Itchy and Scratchy

One of my colleagues was sitting next to her helpee, watching him squirm around on his seat in a fierce approximation of a rumba. She let this continue for a while but was finally forced to enquire, “What’s the matter with you?”
“My arse itches” was the not-unexpected reply.
“You need to get checked for worms, you should visit your doctor” replied my colleague, ever helpful.
Instantly a grubby paw was thrust into its owner’s pants and sent on a rummaging exploration of the offending area. It was withdrawn, inspected closely and the concept of worms was dismissed with a “Can’t see any”.
The same paw was then extended hopefully, “Can I borrow a pen?”

Poetry in motion

It’s English with year 10. I’m sitting watching my special little helpee scrawl his name graffiti-style across his folder. He seems oblivious that he’s turned the ‘i’ in the middle of his name into a giant penis complete with out-sized scrotum, it’s somehow fitting and I let him get on with it.

In front of me is Space Cadet and in front of him is the overhead projector that is projecting today’s post 1914 poem onto the whiteboard. The English teacher is annotating the projected image with difficulty because Space Cadet has a major twitch on and his outstretched leg keeps jogging the projector, each time moving the image away from the accompanying notes on the board. Despite the fact that the notes no longer match the text they were meant for, the rest of the class copies everything down robot-like and the English teacher soldiers on regardless.

Suddenly Space Cadet convulses with a sneeze that seems to lift the front of his face clean off. Everyone looks up, shocked by the enormity of the sound, and so everyone witnesses the horror that follows.

A shadow appears suddenly on the whiteboard, cast by something that has landed on the projector bed. Something that quivers and steams in the heat from the lamp.

Nobody says a word.
The English teacher continues to annotate the poem, being careful to avoid the hideous shadow. The students seem eager to complete their work, perhaps in the hope that they’ll be allowed to leave this room of horror early, and the sound of their scritching and scrawling continues unabated at a fevered rate.

The only one not bothered by this it seems is Space Cadet who merely sniffs and looks bored.

After a moment or two he turns to the unfortunate boy next to him, hikes his shirt to to his chin with both hands, bearing his torso and says, ‘go on, feel my lumps.’
The War poetry from the old syllabus was far less harrowing.

Standards

Let me relate a tale of a particularly unpleasant Year 9 girl, Slutty McSlut. She arrived one day, distraught and asking for a pregnancy test. Distraught that she might be pegnant at 14? No, distraught that her friends were laughing because she didn’t know who the father might be. She’d been at the gypsy site but didn’t know which boy it had been because
‘The caravan was dark and he was behind me….’

The day today

I’ve just sat in a Year 10 Maths class where the teacher was sitting next to a student, trying to help them. The conversation went like this:

Teacher: ‘Now you’ve listed the coordinates you have to plot them on the axis.
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Uh-huh.’
Teacher: ‘Take your hand off my knee Johnny.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Uh-huh.’
Teacher: ‘I mean it.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: (Now stroking the Teacher’s arm) ‘But Sir, I have feelings for you….’
Teacher: (Trying to keep a straight face) ‘Try and act sensibly’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘But Sir!’
Teacher: ‘That’s it; I’m phoning your parents.’
Johnny Head-in-the-air: ‘Oh come on Sir, you’re trying not to laugh.’

This is true and the matter is dropped. Johnny Head-in-the-air has a 1 hour detention already for this lesson so further action could be seen as vindictive and result in a general student uprising in the class. Much ineffectual shouting from both sides would ensue. Johnny Head-in-the-air looks around the room with his infectious grin to check that he is indeed the centre of attention before, having been reassured that this is the case, he returns to his work

Meanwhile I’m trying to help Krusty who tells me I make her laugh when I look at her. I do try not to look at her (it’s best, believe me) but she laughs anyway. At least she’s doing her work.

Behind me Mad Max, who has been sent out, is fumbling at the bottom of the door and sticking his ruler through the gap trying to attract his friend’s attention. Everyone studiously ignores him and waits for the end of the lesson.

I’m glad it’s Friday.

Before I can escape at the end of the day I’m accosted by SLAg, (my favourite student), who is waving a swollen and lacerated hand at me. She’s been bitten by a squirrel and fears she might have rabies.
I reassure her and offer her a Polo to ease her pain. It’s when you can help with the little things that the job becomes fulfilling. I don’t mention Tetnus and she heads off to enjoy her weekend.

