Let's begin by setting the stage. I learned of this gig last Thursday evening and was told to keep it under wraps until after school on Friday. That means that my class didn't learn of my departure until they showed up Monday morning and I was there to introduce them to the long term sub whom I had just met.
My class here at Anonymous El. is made up of a bunch of talkative kids who love to have fun. While they demand that I keep a vigilant eye on them, the severity of the average offense ranges somewhere between "Knock it off" and "You're a dork, I'm calling your mom". I started the day off by informing the class that I am now "The Office." When they get sent to "The Office," they are coming to me and I was not about to go easy on them.
Predictably, the class with the most visits to "The Office" was Mr. "The Office's" own class. One of the little darlings was caught throwing erasers across the room. Another tried dancing on the desk. I told him he was a dork and called his mom.
The most exciting part of my day, however, came earlier this morning. One of the fourth grade teachers asked me if I would do a home visit for one of her problem kids. Before I continue, you have to understand that I actually enjoy dealing with with those of the denser persuasion. My reason for this is simple: I love to tell a good story and the denser members of our society provide excellent fodder. That being said, there is no shortage of density in and around public schools, so my stories should be plentiful. (If you haven't yet figured this out, I have done a stint as a fill-in administrator before, so I already know what to expect.)
Join me as I cruise to a dilapidated mobile home to determine why little Horace does not turn in his homework. The teacher had tried calling Mrs. Horace, but their phone was disconnected. When I arrived on scene a car was parked in front and the booming techno music was actually making the little ramshackle house throb. I began to worry that the structure might collapse if the music wasn't turned down, but instead, I regained my focus on the task at hand. Climbing the astroturf steps to the front porch, I made note of the sliding glass door that served as the home's main entrance. With no blinds to hide it, the inside was laid out before me.
The polite administrator within me rang the door bell, but, not surprisingly, it didn't work. The 8-ounce yapping dog, however, announced my arrival as he stared me down through the door. Next time I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping to arouse a sleeping giant. As I did, I noticed the glass of ice water on the kitchen table. The ice was not melted. "Someone is home," I quickly deduced as the techno music throbbed in my ears. I waited for the song to end and when it did, I pounded away on the glass once again. My window of silence was all of three seconds before the next techno track started, so I went around to the other side of the trailer and pounded on the back door. I even shouted out a greeting to inquire if anyone was home. No luck.
The second song was about to end, but someone didn't want intruders. The soundtrack turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots and screams. Was that a warning? If so, I was determined to heed it and off I went. No wonder Horace is failing.
Stay tuned for more fun tomorrow!
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