed to take a little walk to calm down. Adrian didn't like that idea. He didn't want to be in trouble. And somehow that got Adrian off the floor. He put away his computer. And we continued class. 

Of course Adrian complained about the essay. And the topic. (They had an argumentative essay. Topic: the space program--continued funding, yea or nay.) And he objected to how they spelled "center" in the articles they were to use as their sources. (Apparently Adrian is obsessed with English spelling and said it should be "centre". Well, if he wants English spellings, fine.) 

Did Adrian finish the essay? Nope. But he did actually write something. So, that's a win. 

Dude-Bros

Monday. Esports. Fifth period. 

I mean, it's a class where they play video games. Cake, right?

I was walking the room, making sure the students weren't doing anything stupid, as is my job. And I got pulled into conversation with three boys... Deep sigh. You know this isn't going to go well. 

So, there was a lot going on. And in retrospect it's hard to remember what bit came first. In the note to their teacher, I explained them thusly: They didn’t seem to be doing much other than being provocative. 

Marco found a totally inappropriate game to play. (Title: Five Nights at Epstein's. Normally I'd search it up so I could link to it for you, but no.) I pointed out the inappropriateness of this endeavor, but Marco didn't see my point. His compatriots logged in and played the game, too. They claimed that Mr. P wouldn't mind. Sure he wouldn't. 

Jorge explained to me how the Jews controlled everything. I countered with how wrong and racist that whole argument was. I even pointed out how the people pushing those theories were the very ones who were backing ICE and such. And, that since the three boys were varying shades of Latino, they were directly targeting them. No dice. 

And the three of them actively mocked the very special ed kids who were also in the class. Those kiddos weren't in the room at the time, so I didn't realize what they were doing, but in retrospect, it was clear. 

The instructional assistant that came with the special ed kiddos is someone I have worked with many times. She clued me in. This was Mr. P's worst class. Obviously. And the maturity level of those boys was the main reason for it. 

Which leads me to believe that much of the problems currently in our country have to do with these kinds of dude-bros being too stupid to realize that they're stupid. We're spending way too much time trying to appeal to their better natures. Sadly, they don't have better natures...

I mean, we can hope those kiddos will grow out of it. I don't know. I think they were an object lesson to me. Don't bother. The rest of that class was fine. Focus on them. Not the dude-bros who don't even realize that they're the ultimate losers in this particular game.

The Stench

Tuesday. Seventh grade English. Sixth period.

The day had gone pretty well. But the instructional assistant warned me of one kiddo in period six. His seat was separate from the class for reasons. Okay, then. 

As I was getting the class going, the IA reminded Enzo of where his seat was. In the back, next to the door. I recognized Enzo; he had been in the art class (well, likely still is). 

The class settled into the assignment. They were reading something and answering questions. But laughter floated from Enzo's corner of the room. The table near to Enzo was enjoying Enzo's antics. Deep sigh. 

But then, that section of the room erupted in exclamations of horror. Enzo had farted, and they did not like the smell. I did the only thing I could. I ignored this. 

Enzo asked to use the restroom. 

Later, when the class had calmed down, and the table near Enzo seemed to be working, Enzo asked if he could go outside. 

My initial answer: no. But then I considered.

So, I went over to Enzo and asked him why. Yeah, he needed to fart again. 

Yes, please, take that nonsense outside. 

Enzo got no work done. If he had spent half the energy doing the assignment that he spent avoiding the assignment, he would have been done. But no. 

Alas, some of them never learn that particular lesson. 

At least we didn't have a repeat of the stench from earlier in the period. 

Unsettled

Thursday. Eighth grade English, co-taught. 

I was expecting a two sub day, but nope, Ms. C was there, like the last time I covered this class, just a couple weeks ago. 

They were doing the district writing assessment. Every quarter every student is required to write an essay. The prompts are standardized by grade level. They're given some source material (usually articles, but sometimes videos), and then they have some sort of question to answer. 

For this essay, the eighth graders were writing an argumentative essay on the media. (They could choose pro or con.) 

This was day two of the essay, and Orson had taken over the couch in the back of the room, stretched out. He had a computer with a game on it. Okay, then, Orson had finished the essay. 

The rest of the class, however... 

