White Boards, Neon Dreams

I love white boards, or to those not in the biz- dry erase boards.

They’re crisp and clean and you can use a variety of colors. When I write on them I write in all CAPS, just because I think that is something grown-ups do.

I like to sit at the back of the classroom admiring my own writing on the board and feel powerful because, with an Expo marker in hand, I could ruin these kids’ lives!

Nowadays, chalkboards are obsolete and have been replaced by the SmartBoard. The SmartBoard makes me feel like a DumbAss. I think sometimes I’m more suited to teach the Wilder kids on Little House on the Prairie (not to mention Michael Landon is hot), but instead I have to work with these new age gadgets.

This Board O’ Smart is linked up to everything imaginable: the computer, the internet, a satellite, some foreign kid in Germany.

It’s sad to think this new generation will never experience chalk. The smell, the way it would dry out your hands, the awkward ass handprint that would show up on your black jeans. Of course the pegged jeans, side ponytail and New Kids on the Block sweatshirt in neon wasn’t awkward at all.

I think you do

Math is not my strong subject. In fact I hate numbers all together. I even get nervous when looking at the time. So I was extremely bummed when I found out I had to cover Pre-Algebra.

These kids can smell fear- so it is of utmost importance to continually fake it like I knew what I was doing.

I had almost made it through the day by simply passing out worksheets and sitting at my desk with a stern look on my face when suddenly some brave little high school musical look-a-like stands up and makes her way to my desk.  Showing no fear I firmly hold the answer key in my hand.

She be-bopped her way up and asked me if 5.5 was the answer to problem #10. I glanced down at the KEY and was relieved to see that 5.5 was in fact the correct answer.

“Yes it is,” I said.

“Really? But I don’t know how I got that answer,” she replied.

Oh crap!

Trying not to panic I quickly look at the problem to see if maybe I could wing it, but there was no way. I could spell out my own name with the amount of variables it had in it.

I calmly looked at her and say, “Oh, I think you do. Now go sit down.”

The look on her face was a cross between as if she had just seen God or found out that her cat died.

And that is how you make Math your bitch.

Middle school students are , like...so immature.

Today’s assignment in Science was to read through the Weekly Readers and complete a worksheet. At the end of each class the students turned in the Readers for the next class to use.

Because I get extremely bored during classes, I sometimes work on the dittos. I write in red pen and put the word "KEY" on the top and I ALWAYS finish before all of the students. Why? Because I rock.

Mid-day I pick up one of the Readers to see what great discoveries have been made in the world of Science. At first, I notice the last kid to have the book had scribbled into it. A couple pages into the book I noticed they weren’t just scribbles…there was a penis drawn on every page! Penises galore. It was penis palooza.

Not only were penises drawn on all of the male characters in the book, but inanimate objects were artistically transformed into the male organ. I started to erase the images and then I thought, “Who am I to destroy art?”

Of course I did not place the booklet back in the pile. It’s on my fridge held by a magnet that says,“Look what Shannon did Today!” along with the worksheet and extra credit assignments I finished early.

Bathroom Mafia

After an almost three year hiatus from subbing, I have returned. It is a bit awkward since I vowed never to return while scratching "he doesn't really love you" on the inside of the girls' bathroom stalls at the middle school.

At any rate, several "career" moves have led me back behind a desk. And it didn't take me long to remember all the little tricks these darling pubescent kids pull.

They think I'm clinically retarded. They honestly believe that I jumped from 1st grade to college, landed this great subbing gig and thus am completely in the dark when it comes to substitute shenanigans.

Misconceptions students have:

1. I think "Emo" is just a bad side-swept bang coupled with tight girl pants.

2. I've never seen a seating chart.

3. I buy the excuse that they have such underdeveloped bladders that severe internal damage will be done if they can't go to the bathroom THIS VERY MINUTE!

Yet due to my astute substituting skills, developed over my tenure, I am able to identify the crap. What's the latest observation you may ask...

I'm pretty sure this school has a highly organized Bathroom Mafia.

The bathroom run is one of the oldest tricks to be pulled on a substitute. Since the sub is not familiar with daily routines and does not want to be held responsile for any medical malfunctions- bathroom passes are easily obtained.

What I have seen with my OWN eyes:

1. After a series of quick glances and baseball type signals, one of the member will arise and ask to go to the bathroom. I allow.

2. After a series of repetitious sounds made by clicking mechanical pencils and sneezing, much like Morse code, another member arises and asks to go to the bathroom. I allow.

3. After an unexplainable series of rings and hang-ups on the classroom phone and an ominous message that appeared on the screen of the computer, another student arises for the bathroom. Fearing for my life- I allow.

This occurs during every class period. I have yet to figure out what exactly happens when they leave the classroom. I think it has something to do with scheduled meetings where members discuss their drug trafficking, prostitution ring or scam to get extra fries at lunch. Whatever it is... it's hardcore. 

My Favorite Game

I like sitting at my desk at the front of the class feeling like God. Sometimes I even jack up my seat so I appear taller and more powerful than I really am.

My favorite thing to do is scan the room and make eye contact with one of the students. I slightly close my eyes as if I'm concentrating while they begin to get a "deer in the headlights" look.

I stare at them for an awkwardly long period of time and then ask their name.

"Jimmy"

"And how do you spell that, Jimmy?"

As he spells his name I scribble on a sticky note, nothing legible. The whole time I'm staring at him.

"Why?!"

"Oh, no reason. Go back to your work."

They absolutely lose their minds!

I love it.