Tuesday, December 14, 2004
Attrition
Like rats from a sinking ship, or cockroaches from behind a pissed-upon classroom radiator, teachers are leaving Shitty in droves. The ESL department is three teachers lighter than it was last year, despite the fact that there are at least a hundred more students. This means whole classes have been being taught by substitutes all year long. It’s kind of funny when you ask a kid who his English teacher is, and he furrows his brow and replies, “Meester Vacancia,” but it’s totally unfair to the kids, and certainly doesn’t help with the generally pervasive level of I-don’t-give-a-fuck around the building.
Well, one more teacher quit a couple of weeks ago, an enthusiastic young woman fresh off a couple of years in the Peace Corps. She had actually lined up a job at another school over the summer, but Principal Popeil refused to release her, setting the stage for a series of increasingly hostile conflicts between the two and culminating in him cussing her out for sending “unauthorized” letters home to her students’ parents.
She left. This was a good move for her, but it’s bad for me. I picked up one of her classes. This puts me over some sort of contractual limit on hours of teaching, so I’m making a nice chunk of extra money, but I’m earning every penny.
Teachers throw around a lot of words to describe their students, words that those that don’t deal with the little brats on a daily basis might find a tad insensitive. “Animals” and “Monsters” are the two you hear most often in reference to a particularly unruly and disrespectful bunch. I try not to repeat the “animal” invective, because I feel like it often has unsavory racial implications.
The children in my new 7th period class are Demonspawn. Satan’s Minions. Other teachers complain of their students talking too much, sleeping, or, Heaven forbid, getting up and walking around the room. I’ve got girls singing Daddy Yankee tunes while they projectile vomit and violently masturbate with a crucifix. And those are the good ones.
Like rats from a sinking ship, or cockroaches from behind a pissed-upon classroom radiator, teachers are leaving Shitty in droves. The ESL department is three teachers lighter than it was last year, despite the fact that there are at least a hundred more students. This means whole classes have been being taught by substitutes all year long. It’s kind of funny when you ask a kid who his English teacher is, and he furrows his brow and replies, “Meester Vacancia,” but it’s totally unfair to the kids, and certainly doesn’t help with the generally pervasive level of I-don’t-give-a-fuck around the building.
Well, one more teacher quit a couple of weeks ago, an enthusiastic young woman fresh off a couple of years in the Peace Corps. She had actually lined up a job at another school over the summer, but Principal Popeil refused to release her, setting the stage for a series of increasingly hostile conflicts between the two and culminating in him cussing her out for sending “unauthorized” letters home to her students’ parents.
She left. This was a good move for her, but it’s bad for me. I picked up one of her classes. This puts me over some sort of contractual limit on hours of teaching, so I’m making a nice chunk of extra money, but I’m earning every penny.
Teachers throw around a lot of words to describe their students, words that those that don’t deal with the little brats on a daily basis might find a tad insensitive. “Animals” and “Monsters” are the two you hear most often in reference to a particularly unruly and disrespectful bunch. I try not to repeat the “animal” invective, because I feel like it often has unsavory racial implications.
The children in my new 7th period class are Demonspawn. Satan’s Minions. Other teachers complain of their students talking too much, sleeping, or, Heaven forbid, getting up and walking around the room. I’ve got girls singing Daddy Yankee tunes while they projectile vomit and violently masturbate with a crucifix. And those are the good ones.