Ms. C gave them instructions. They basically already knew what to do. Ms. C had already explained the structure, and they'd been over things like citing evidence and creating a hook. Then Ms. C took a group of the students to work in another room, leaving me alone with the remaining group. All they had to do was to start writing...

Yeah, no.

While I hovered, helping those that had questions (mostly things to get started), the rest of the class started talking. And got louder... 

Then a boy arrived, late. He joined two others at the front of the room, and those three got into play mode. 

As I tried to figure out who the late boy was and settle the class, Cedric suggested that I adjust their seats. (Cedric was the boy from this day, unnamed the the post, but he was the one who played that entire period, at least until he left and had to be shooed back by security.) 

Just when I thought I was going to lose the class, Ms. C returned. And the whole class settled. Sigh.

(She apologized for being gone so long. There was a group of eighth graders roaming the school, including the boy who arrived late, and she was helping the principal corral them.) 

The three boys at the front? Ms. C stationed herself in front of them, and they still needed constant redirecting. 

And before you ask, one of the boys was not supposed to be sitting there, but Ms. C let him when the late boy wasn't there. Then when the late boy appeared she just left it like that rather than disrupt things during assessment essay time to move him. 

Ms. C told me that was her worst class. Me: "Really? I couldn't tell..." 

Repeats

Wednesday. I was expecting to cover eighth grade math only to discover once I got there that the assignment had been cancelled. Sigh. But, because it wasn't my error, they put me to work covering classes where the teacher wasn't out all day. 

Which meant my first period of the day I got stuck covering PE. Sigh. 

Lots of familiar faces. "My class" combined with another PE teacher's class, so I just had to take down how many laps they ran. Chilly day, but otherwise not too terrible. 

Then, for seventh period, I ended up covering a success class. Of the class of fifteen, three had been in the PE class that morning. (This is a frequent occurrence when I'm covering more than one teacher, so I was not surprised.) 

Mostly my issue in success was with one student who was doing anything but the assignment. I kept circling back around to him, pointing out that he hadn't done anything on his paper. He took twenty minutes in search of a pencil. 

When he asked to use the restroom, against my better judgement I let him go. He took along his drone. (Why he had a drone with him, I don't know. It sat on his desk all period, so at least that wasn't a distraction.) And the rest of the class informed me that he wasn't going to return to class. 

He did return. After twenty minutes. And after I called security to shoo him back. (He claimed he had gone to the office for reasons, but he didn't tell me that before he left.) 

The next day I was in a co-teaching situation with Mr. H. As we chatted, I mentioned my roving the prior day. We got to talking about how terrible the success classes were. And as I told him about what they'd done, I realized he'd know them, too. I told him that Simon was in the class as was Orson. 

If you recall, Mr. H was the one who took over that seventh grade science class when I hit my full thirty days, so he had all those students, too. 

Not Just Me

After my dead week the week prior and narrowly missing three other assignments, I was very relieved to catch an assignment for Tuesday. (Monday had been a holiday.) It turned out to be co-teaching, and in fact, it was a teacher I had covered before. 

Second period integrated math one (read: algebra 1/freshman math). As Ms. B was there, she taught the lesson that she had planned, and I "assisted" the kiddos. 

And... The last time I was in this class, it was a two sub day. And the kiddos were a handful. I'd've thought that things would go better with their regular teacher. Uh, no. 

While some teachers aren't that great and I can see why their classes would be awful, Ms. B has been around a while, knows what she's doing, and can handle a class. These kiddos, however, are just terrible. Of course, they are freshmen, which contributes to the problem. 

The lesson for the day was mostly review over what they had been doing as they had a quiz the following class period. (Ms. B: "Everyone needs to listen to this. You have a quiz on Thursday. You've all heard this now, so no one should complain that I didn't warn you ahead of time." Note: I'd be shocked if no one complained about a quiz they didn't know about on Thursday.)

I hovered. While the intent was to be available in case anyone needed extra help, mostly what I ended up doing was to redirect the kiddos towards the work they were supposed to be doing. While their teacher was doing examples and they should have been following along with the lesson. Sigh. 

Suddenly, three different students went outside to blow their noses. But that was too many students. So, I stepped outside to shoo them back in. Which they didn't like. 

