…postcards from the edge…
- Upon receiving an assignment from me, “This is fucked up.”
- Y., please move your seat (5th warning to start working). “Why? I’m staying right here.”
- T., please put away that paper, and take out your resume. “My mother teaches it better than you, so I’m going to do it with her.”
- (after his SST)…A, where is your pencil? “Why, don’t you have one for me? I left mine in the car.” (upon seeing him again at 6th period, he still does not have a pencil…) A, can I have your assignment? “Why? I don’t have a pencil.” Well, I will write your name on it, and show your Mom what you’re not doing in class.” <blank stare>
- “Why do I have to do this book?”, Because your internet privileges were revoked after your foray onto MySpace. “But, why?” <blank stare>
- <<<insert passive aggressive pencil tapping here>>>
- “Why can’t I listen to my iPod? We’re not doing anything in here.” No, YOU are not doing anything in here. If you were doing something, you’d be doing it. D’oh.
- “Ms. V, you’re the only teacher who won’t let us say the F word.” Huh, really?
And today’s favorite, after watching Grease in my elective…
K: Ms. V, I can’t answer these questions because I wasn’t here.
Me: You weren’t here? We just finished the movie RIGHT NOW, and you are HERE NOW.
K: No Ms. V. I wasn’t.
Me: Oh. <blank stare> (mine)
I’m off to Edjoin.
**Lyrics from Teacher, by Jethro Tull