2009-02-19

No substitute for a substitute...

I've been slogging through my wee, fabric-covered high school diaries in preparation for my MORTIFIED debut, and in doing so, have felt pangs of emotions not really experienced since those heady days of colored mousse and slouchy socks.

Not because, as Ally Sheedy famously asserted in "The Breakfast Club," that age has made my heart die, simply because at a certain point, logistics dictate that you just don't get to feel certain things anymore.

Take, for example, the thrill of walking into class and discovering a SUBSTITUTE TEACHER. That feeling of being catapulted headfirst into chaos and utter ANARCHY. There's nothing that even comes close to that in adulthood, in my estimable experience. MAYBE coming into work and learning that the boss is out sick. Even then, that generally just means that I get to take a slightly longer lunch and go to the gym then, instead of at 5:30 like I usually do. But you don't really get a SUBSTITUTE BOSS....some kindly retiree who, kind as though she may be, is most assuredly going to be fucked with. You know, the way a substitute TEACHER gets it. You can't say, "OH, didn't HR tell you? On Wednesdays everyone leaves at 11:30 and goes shopping."

In discovering that a class was to be "led" by a substitute, I would feel a veritable gumbo of sensations: thrill, fear and pity. The milk of human kindness is not something the substitute teacher gets to taste. And so you can imagine the turbo gumbo gamut of emotions that I experienced when I walked into math class one afternoon and saw my BROTHER -- eight years older -- at the front of the room. Words cannot describe it. Here is a situation where one's own blood relation is going to be fucked with very badly, indeed, and there isn't much you can do, because there's familial loyalty, and then there's the need for self-preservation. I blacked most of this hour out. I do remember that a girl pulled me aside at the end of class and informed me that she thought my brother was "cute," and well, you know, ICK.

In 11th grade, we had a substitute in English class. In my diary, I mention that she was "small and ornery." I also mention that after 20 minutes of what must have been intolerable fuckery, she squawked in exasperation: "Be quiet and USE YOUR TEXTBOOK."

My friend Raziel looked down at his desk and informed his textbook: "I'm only going out with you for your money."

"BWAHHH!" I screamed in appreciation. Razi and I were the self-appointed spiky-haired Trustees of Snark.

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!"

There really is nothing like a substitute teacher. It may be the one thing I miss about high school.

lisamcc at 9:50 a.m.

2 comments so far
Brother
2009-02-19 23:22:27
Interesting that you blacked out that hour. I have blacked out any recollection of having ever substitute taught anywhere at anytime. Thus I do not recall being fucked with.... But I do recall seeing my miniscule paycheck and realizing the whole experience was SO not worth it. Though I did meet some interesting faculty members at the Hull Middle School who told me they were "Buddhists" and that, if I were interested in exploring that, I could attend one of their get-togethers. So with my open-minded youthful soul emboldened from my own collegiate studies of Religions of the East... I went. They spent the evening chanting for "better lives" ("Nam Myoho Renge Kyo) which they told me might be a new car, or a lot of money... and it would work better if a bought one of the nifty mini-shrines available from their leaders. I asked how that all might relate to the Buddhist goal of attaining the level of the Boddhisatva. They looked at me a bit, and then stopped talking to me. I left, disillusioned, and became the soulless wandering husk you see today. So because of substitute teaching, I've got THAT going for me.
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LisaMcC
2009-02-20 00:21:09
Well, that's what you get for teaching in HULL.
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