Of course, as this was happening, a random student from elsewhere happened along, and he wanted to hang out with the students who weren't supposed to be outside. 

Random student (to student from class): "Who is this?" 

Because, apparently, the kiddo has never seen a substitute teacher before. (He looked familiar. I'm sure I had him in class before.) 

So, difficult bunch. Nothing I haven't seen before. But I left that class feeling kind of relieved. Why? 

It's not just me!

They act like that with their regular teacher, too. 

I mean, that's not great news for these kids today, but I feel better knowing they're not acting up just for me. 

Some days I need to know this.

The Gardener

Friday. High school art. Seventh period.

It had been a fairly mellow day. The students had projects to finish. Most weren't, but they were chilled out on their Chromebooks. (As the following week was finals week, and final grades would be due in a week, I figured they were either done with their work or they had given up. As long as they didn't disturb the handful of kiddos who were clearly on task, I wasn't terribly concerned.) 

And that is how seventh period started. 

But, about 45 minutes into class (we're on a block schedule with 90-minute periods, so this was halfway through class), Ashton, a boy seated right in front of me, decided he needed to talk to the boy in front of him. He called him "BJ" but then changed that to "blowjob", informing me that was really his name. 

(While the boy's name did start with a B, neither his middle initial nor his last name started with a J. Nor was his name something like Benjamin, which would have made sense being abbreviated to BJ.) 

The boy ignored him, so Ashton got louder. 

When I stepped in, Ashton suddenly had to do his art project. He "needed" a leaf from outside. Fine, then. Go and get a leaf. 

Five minutes later, Ashton attempted to bring in a branch that was taller than him and about as wide. When I reacted as one would expect, he couldn't understand why I wouldn't allow him to bring this into class. 

He left only to return with part of the branch that he had pulled off of it. Still rather large. Not the leaf that he claimed to need. 

(His seat partner was with him, but he brought back a leaf and a flower and things that were more appropriately sized.)

Ashton kept getting up to go outside to get something else, and kept returning with branches. Huge ones. He put them on the desk of the girl behind him (until I told him to put his mess on his own desk) and he could not fathom why I was not pleased with what he was doing. 

Did he attempt to sketch what he had brought in the classroom? Of course not.

Ashton eventually cleaned up his mess, leaving most of what he collected in the trashcan right outside the door. 

And it was a mess. 

Not all ended up in the trash, though.

You can't really tell from the photos, but he had left leaves and other debris all over the ground there. 

The plant destruction wasn't great, but after class the teacher next door said that the tree really, really needed a trim, so this was a great excuse for him to use to complain to site maintenance. 

(I took all those pictures while talking to Mr. A.) 

I think Ashton thought he was funny. But on the bright side, this was a high school class. If I had had middle schoolers, I would have had bedlam. But, high schoolers? They barely reacted to all of this. (Which is probably why Ashton kept going bigger and bigger, hoping for a reaction from them.) 

Distractions

Monday. Senior government, seventh period. 

In the lesson plans Ms. P warned me about Lou. But, I know Lou. Have since their freshman year. (Not sure what pronouns they're using at the moment, so let's leave them general.) I have written about Lou before: freshman English, success, junior English, and I'm sure there are other posts I can't locate at the moment. 

Lou's now a senior... Oh my, how time flies. 

So, of course Lou has matured and is no longer a problem? Of course not. 

Lou arrived just at the bell. I tried to get their attention, but they didn't even seem to notice me. Sigh. I guess out-of-sight, out-of-mind. It had been a while since I'd seen them. 

Ms. P had given her usual sub assignment which was questions on the chapter. She has her classes do packets of work, so I knew I didn't have to collect anything. Lou took one look at the assignment and declared, "I'm not doing all of that." Okay, then. 

First distraction, Lucia. Lucia had samples of honey that she was sharing with the class. She had gotten the honey from Mexico (I guess a family member cultivates bees, or something), and she was asking how everyone liked it. Lou? Hated it. Vociferously. 

Then Lou bounced over to Lilith. She had beaded bracelets all laid out on her desk. Lou went shopping. But, alas, Lou had no money. So, Lou called out to Asher. Asher would give them the money. 

