Ned Bitters

[Editor's Note: Aaron R. Davis has the week off, so yesterday we brought you a special Lost-themed Murphy's Law and today we bring you the triumphant return of high school teacher and former HoboTrashcan columnist Ned Bitters, who is here with a special guest column sharing his favorite moments in the classroom this year.]

Another school year is almost over, and while that means that the daily stress will also end soon, so too will the daily belly laughs this job provides. No matter how shitty a day might be in a public high school, a teacher with the right attitude – or even my gone-south attitude – can, if he keeps his ears and eyes open and his overall job perspective in focus, find something hilarious every single day.

GREAT MOMENTS IN TEACHER MATURITY, I:
Our extremely successful basketball coach transferred to another school in our district after most of his star players graduated last year. His four-year tenure resulted in two trips to the State Finals and several scholarships to decent schools. He went from our school, the ugly stepchild of the county, to the fancy new Taj Mahal school, which he hated immediately. He would send daily emails bemoaning the fact that the kids behaved, came ready to learn, never cursed in the halls and (I gotta take his word on this one) actually listened to teachers.

So, he decided to stick it to his highfalutin’ new school and show some love to the shitstorm he deserted, a.k.a. my school. The two times his new school played us in basketball, he called all his old players in the days before the games and gave them detailed scouting reports on each of the players at his new school. He wanted to see his old dirtbags (most of them used to get pregame, in-school hummers from some of our skankier girls) trounce the goody-goodies at his new school. It worked both times.

GREAT MOMENTS IN TEACHER MATURITY, II:
The following argument took place in a packed classroom this year:

Bozo #1: You’re an asshole, and every kid in this school hates your guts!
Bozo #2: Go ahead and keep cursing. You know you can get away with anything because you know your old man will clean it up, just like he cleans up all your messes.
Bozo #3: Come out in the hall right now!
Bozo #4: No, but I’ll see you in the parking lot after school.

At this point you probably expect me to describe how some teacher then mishandled this brewing bout of fisticuffs. But alas, no teacher stopped this, because this dispute took place between two young male teachers in a classroom full of kids. (The one’s father works in the school, hence the shot about his pappy smoothing over all his bullshit.) No fight transpired. No administrative discipline was issued. No kid who saw it didn’t have his month made by their pathetic display of immaturity.

GREAT MOMENTS IN TEACHER MATURITY, III:
As ol’ Ned Bitters becomes Old Ned Bitters (I ain’t 50 yet, but I can see the light from it’s balding head peaking over the horizon), the kids have a lot fun at my balding, graying and wrinkling expense. I don’t mind it. I have a lot of fun with it, actually, because it allows me to do what I do best. (What’s that? Teach? Oh, my goodness, did you really think that? I’ll have to add that absurd bit of speculation to the next volume of hilarious moments.) No, it allows me to talk shit to the kids.

Years ago I noted the “Inappropriate Comment Line,” rubbed that sucker out and never paid it no mind again. Here’s one of the milder examples of how I handle the playful abuse I get about my getting closer and closer to death due to old age. I said something (I have no idea what) that showed my age a few weeks ago, and a senior I know well said, “What? Well, I guess you would say that, Bitters. I mean, damn, you are about 80 now, right?” I could have taken offense. I could have laughed it off and said nothing. But such responses are for pussies … and adults. So I said, quite ruefully, “Yeah, that’s about right, Antonio. I can’t go more than two times a night with your mom anymore.” Game, set and match, Mister Bitters.

GREAT MOMENTS IN PARENT MATURITY:
Our principal came into a staff meeting and said he was having a hard time focusing on the agenda at hand. He said he just got off a conference call with the fathers of two girls who have had repeated run-ins at school this year. They haven’t fought (yet), but they’ve come quite close to it, and their actions have disrupted classes, the cafeteria and the hallways. How did one of the fathers (I’ll call him Daddy Detente) propose that their two idiot kids resolve their problem? “How about we bring the girls up to the so-and-so playground tonight at 7 and let them fight it out right there in front of us.” The principal somehow talked them out of that crackerjack plan. The two girls still have not fought. At least in school. I assume they are both still getting top-notch parenting at home.

