“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.

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.