“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.

“Hello. This is the Substitute Locater System. Please enter your pin.”

I look up at my clock. Everything is blurry so I rub my eyes.

“Please enter your pin.”

“Is that a six or an eight,” I ask myself.

“Please enter you pin.”

Okay, it is 6:12AM and I am not really interested in getting out of bed. Curiosity gets the best of me though. I plug in my pin number.

“There is a job available. You will substitute for Ms. X. The job is at New High School.”

Click.

I imposed a ban on NHS and I refuse to go there. I think I can take today off. I have other projects I need to work on. Besides, I have someone special coming into town today and I need to save my energy. So I just settle back into bed.

Can pick-up where I left off in my dream?

6:31AM: The telephone rings.

After staying up until 2 the night before trying to find a position, the automated substitute locater system (”SLS”) finally sends me a job. I am greeted with, “You will substitute for Ms. X at New High School.” No I won’t; I was there last week and it was a terrible assignment. I had to send one boy to the office and the rest of the students barely did their work. I hang up and go back to bed. It is nice to just say no to work sometimes.

9:31AM: The telephone rings, again.

I yawn as SLS tries to sell a half-day position in a 7th grade class. It is at a school next door to NHS. I decide not to let NHS taint its little neighbor’s reputation. I take the job.

11:31AM: Testing, Interrupted.

With the state’s standardized testing in progress, I quietly open the door to my assigned class. The students look up, yet I try to remain invisible by tip-toeing to the back of the room. For the second time in two days, I met the teacher before I took over the class. She greets me with a five-foot voice and I respond with my five-inch special.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“Yes,” I respond, “I just did.”

“Well, I don’t really need you until 12:40. Feel free to leave and come back later.”

And I am gone before she can finish. Well, I am mentally gone at least. I did not have anywhere to go so I picked a corner in the back of the class and tried to refresh myself on basic cardiovascular functions. Fun times.

12:22PM: Praise.

I left the classroom door open during lunch. I do not normally like to be disturbed during lunch time. Lunch time is my time to take refuge and recharge. However, since I do not have anything to recharge from quite yet, I decided to keep the door open. Students trickled into the room. I got asked for my name.

“Mr. J,” I responded.

Before I know it, some artistic girls are writing my name on the board. They write that I am “awesome” and “cool.” They have no idea.

Ms. Y must have been thinking along the same lines because she asked me to leave my name and number so she could call me for future assignments. This is the second day in a row that I have gotten a call-back without the customary test-drive. I must have one of those faces.

12:43PM: Enter the smart students.

For the next 100 minutes, I am responsible for teaching the “benchmark” (i.e., honors) class. These students are talkative, but in a innocent sort of way. There is no cussing, no yelling, and no apologies. I stand there for a minute or two after the bell rings, silently sizing up the class. I decide to no say a word.

I begin writing on the board:

“My name is Mr. R,” a growing chorus of voices starts to vocalize every word for me, “I am here as your substitute today / Please turn to page 496 in the book and begin doing your vocabulary words / Stay in your seats while I take role.”

Finally, I break into the choir with my own solo debut.

“Class, I will first take role, then I will let you work. You may talk with those around you but please stay on task. I will do my best to stay out of your way, please do the same for me. Thanks.”

The students start to work, loudly. Some read the chapter first. Others define the vocabulary words. There are one or two throwing paper bombs at each other. I refuse to discipline because it is a benchmark class. I just take a cue from General Sherman and cut of the supplies. It turns out Ms. Y supplies the class with unlimited binder paper. After I captured the cache of paper, the war ended. Peace had been restored to the class and I did not even have to fire off a word of anger to accomplish it.

1:31PM: It Gets Too Loud.

Up until now, most of the “benchmark” students have been great multi-taskers: using their hands to write out of problem set answers as they gossip. With only 30 minutes to go, I started to wonder how much work was getting done. After all, the talking had been steadily increasing since it bottomed out sometime around one o’clock.

To took a quick survey of the class and found most of the students were not even halfway done. It was time for drastic measures.

“Class, I was nice and let you talk as you worked. You took advantage of me. Now, I need it to be absolutely silent for the next 30 minutes so you can complete the work. Actually, no, you are benchmark students. You should only need 20 minutes. Get to work.”

Acting as a silent observer, I pull up a chair next to the door and survey the class with my eyes. Before I confronted the class, students would catch my glance and take it as a sign they should be working. Now, no one looked up. No one dared speak a word. I can only hear the sound of pages furiously turning as the students make up lost time. All this and I did not need to pull out a green slip. These are “benchmark” students after all. They get it.

1:50PM: Too Nice for my Own Good.

It has been 20 minutes and I am growing tired of the silence. I need some excitement. I also need to keep my word and do another survey of the work completed. It turns out most of the students had made great strides toward completion in 20 minutes. For my part, I decided to let the students end on a high note.

“Okay class, you may begin speaking again. Please continue working until the bell rings.”

In less then two minutes, the room is filled with gossip again. This time, however, their idle talk was running over papers that had been pumped with lead and pressed into my hands–their exit pass to freedom.