Sex education

Ah, sex education classes, they can bring the best and the worst out in a class. Here’s an example that will stay with me for a long time; the format of the lesson is that everyone writes a question on a piece of paper, annonymously, and the Teacher collects them together. Questions are then pulled from the hat and read out by the Teacher who answers them frankly. Everyone gets to hear the answer to something they want to know or that is worrying them without any attached embarrassment.

OK, I’ve shared my good practice, now let’s see how it pans out in reality…..

Question: ‘Is masturbation harmful?’
Answer: ‘ No, masturbation will not harm you or hurt you and is a natural thing to do.’

So far, so good. But, wait, Urchin has his unwashed hand in the air.
Teacher: ‘Yes, Urchin?’
Urchin: ‘It can hurt sometimes Miss, when you tense your legs so hard for that long they can ache terribly.’

I just laughed out loud, that set the Teacher off and she laughed so much she cried. The class laughed too, they’d always known Urchin was a wanker.

A lighter moment

Chef is in Year 11, he smokes and, since he reeks of it most of the time, I know he smokes. He knows I know and doesn’t bother to hide it from me (as if….).
One particular day during a quiet part of a lesson, when the Teacher had wandered off to get some books, he showed me his new lighter.

‘What do you think of my new lighter Sir? Smart, innit?’
I hold out my hand, ‘It looks very nice, let me see it properly….’
‘Promise you won’t confiscate it?’ He’s not sure….
‘What’s the point? You’d only get another one.’ I reassure him.
‘Ok sir, I trust you…’ (Fool!) He hands it over.
I throw it out of the nearest window where it falls thirty feet to the concrete below. The tinkley sound of it breaking is echoed up in the classroom by the sound of Chef’s jaw hitting the desk. He looks at me with wide, staring, uncomprehending eyes. ‘You…you….you just threw my lighter out the window!’
‘Did I? Ooops, butterfingers’ I shrug, I really don’t care.
There’s a pause while he lets the facts percolate through his tiny brain. Then, he’s up like a shot and out of the fire door at the back of the room. As he pounds down the old iron steps I close the door behind him, locking him out.

I can still hear him crooning over his dead lighter far below when the Teacher returns.
‘Where’s Chef?’ She asks. I tell her, she smiles and hands out the new books. We both ignore the plaintive scratching that comes from the other side of the fire exit as she finishes. Eventually Chef’ll find his way back by going the long way round. Eventually.

Goodbye Mr Grimshout

Sometimes, even the most insignificant of people can have a major impact on the school environment.

A while ago a student informed me that ‘Little Charlie Bucket has been missing for three days.’ I hadn’t noticed and I didn’t really care so I strode onwards trying to shake the little informer off. He was a resilient fellow though, and he kept pace with me.
‘He walked home with Mr. Grimshout and hasn’t been seen since’ he continued.
‘Everyone is worried. Mr Grimshout probably killed him.’
I told him not to be so stupid and left him to his fantasies.

A couple of days passed and there was still no sign of Little Charlie Bucket. Everyone concerned was convinced that Mr. Grimshout had ‘rumped’ him by the canal and then disposed of the body.
Foolishly I inquired what exactly ‘rumping’ was and was told that it was a new word to described being anally raped when you secretly enjoyed it. That’ll teach me to be nosy; there are some things Man was not meant to know (to paraphrase Mary Shelley or, at least, an old Hammer film).

I did my best to quash these false rumours and moved on.
But I began to wonder……..

Now, Mr. Grimshout is a decent sort but he is very fierce with the students and they don’t like it. They wind him up mercilessly knowing that, although the volume of his ranting will rise far enough for the room and the corridor it’s in to shake, he is still essentially powerless to do anything to them for their disgusting behaviour. Eventually Mr. Grimshout’s shouting will reach a never-before-attained volume and the scumbags will have won their game. Their laughter will rise above even Mr. Grimshout and stay there until another member of staff arrives to take control.

Mr. Grimshout is certainly a volatile man who has a short fuse.
Could he have killed Little Charlie Bucket? I’ve certainly considered doing so on more than one occasion and if I was volatile……?
No! It’s ridiculous.
But still, maybe I should mention it to someone?