GREAT MOMENTS IN FRESHMEN MATURITY:
For six weeks this winter, the freshmen, who are usually the worst-behaved kids in the school, ramped their bullshit up three notches, engaging in daily fights and getting written up by teachers for classroom hijinx at an alarming rate. So the freshmen vice-principal had the brilliant idea of calling the entire freshmen class into the auditorium for a reaming-out assembly. His plan was to shout and shame them into better behavior, because after all, they’re only 13-14 years old, and most are still at the maturity level where an angry screaming adult will make them feel bad. Riiiiiight.

He gets them into the auditorium and manages to get them quiet. Not one kid is making a sound. The vice-principal, no doubt feeling like Dr. King before the “Dream” speech, began his prepared remarks, ready to move these miscreant teens into a change for the better with a stirring bit of inspirational rhetoric. His first line is, “You have been called here as a class because of some very serious issues we’ve been seeing with you.” The silence continued. He has them. He can do this. He can affect mass behavioral change with his passion and eloquence.

His second line was, “According to school statistics, the freshmen class has twice the amount of referrals and three times as many fights as any other grade level in this school!” And here the silence ended. Pandemonium ensued. The entire class started applauding and hooting in self-congratulations. Kids were standing and giving high fives. A “Class of ’14!” chant started. The assembly was pretty much over.

The fights and referrals continued. Another assembly was not held. And so far, I have not laughed harder in school this year than I did at that moment. Hey, the kids can make fun of my age, but I’ll be damned if I’ll they’ll ever be able to make fun of my maturity.

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Similar Posts:

• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2009
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. III

Ned Bitters

[Editor's Note: I am Joel Murphy, which means that I obviously have the time to write this little introduction, but I can't find the time to writing a column this week. Let's all just assume that I have a very important reason for doing so - like I'm helping to cure cancer or something - and not just slacking off because it's the summer and I'm feeling unmotivated. Anyway, while I head off to do very important things, please enjoy this guest column by Ned Bitters.]

It is once again the summer. So since I have a ton of free time on my hands while the rest of you slave away at your jobs, I thought I would once again share with you the most memorable lines overheard in my classroom this year.

Once again, these are all real quotes from actual students and teachers …

Raising Student Esteem

Me: “So Steven, have you seen your twins yet?”

Steven, your standard-issue rednecky weed-hound who knocked up a girl he now has absolutely no contact with: “Yeah, I finally saw a couple of pictures of them. They don’t even look like me. Well, they do sort of have the same eyes as I do … when I’m stoned, that is.”

Me: “So they pretty much look like you all the time.”

Steven: “Asshole.”

Oh, So THAT’S Why You’re in the “Ain’t Passed the State English Test Yet” Class Part I

Three kids in the special “Ain’t Passed the State English Test Yet” class (not its actual name, as education, like any other government employer, avoids honesty and reverts instead to inoffensive doublespeak, but that’s a separate column) are playing hangman at the board on the second to the last day of school. One boy is giving the clues. He does a couple of movies and couple of TV shows, then he puts down the marker.

I say, “That’s it?”

He says, “I’m out of words.”

I say, “Already?”

He says, quite seriously, “Well … out of words that I can spell, anyway.”

Oh, So That’s Why You’re in “That Class” Part II

Near the end of the year, a kid in this class was going apeshit over something on his cellphone. He said to me, “I have to show you this!”

I could tell by the way he was acting that it would have been safer for me to just say, “Um … no, I better not. Just put that phone away.”

But this was no time to take the mature route, as I was pretty sure it involved porn. So I said, “Okay, what is it?”

He showed me a brief video clip of a Sarah Palin lookalike engaged in, well, let’s just say that if it were the real Sarah Palin, she’d have no trouble raising funds for another presidential run.

I said, “John, damnit … put that away!”