And so began a back-and-forth. Asher said he had no money. Asher asked when Lou would pay him back for the last time Asher had lent Lou money. Lou admitted that they'd never pay Asher back. 

And Lilith? Lou tried to haggle down the price of things. I jumped in to state that handmade goods were worth the price, and if Lou wanted the bracelets, Lou should pay what they're worth. 

Lou complained that they wanted them for a Christmas present for their girlfriend. 

Eventually Asher relented, and Lou acquired a couple bracelets, but not as many as they wanted. 

Lou finally settled, getting a computer and settling down to watch some movie or other. The work? Yeah, they stated they weren't going to do it, and they didn't. 

Sigh. 

I communicated all this to Ms. P. She wasn't surprised. 

Nor was I, really. 

Lou's a senior now. If they don't do the work, if they don't earn all the needed credits, they won't graduate. We'll see. 

Phantom Cramp

Thursday. Eighth grade English. 

I had covered this about a month ago (and I have covered Ms. R's class many, many times), so I knew what I was in for. I also knew that her co-teacher was going to be out. The night before I made a silly wish. "Wouldn't it be great if Ms. S was subbing for the co-teacher?" 

Guess who ended up subbing for the co-teacher? 

It made for a way easier day. 

Third period. The class had just finished their warm up, and I explained their assignment. They had chosen a story or article the previous week (there were a limited number of choices, but they did get to pick amongst them), and Ms. S and I had passed out the stories to the students. They were to annotate the story they picked, and then they'd have questions to answer about them. 

While they were getting started on the assignment, Russell "fell" out of his chair. He was lying on the ground, not moving, just lying there. 

Ms. S and I conferred. She remarked that Russell should probably be kicked out of class. I concurred. Having known Russell from the art class, I knew that his behavior wasn't going to improve. This was the perfect excuse to send him out. 

Ms. S called another classroom to find him a spot. Russell complained. "But I have a cramp!"

Uh huh. Sure you do. 

Ms. S escorted Russell away. And when she returned, neither of us had to deal with his shenanigans for the rest of the period. Bliss.

Did this scare the rest of the class? Of course not. But at least they mostly read quietly. 

I do not kick students out often enough. There's a part of me that wants to give them one more chance. Maybe they'll actually "be good", which is what they always promise when I go to assign a consequence. The thing is, they never do. They just get worse. 

Rage Bait

Wednesday. Middle school graphic arts. Fourth period. 

"Five times five isn't ten. Are you stupid?" 

Class was getting started. I had explained the lesson (something to do with a honeycomb-shaped outline that they were to fill in with things about themselves), and they were getting out the materials they'd need. I approached the boys. (If you look at the above photo, the boys were sitting at that front corner, Nigel on the end and Nolan along the longer edge.) 

I agreed with Nolan, that five times five didn't equal ten, but I told Nolan that his tone wasn't appropriate. 

At this point the other kiddos (along the other side of the table) informed me that Nolan and Nigel weren't allowed to sit next to each other as they liked to rage bait each other. (Yes, that was the term they used: "rage bait".) So, I told Nolan to move, and he moved to the opposite end of that table.

Did that end the issue? Of course not.

Nolan kept finding reasons that he had to get up. He needed colored pencils. He needed to sharpen a pencil. He needed to throw out trash. He needed to blow his nose.

And every time he got up, he walked by Nigel. And then did something to Nigel. Like, he went to turn off his computer, or he shoved him, or he just said something to him. 

They rage baited each other? It seemed more like Nolan was bullying Nigel. 

I forbade Nolan from getting up. Nolan created a paper airplane and threw it at Nigel. Then he commanded Nigel to open it.

I retrieved the paper airplane and left if for their teacher. (Nigel saw what Nolan wrote. It was a homophobic slur.) 

I was so happy for the end of the period. As they lined up at the door, Nolan took another swipe. 

"Pink isn't a color for boys..."

Ah, this I could refute. I explained how pink used to be considered a more masculine color, and that really, there is no gender with regards to color. 

Nolan took my point, and then he tried for another avenue of attack. 

But that's when the bell rang, and it was no longer my problem. 

Kids at that age can be awful. That the other students knew of this tells me it's an ongoing problem. Why Nolan's so angry... I have no idea.