I find Little Charlie Bucket’s Form Tutor and explain what I’ve heard. She’s heard it too and we exchange a look. I didn’t get the reassuring denial I was expecting. She doesn’t know where Little Charlie Bucket is either. She’s heard that he was ‘rumped’ by Mr. Grimshout. She knows it’s ridiculous. But, still……….

We wonder and we wait.

Fate, in the form of Carnt B. Arsed, takes a hand.
During one of Mr. Grimshout’s rants Carnt B. Arsed stands up, points an accusing finger and shouts, ‘You rumped Little Charlie Bucket and threw his body into the canal!’

What follows is not at all pleasant; tempers are lost and Mr. Grimshout takes a bit of a break from teaching. Everyone is convinced that this is a just reward for the cruel way he ended the life of Little Charlie Bucket.

Except Little Charlie Bucket himself who turns up one morning a couple of days after the furore has died down. He was away with his family who hadn’t bothered to tell anybody.
Nobody cares, to the student masses he is a hero, he got rid of Mr. Grimshout, he was directly involved in the discovery of a new and unpleasant word and he is now famous for ever more.

Little Charlie Bucket is pleased he’s a hero, but a bit bemused by the whole thing and reticent about where exactly he and his family were.
Strangely, he has developed an awkward way of walking.
What if?……….

Goodbye Little Science teacher

Little Science Teacher has left us for better things. She will live on in our memories though; my most treasured memory of her will be her words of wisdom.
The most spectacular of her pronouncements in my opinion was this one:

“We know hamsters are amphibious because they lay their eggs underwater”

Not too shabby for a biologist!

A Day in my Working Life Part 3

Period four is Maths with Elwood and Dorkey. We don’t do a lot of maths because Elwood is too lazy, he only breathes because it’s automatic, and Dorkey can’t read or write. They’re both much more interested in chatting to SLAg (my favourite student) and Chav Queen who are pleased with the attention.
During the course of their discussion someone mentions bile and Elwood asks me what it is. Never one to miss a chance I tell him it’s stomach juice and that black bile from goats is dried in moulds in the sun to make liquorice. He doesn’t look convinced and asks for proof.
‘What, you think liquorice grows on bushes?’ I jeer, and his misgivings are put to rest.
Later on in the lesson when I pass some liquorice around Elwood refuses and we both laugh smugly but for different reasons.

Lunch

I am not allowed in the canteen because my wife met the head canteen lady at a school play and told her not to serve me.
I prefer the staff room anyway. I can always send a student to get me something from the canteen if I’m peckish after I finish the food I’ve brought with me.

I notice The Little Science Teacher is checking out new jobs on the Internet. We get to discussing working at different schools and I mention that I wouldn’t mind working at my old School down in Kent.
She look at me strangely and asks, ‘Where abouts in Kent?’
I tell her just as the warning signs begin to sound in my head.
‘I went there too’ she says, just like I knew she would, even though the school is a hundred miles away from where either of us live now and I’d left before she was born I just knew there was a weird coincidence on the way.
‘Do you know the hotel up the hill?’ she continues.
‘Oh yes, I set fire to it once.’ It’s one of my best stories and I look forward to recounting it to someone who knows the locale. I realise that maybe I shouldn’t have been so eager as her face changes.
‘That’s my parents’ house.’ She says.
Oops. I leave her with a nervous laugh and head to period five hoping that some karmic retribution isn’t coming my way in the near future.

