Not just the tap-tap-tapping on a water bottle drilling into my head with the migraine, but I am getting even crabbier than normal...
Shall we talk about...
The kid whose head almost exploded when he learned that his final exam essay is the same day as International Senior Skip Day when nations everywhere grind to a screeching halt. I had moans and groans from other kids, which I had expected, but this kid got hostile. He was shouting at me and waving his hands. I was calmer in response, but only in comparison. I didn't actually say he could suck it, although I was tempted. I did the whole "it's your choice" spiel, because honestly, that's all it is. His CHOICE. Plus, the stupid essay is only worth 25% of 25% of their semester grade. Do that math. And then Chill. Out.
The kid who said he needed to take some excuse notes to the office. And his friend needed to go with him and vouch for him. Look at me with your bloodshot eyes: Hahaha. Haha. Ha. NO.
Parents who call me and want to talk about why Johnny is doing so poorly in class. In May? They call me in MAY? Maybe it's because your child has been passed out cold on his desk since last August and I actually had to call the nurse to check on him at least once? Maybe because he XEROXED someone else's research paper and said it was his? Or maybe because he has so many absences that I'm not sure that I could pick him out of a lineup?
I tell a girl to get her hands off the kid sitting behind her. She glares at me and spits back, "I wasn't touching him. I was turning the page of his book!" Riiiight, that makes sense. Seriously, you being a part of an in-class cuddle pile is less disturbing than you turning someone else's book pages. Be a doll and just turn around, put your bum in your chair, and keep your hands to yourself.
Did I mention that I teach all seniors? In a few weeks, these people will be wandering the streets loose! Well, more than they do now. Lock your doors, people. LOCK THEM.
And... if I don't have my own room next year and I have to spend another year with a cart and the elevator and the kids in the hall (Ms. T-8, kids-0), I will commit murder. I will. I have a cushy job, at a cushy school and no one bothers me, there are no laptops being thrown during fights, cell phones being stolen, guns being brought to class (there was that stabbing a while back) but... I want to not always have to ask permission to move or leave anything. And I just want to not have to run to every class.
Ah well. At least it's not just me.