“You will substitute for . . . “

I am half asleep as I listen for the name. After going to bed at two last night, I should not even be up this early. Why did I pick up the phone? The substitute locater system is on the prowl and I am easy prey. I refuse to be slaughtered today.

But would it really be that bad? I cannot bring myself to hang up; I need to know. “Okay,” I promise myself, “I will hang up, roll over, and go back to bed just as soon as I get the name.”

“Mr. X.”

Twenty minutes later, I walk into the same drama class I had walked out of last week at Mia High School. Part of me is devastated that I broke my promise. “I will never trust myself again.” I promise. Then again, I realize that I am pretty good about breaking those sorts of things. Besides, Mr. X has a two hour prep period that will allow me to blog, eat, and sleep (not necessarily in that order). I cannot not pass up the chance to get paid to do something that I was going to do for free anyway.

Mr. X has the best schedule of any teacher I know. He teaches two drama and speech classes, and gets two prep periods–two! Since MHS is on block scheduling, he only has three periods (out of six) per day at about 2 hours a piece. That means I walk into his first period class, take roll, and assign the drama students to practice their parts in the theater as I read The 4-Hour Workweek.

Next, I get a two hour break to blog–something I would have done at anyway. Then, I get an hour for lunch (after all this work my stomach is screaming for food, as if I had not been snacking the whole time anyway). Finally, I get another long break due to a scheduling mix-up until it is time to go home at 2:15.

Ultimately, I was paid for taking roll, blogging, and eating lunch. Although I could of used the extra sleep, who is going to past up such easy money?

Not me.

“Is this part of the dance?”

Last night, Cristian de la Fuente developed a muscle cramp in the middle of his samba on ”Dancing With the Stars.” As he begin to stumble,  I wondered if it was just a misstep. Perhaps he might have been acting? Like the rest of America, I was confused and bewildered. I breathlessly waited for Tom Bergeron to explain the situation and somehow make the world right again. Then, while Cristian squirmed in pain, it became clear that he was really hurt.

Back to the Future  

After discussing the possible fallout from Cristian’s injury, I called into SLS to find an assignment. After two less-than-stellar positions, an English position at Mia High School (”MHS”)came up. This school had personal significance to me because I had graduated from MHS some years earlier. I jumped at the opportunity, pressed “2″ to accept, and then later realized the horrible truth: I would be going back to high school–a place I could not wait to escape. Whoops!

Production Value

It is 9:30 AM and I walk into the main office. The interior, like the rest of the school, had been renovated as almost looked brand new. Approaching the secretary with a burst of confidence because I did not have to ask for a map, I put on a big smile and said, “Here to teach English for Mr. X.”

“Oh, you mean Drama. Great, let me get his role sheet.”

Drama? I signed up for English, not drama. I am used to teaching under-preforming, dry, talkative, and predictable kids. Drama students are smart, witty, outspoken, and intellectual–they are, well, students. These are the type of students who are ready to soak up the world. After learning how to babysit kids for a month, I am not ready to suddenly start teaching students who actually want to learn. My only hope would be to put on a show and pretend like I knew what I was doing.

Act I: Comedy of Errors

Substitute arrives at school. Walks toward theater. Substitute gets lost. Substitute wonders if it is too late to go home. Substitute has to ask for directions at his own Alma Mater. Substitute puts tail between his legs and whimpers under his breath.

Act II: Ocean’s Eleven

My first period class has about 11 students. I use the seating charter to take roll without calling names. I call this method “roll charting the class” or “roll charting” for short. I roll chart and find that 5 students are absent. Then, a few latecomers walk into class. Now, 2 students are absent. Then, a girl claiming to be “Jane” walks into class.

“Hi, Jane.”

Wait, there is one Jane on the seating chart and I already have a Jane checked off. I look to the other girl that is seated and ask,

“What is your name again?”

“I am Jane.”

“Jane what?”

“Ah,” she looks behind to seek help from a friend, “Jane S-s-s-smith”

“I don’t care what your name is but you are not supposed to be in this class”

“Okay, but I am her to help my friend on her project. Can I stay?” She smiles and tries to be cute after blatantly lying to me in my face.

“You know, ‘Jane,’ if you had told the truth, I might have let you stay. Now, I want you gone and I am going to call campus security if you do not leave right away.” Then I look to her friend and say, “Are you who you say you are?”

“Yes, you can check my id card,” she mutters.

“No need.”

Act III: The Final Cut

It turns out that Mr. X just needed me to take role and then release the students. No teaching, no drama, no fun. I did not get to develop my teaching skills. I did not get mold young minds. I did not even get to hear their clever jokes. I just sat in the theater and read The 4-Hour Workweek. Then it was off to lunch, one hour prep period, and a final 2:15 class that was excused after role.

Turns out I had the “chillest” day ever.  Too bad it was one of the most boring. Bring back the kids, drama students do not make the cut.