He did. For about 20 seconds. Then I saw him showing Raymond, another window-licker in the class. Raymond looked at the faux Palin porn, gasped, then said, in complete seriousness, “Man, how did they get Sarah Palin to do that?”

Oh, So That’s Why You’re “That Class” Part III

The Friday before the Super Bowl it was just me and two seniors in this special class. I asked the girl for her Super Bowl prediction. She asked when the game was. I could understand her not knowing this, as the NFL and the networks do a terrible job of promoting this game that no one watches. You never see any ads leading up the day of the big game, right? I told her it was the coming Sunday, as in two days from then. She said she just couldn’t make a guess.

I prodded her, asking her to at least give me two numbers. She thought about it, then gave me these two common football scores: “11″ and “4.” I was going to ask which team should get which score, but the game was in 48 hours and I’m not sure I had the time to go over the fact that two teams play each other in this game.

So then I asked Thomas, figuring the other “man” in the class would salvage the big prediction process. He wrinkled his brow, looked pensive, and then we had this exchange:

Lowell: “Thirty!”

Me: …

Lowell: …

Me: “Yeah … and …”

Lowell [thinks some more, then said, with great finality]: “Thirty!”

I did not pursue this conversation any further. Please note that these are not special ed students. Please note your fear for our future. Please note the stunning fact that the final score was not “11-4″ nor was it “Thirty!”

So That’s Why You’re in “That Class” Part IV

Me: “Hey Brian!”

Brian H. and Bryan S., at the same time: “What?”

Me: “Sorry, I meant Brian H. I forgot we have two Brians in here.”

Brian H.: “Next time you call on us remember that my name has the ‘I’ and his has the ‘Y’ in it, so from now on when you say our names say them so that we can hear the difference.”

Me: …

Oh, You Mean “Quasimodo”?

Girl in hall whom I don’t know: “Do you know where Mr. So-and-so’s room is?”

Me: “I have no idea who that is. I’ve never heard that name. What does he teach?”

Girl: “Science.”

Me: “Nope … sorry.I don’t know him.”

Girl: “He’s that guy with the hunch back.”

Me: “Oh, he’s in D-3.”

Funny thing is, it’s June and I still don’t know what his name is, but I do know that he’s the guy with the hunch back.

“Mmmm mmmm … When’s Lunch!” Part I

Email from our IEP (special ed) facilitator: “Please note that Violet So-and-so must continue to wear her hearing device at all times. Also, she will miss school Thursday afternoon due to a doctor’s appointment to have her extensive ear wax removed.”

“Mmmm mmmm … When’s Lunch!” Part II

English teacher explaining his absence from the day before: “I had another appointment with my podiatrist. I’ve been having the damnedest time with this toe fungus of mine.” For the rest of the year, every time I saw this man all I could picture were tiny mushrooms growing out of his toes. Thanks for sharing.

Honesty Is the (Most Hilarious) Policy

Me, to a new teacher transfer, a man of about 55: “So John, when are you going to quit teaching?”

John: “Well, I quit teaching years ago, but I’m thinking of retiring in about four years.”

It’s only September and our department head already needs a vacation … or a good therapist

True quote from department head to third-year teacher: “As I was drifting off to sleep last night, I was thinking about your emergency lesson plans, and I realized that your objective was a bit flawed …”

Yes, this man, while drifting off to sleep, was thinking about the objective of an emergency lesson plan. Can we please award this man the Christa McAuliffe Award. (I mean, not only was she, too, a dedicated teacher, but she has no life either.)

HUH?

In an IEP (special ed) meeting, the family’s advocate was an Asian woman who said about three words throughout the entire meeting, and these were probably the only three words of English she knew. Her accent was very thick.

At the conclusion of the meeting, as the IEP facilitator was filling out paperwork, she asked for the woman’s name. She said something like, “Mnklngtrksgkngt.” I swear it was a dozen letters long, and not one of them was a vowel, and I know this because she then spelled it out for the woman. Then she was asked for her first name. She said, with the elocution of a radio newsman, “Shon … S-H-O-N.”