Period five is DT with Year 9. Not much is happening when I get there because Baby Oddbod is in the next room jumping on tables, hammering the window and effing and blinding at the top of his voice.
The DT Teacher asks the class to stay quiet for a few minutes while he makes a phone call and then he heads off into the office that is between the two rooms. Of course everyone in the class immediately shouts out ‘Watch out Baby Oddbod, he’s phoning Senior Management to come and get you!’
But they’re wrong.
The DT Teacher is phoning Baby Oddbod’s Mummy.
‘Hello,’ He says, ‘is this Mrs. Oddbod?’
‘Yes.’ She says.
‘I’m just phoning to let you know your son is jumping on the desks, banging the windows and effing and blinding at the top of his voice in my lesson.’
‘Not my Baby Oddbod, surely?’ She says.
The DT Teacher holds the phone out from the office into the room that Baby Oddbod is occupying. There are loud and obvious sounds of him jumping on tables and hitting the windows counterpointed with a continuous tirade of ‘Fuckingfuckityfuckityfuckitbastardshittingfuckityarseingcuntingfuckingshittyfuckityfuckfuck FUCK.’
‘Did you get that Mrs Oddbod?’ Asks the DT Teacher in a pleasant tone.
‘Oh I got that all right, let me have a word with him and then I’ll send his Father down to sort him out.’
‘Baby Oddbod…’ Calls the DT Teacher waving the phone, ‘Someone would like a word with you’
‘Well they can fucking well fuck off the fuckers can’t they.’ Responds Baby Oddbod from the other room.
‘It’s your Mother.’ Smiles the DT Teacher.
Baby Oddbod’s face goes blank. His jaw drops and disbelief runs like a weasel across his face*. He takes the phone.
‘Hello Mummy….’ He begins but is cut short. There is a brief, one-sided conversation and then he drops the phone and runs. He runs out of the room, across the playground, down the path and off the school premises along the road.
We watch him go and resume the lesson.

After school

‘You’ll never guess what happened to me today.’ This from Mrs. Carer who looks after the Extra-Stoopids ™, it’s a statement not a question.
‘I was sitting on my desk in front of the class when I realised that the crotch was gone from my trousers. My dog must have eaten it.’
I nod understandingly, the dog, of course.
‘I had to go home and change, there was a huge hole there, it was big enough for a small child to fit through.’
‘Natural for a mother of two.’ I reassure her.

Home time.

* In-joke for Interzone readers.

A Day in my Working Life Part 2

Period one is Geography with year 10. I sit next to Sulky because she hates it and it puts me near enough to Carnt B. Arsed who I’m supposed to be helping. If I get Sulky to smile during the lesson I award myself 5 Victory Points, 10 if she laughs.
Sulky begins with her customary muttering in Urdu. I’m familiar with most of it, my Urdu gets better every day, I smile at her and she retorts with ‘Mortah aloo!’ (fat potato). I quietly remind her that we don’t use the ‘F’ word around me. I decide her shocked realisation that I understood her is worth an extra Victory Point and begin my scoring tally.
During the course of the lesson she laughs twice, the teacher laughs once and Carnt B. Arsed does all his work. Not a bad start.

Period two is Science with Year 9. It’s sex ed. time again, always good for a laugh. I’m stuck with Johnny No-mates as my usual student isn’t in today. Bottom group Year 9 do lots of colouring in, some of it within the lines. Today they’re to draw a title page for sex education in their books. Johnny No-mates asks if he can draw a penis and I agree that that would be a good start.
He sits chewing his pencil for a while and then says:
‘I don’t know what one looks like.’
The lesson goes downhill from there and I’m glad when it’s over.

Break

As I head towards the Staffroom I meet Mad Max coming along the corridor with his blazer pulled up over his head. He is peering from its depths with one eye showing.
‘I know it’s you’ I remark.
‘Sir! Sir! He yelps, very excitedly, ‘What are those things with only one eye called? I’m being one of them.’
‘Oh, you’re being a penis Max’ I reply as I continue on my way. Sometimes the little tykes hand you an opportunity on a plate. This cheers me up so I tell all the staff in the staff room that Fat Matt Marlborough shags his dog and we all have a good laugh.

Period three is English with Year 11. We’re studying similes and some of the students are having problems. Everyone is handed a worksheet containing similes that need completing.

The rain clattered on the window like………
The Moon hung in the sky like…….
The sound of the train was as loud as…..

There are thirty to complete and it’s not going to happen. Luckily I’m here and I give some of them the secret of my all-purpose, never-doesn’t-fit, works-wherever-you-put-it magic simile.
Evil Clowns.

The rain clattered on the window like Evil Clowns.
The Moon hung in the sky like an Evil Clown
The sound of the train was as loud as Evil Clowns chuckling.

See? Perfect every time. Serenity is restored as they all get to work, racing to be the first to complete the worksheet. The English teacher’s going to have fun marking this one.
The English teacher in question is currently asking Fat Matt Marlborough how his dog is which elicits a howl of protest and an accusing finger waved in my direction. I smile and wave to Fat Matt Marlborough from the far side of the class. I can’t quite hear what he mutters but it’s not pleasant.