Mum's the Word

So this is why they have sympathy

I teach 8th grade. This is not generally as hard a job as everyone seems to think it is. I'm organized, I plan well ahead, I keep my kids busy with a lot of fast moving assignments that are relevant to their grade level. I have very high standards. I abhor busy work.

I like to think I'm relatively good at what I get paid for.

But I don't get paid extra to do what I did yesterday. Yesterday afternoon I had 17 students in my room that were on restriction. That means they didn't get to take part in the school-wide festival. And it means that the vast majority of them are screw-ups. They're on restriction because of consistent behavior issues. Or because they have flunked several classes. Or because they defaced or lost books. Or a combination thereof. Of the 17, 5 worked my last nerve to a fray.

The rules for a restriction room are simple and spelled out on the board:
1) They cannot leave the room. This includes bathroom trips. They were to have taken care of that at lunch. This is direct from the principal.
2) There is to be no talking or other communication. (HA! And again I say HA!!!!)
3) They are to remain seated at all times.
4) They are to keep busy in some way. (This one is a fucking joke because if they kept themselves productively busy, they wouldn't be on restriction.)

By 30 minutes into a 90 minute session every one of the rules had been broken several times. Except the leaving the room one. But they tried like hell on that. These kids asked to go to the bathroom no less than 12 times in the first 30 minutes. That's always the game of the day - whine and bitch and moan about not being able to go to the restroom. They argued that it's against the law. That their parents were going to call. That it wasn't fair (that one is the teenage mantra, isn't it? How unfair the world is. Don't I know it. I was saddled with you wasn't I?) One girl started telling me about how her mother is a lawyer, and her uncle is a lawyer and her father is a police officer and was going to come arrest me in handcuffs. This from a sixth grader!

God, was I ever scared. These pillars of society! After lil ol' me!

The bathroom rule is because restriction kids have a nasty habit of 1) disappearing if you let them leave without an escort and 2) using the bathroom as an excuse to wander around the school for 20 minutes. Also, with only a minimum of adults actually in the building, they tend to deface things in a heartbeat.

It usually takes the first 30 minutes to settle a group down to the dull simmer that a restriction room always is. At that point we've pinpointed the assholes. Yesterday I kicked two of them out for being completely disruptive. They were making it their goddamn goal in life to try to make me angry. The first went to the office. The second I sent to the teacher next door. It was amazing that as soon as I sent the second kid out, the room quieted. I find it an interesting dynamic that one person can so direct the bad energy in the room. I also find it amazing how really horrible children can be.

I was actually asked yesterday, by one of the assholes, "Are we making you mad?" He was visibly disappointed when I told him no.

I did have to institute a new "rule", which was that I was not answering any more questions. Because they are the same damn questions again and again and again.

"Why am I here?"
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Can I get a drink of water?"
"Can I go to another classroom?"
"Can I go to my locker?"
"Can I go to the bathroom?"
"Can I go to the bathroom?"

For the first one, they know exactly why they're here. It tells them on their appointment slip. As for the others, the answer is no because of rule number one. It's that easy. So I refused to take any more questions because what they really are is openings for stand-up comedy.

At about 60 minutes, the whining starts.

"I'm thirsty!"
"Why don't you take us to the bathroom?"
"Why can't we talk?"
"I gotta go to the bathroom!"
"I hate this room!"

At the same time, the pen clicking, fart noises and tongue popping starts. Because all middle schoolers regress to about 6 years old and stay there for years. That idiocy I ignore until it gets out of hand. It's better if they think they can't rile me. If they think they can, that becomes the new game.

By an hour and fifteen minutes in, everybody's ready to kill everybody else. I want to throttle a small group of kids and they're shooting all daggers at me with their eyes. I swore at the beginning of this year that I wouldn't offer to host any more restriction rooms. But then I broke my leg and since I've come back, I can't stand for the hour and a half that a different type of supervision assignment would require. Yesterday's was the second in a series of three of these goddamn nightmares that I'm part of.

I need a bottle of vodka to fortify me for the next one. Or at least the promise of a good Grey Goose martini after school. I think I deserve it.

Labels: I'm a glorified babysitter some days

posted by AnonaMum @ 1:18 PM