Guess I’ll Never Be President of the School’s Social Committee

During the first week back in August, a very attractive 30-something female teacher came into my room to grab something from the network printer. Trying to be the welcoming vet, I said, with as much false cheer as I could muster, “Hi there. I’m Ned Bitters.”

She looked at me for a couple of seconds and said, “Hi … I’mmmm … Chereese Washington.”

Me: “Where are you from?”

Her [after a puzzled pause]: “You do know I was here last year, right?”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. Did you get hired in the spring or something?”

Her: “No, I was here all year.”

Me: “Oh, I’m sorry. I’m kind of out of it and keep to myself. Were you in a room upstairs?”

Her: “No, I was across the hall in the E.A. department all year.”

Me: …

Most Pathetically Ungrateful Teacher Line Since the Perpetually Malcontented French Teacher Bitched about the Inconvenient Toilet Paper Dispensers the First Day We Were Allowed into Our Beautifully Renovated School

Teacher One: “Did you see the new flat screen TV that the new principal put in the teachers’ lounge!”

Teacher Two [filled with disgust and in need of a good smack]: “Yeah … it’s so small!”

Oh Really? You Don’t Say! Next You’ll Tell Me that the Kid with No Legs is Crippled

I had a kid in third period with an eye that had no pupil or cornea. It was nothing but a blue ball. The poor kid could probably sell himself out to a Hollywood horror movie director, or perhaps to someone remaking Poe’s classic “Tell-Tale Heart.” It’s pretty disconcerting, and it’s all you notice when you talk to him. It makes you want to shoot marbles. It would be quite pretty … if it weren’t an eye.

His mother came to Open House. When the parents got up to go, she introduced herself and wanted to talk. After telling me whose parent she was, she leaned in all conspiratorially and whispered, “You know … Daunte’s blind in one eye.”

What? No! You’re kidding! And here I thought that lifeless marble with the eerie blue film all over it was some sort of government issued super-duper extra X-ray vision thing! Wow, thanks for the tip.

Well, I Might Be Lying … It Might Be in There Somewhere … That’s It … Keep Looking … Oh Yeah, Right There …

A flirtatious little girl, who had smacked my old ass with her fist twice in the past couple of weeks, came up while I was standing at my desk talking to another student. She interrupted us with a “Mr. Bitters, I know you have more gum. Gimme a piece.”

I lied and said, “Nope, it’s my last piece,” and then returned my attention to the other girl.

She said, “You’re lying,” and then proceeded to open my desk drawer and look for gum. She found none.

Then, before I knew what was happening, she got behind me, pushed her little body against my back and ass and thrust both of her hands into my front pants pockets and proceeded to search – quite thoroughly – for some gum. This took all of three seconds but it felt like three hours. I was scared shitless. Fortunately, she came up empty.

It was only later I wish I’d have told her that if she kept digging left or right she was bound to find a hunk of Big Red. But I refrained.

It’s So Nice to Find Common Ground with the Kids

Young teacher explaining why she gets along with a kid most teachers can’t control: “We got along from Day One. It’s probably because our kids are the same age.”

Love that Sophomore Tact

A kid in my third period had some congenital defect that results in a permanent limp. The other kids hated this kid, not because he limped, but because he was usually an obnoxious, abrasive prick. Near the end of the year, another boy in the class decided to reach out to the poor, picked-on gimp. Trying to be as sincere and tactful as possible, he asked in the most caring, interested voice, “So, Jerrod … were you like, born defective, or did something fuck you up when you were young?”

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Similar Posts:

• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. III
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. I

Ned Bitters

And now for the final installment of “What do you mean when you say you laugh every day at your job?” Every one of these episodes took place in my classroom this year. I’m sure that when the No Child Left Behind state test results arrive this August, some of my lovelies will indeed be left behind, but ain’t a one of them can say they didn’t get their money’s worth in the laughs department.

