So I’m writing this post actually on June 22, but to keep posts chronologically correct, I’m putting the post date as few days before June 20th, which is the day of Graduation, which is what I will write about after I finish writing this.
I have a lot to write.
I haven’t posted here in quite a while.
Anyhow.
Substitutes.
It’s a while ago, but here’s the story I HAVE to write.
So, here it is.
Substitutes are poor creatures. They have to stand up in front of a classroom full of strangers, who resent you because you’re in charge and you’re probably going to make them do boring things. You’re already on their bad side, you have no idea what they are like. But the strangers in the classroom have dealt with teachers since they were in first grade, and this is their eighth year of experience. You lose.
I never thought that this would be true.
I mean, I just thought that substitutes were there to take the place of a teacher in case he or she decided to ditch school for a day or two. The obvious definition.
Well, I learned that all is not what it seems.
One fine day. I have Science first period, and it’s first period, so I walk into the science classroom. My friend E and R are already in their seats, because their homeroom classrooms are closer to the science room, meaning they get there first.
I look to the front of the room, and see that we have a substitute teacher today. Mrs. Y, let’s call her. So much for ‘I’m not absent often.’ (Quote, from my Science Teacher.)
Anyhow, I sit down, expecting the kids to torment the substitute as they usually do. And this time, I’m also half expecting her to burst into her speech about her community service thing.
You see, I had this particular substitute, Mrs. Y, as an art substitute before (or was it science? I don’t remember). But she had spent quite a lot of time telling us about her community service group that she made, something about Savoring One’s Life or something like that, and telling us that we should really join the group and telling us ‘advice’ for high school. AND about her book that she wrote, that honestly, nobody will probably want to read.
So anyhow.
I sat down in my seat, next to E, because that’s my assigned seat. We’re the first ones in the classroom, besides this chubby kid who sits in the back corner and doesn’t say anything much.
The teacher’s all cheerful and nod-y and happy. Guess she doesn’t know what she’s in for.
So more and more kids come in, and as usual, the ‘silly’ kids, the ‘popular’ kids come in last, because they’re out in the hallways talking to their friends and whatnot.
As they come in, they see Mrs. Y and when their back’s to her, they grin this evil-teenager smile like they’re plotting something. I just roll my eyes (to myself) and think, “what now.”
Because my science class fellow classmates have a gruesome history of torturing and ripping apart substitutes’---
sanity.
So the bell rings and we’re all obediently sitting in seats, never mind the fact that half the people aren’t sitting in their ‘assigned’ seats. They’re all neat and happy and looking at the board and not talking and folding their hands like they’re actually deciding to be OBEISANT for a day, but I know better they’re probably plotting something even worse than introducing themselves to the teacher and then shaking their hand and saying “Nice to meet you, (insert substitute victim name here),” and doing all sorts of stupid stuff you don’t do in a classroom.
The teacher clears her throat and says, “So, guys, you have a lot to do today, you have two packets to highlight and finish, and Mr. S (our science teacher) wants you to do this—“
She peers from behind her glasses at the student in front of her, slightly startled. The student is raising her hand ever so patiently yet very eagerly, waving her hand a bit in the air.
“…Yes?”
“Mrs. Y, can you tell us about your book?”
And from this, the whole class catches on.
“Yeah, Mrs. Y, we really want to hear about your book.”
“Mrs. Y, please?”
And I guess she’s never had so many students so interested in her book. She kind of smiles, and says, “No, guys, we have so much to do—“
“Oh, Mrs. Y, Mr. S said that we can do this tomorrow!”
She looks at the student, let’s call her S. S is nodding as she says this, probably a smile on her face (I can’t see her face, she sits in the front).
Mrs. Y is not thick-headed. “You’re lying!” she says.
“No, no, I swear,” S says, probably putting on a solemn face that can even swear on the Bible, if asked.
Okay, so maybe she is thick-headed. “Are you sure?”
I watch in disbelief as the class nods and shouts out ‘yes’ from different disobedient corners of the classroom, and even more incredulous astonishment as the teacher FALLS FOR IT.
Mrs. Y, probably so moved by the newfound interest in her otherwise pathetic book, says, “Okay guys, just five minutes. Just five.”
And even the kids who have coaxed her into this are looking back at each other, not believing what is happening. Has ANY teacher been so ignorant?
So the class is all hyped up at this.
And Mrs. Y is a talker, so she rants on for ten minutes. Everyone isn’t listening, but that doesn’t matter. The main part is that we’re not doing the boring work we were supposed to. That fact, in itself, is enough to amuse us and help us endure the boredom that Mrs. Y’s speech itself is emitting.
Near the end of the ten minutes, she mentions her “Savoring One’s Life” community service group thing. And the way she phrases it is as so: “…you know, Savoring One’s Life? You’ve heard of that, right?”
And of course, the students catch onto that question like it’s an inviting treasure. They rush to it like it’s a magnet, cling onto it like they’ll never let go. It’s an opportunity they could never miss.
“NO, NO WE DON’T.” S says.
Mrs. Y looks at her and says (again), “You’re lying!”
(I don’t know if it’s because she wants to end the conversation and start class, or if she can’t believe anyone hasn’t heard of her SOL (I’ll abbreviate it) community service thing.)
But the whole class says that they swear, they haven’t heard of it before, and somehow convince Mrs. Y that we can do the packets tomorrow.
And we spend thirty minutes listening to her rant about her SOL thing and her book and her brother, whom I do not want to condescend on or be mean to, but you know, things CAN get boring.
And then she realizes there’s like fifteen minutes left of the period and she says, “OH MY GOD WE MUST DO THE PACKET.”
And literally.
We highlight and take notes on the packet in.
Literally.
Three minutes. No kidding.
She tells us, “Now, guys, when you’re in high school, you have to know what to highlight, so that you can only see the important key points. DUHHH!”
O.o
And then she reads all of the ‘supposed to be highlighted’ words of the packet all in one breath (almost), pausing to say, “DUHHHH” in between every few phrases, just to make it seem like she’s teaching us something. And the sillier kids of the class catch along with her mood and say “DUHHHHH” with her.
Other kids are just rolling their eyes and highlighting almost three sentences per second.
After that, because we’ve done everything (and finished the questions in the packet, more like, wrote down the answers she gave us—“Gee, guys, you’re smart kids! Smart kids!”), we have time left.
So what we do is--
we look at pictures of her brother, who was the center of the whole SOL community service thing, and also was disabled after an unfortunate car accident. (Sorry, Mrs. Y’s brother, we don’t mean to hurt you, but it’s just to say.)
Obviously, my friend E and R and I are not interested, but the rest of the class sure is, and they all go up to the computer to look at her slideshow of her brother.
You see her commentating here and there, even once saying, “OH. You’re not supposed to see that, you’re not.” And you hear S say, “No, it’s okay, we see a lot worse” or something like that.
…
Oh, substitutes.
I have so much more stories, but I’m lazy, and there’s a lot. But trust me, things can actually go as movies illustrate. Which actually surprises me, because most people say life isn’t like 'in a movie.’
Oh well.