* * *

The kids were working on some bullshit busywork in my last period class. I didn’t care about the quality of their work. I wasn’t even going to grade it. I just wanted some quiet so that I could catch up on some email. For once, they were working quietly. (You remember last period of the day in high school, right? It was the let’s-fuck-around period. Still is.) Then Demona, in a mock attempt to give semi-retarded C.J. a heart attack, yelled out, “Mr. Bitters, C.J. is cheating off of me!” Before I had time to pretend that I cared or, more likely, to tease him even further, C.J. defended himself by declaring, “Nuh uh … I was cheating off of Melodee!” He was not trying to be funny.

* * *

I have been at this job for 21 years, so I can handle the most flagrant acts of disrespect in a calm, decisive manner. Usually. One day a girl came to class from lunch still eating a blue slushie. I don’t care if they eat in class as long as they pay attention. I wanted them to read along as I went over some directions. This girl, who I’d indulged all year because her mother died over the summer, was giving this slushie more attention than Ted Kennedy’s tumor got from his brain surgeon. I nicely asked her to stop and pay attention.

She said with great irritation, “I’m listenin’!”

This pissed me off, but I remained nice and said, “But I really need you to read along with us.” She said she would. We resumed reading. I looked over and saw that she was still worrying about that goddamn slushie. I marched over to her desk and tried to take it. She snatched it toward her. How did the always-in-control, 21-year veteran handle this act of disobedience? I yanked it out of her hand and yelled, “Give me that fucking thing!” She stormed out in tears, cursing me thirteen different ways. But I had that slushie, and we continued with the directions. After five minutes of laughter, that is.

* * *

Despite the previous item, I know I can still relate to students despite my middle age. The day I get fearful respect and hear no sarcasm from students is the day I’ll stab myself in the neck with a red grading pen. But sophomore Justin confirmed for me that my jugular is safe for now. One day I found Justin’s big bulky sports bag under my desk after my planning period. He had written a note on it that said, “This is Justin’s baseball gear. I’ll get it after 8th period. Don’t let me forget it … FAG!” That’s when you know a kid really likes you.

* * *

Over the past year I have developed a bizarre allergic reaction to some unknown stimulant. It has happened maybe a dozen times. My eyes swell almost completely shut, and they take almost 24 hours to return to normal. I missed a day of school this winter due to one violent attack, and when I returned to work the next day, my eyelids were still fairly swollen, resulting in endless playful abuse from my dickhead students. After the requisite five minutes of merciless teasing stopped, we began class. I asked a boy in the back a question in reference to something on the board. He said, “I can’t see the board.” Just as I was about to call him on his bullshit, as his vision had been fine all year, he said, “Your eye is in the way.” It was easily the wittiest line a kid delivered all year.

* * *

One smartass, who was obsessed with my age, tried to nail me (apropos of nothing, mind you) with this pointed barb: “Man Bitters, you’re getting pretty thin on top!” Before the rest of the class could get a cheap laugh at my middle aged expense, I returned his weak volley with this overhand smash: “Well, I’d have a lot more hair up their if your mom would quit yanking on it when I get her all excited.” Winner. Game, set, and match. I don’t believe Renaldo made any more comments about my age for the rest of the year.

* * *

We read something in an honors class in which a woman cheated on her husband. One future officer of the Moral Majority said, in true horror, “She cheated on him. That is just so … like … wrong!” Another kid in the class, a bitter precocious little fucker who I just loved, said in his most sarcastic tone, “What’s that James? A little louder please. We can’t year you from all the way back there in the ’50s.” I’d have rebuked him and supported the first kid had I been able to talk, but I was too busy laughing.

* * *

One day a teacher had her kids create some kind of white doughy stuff out of baking soda, water and who the hell knows what else. It was pretty cool stuff, though. It had the consistency of heated gum, yet it did not stick to one’s hands at all. One girl, seeing me so enthralled with the stuff, gave me her baggie with the white doughy ball inside so that I could play with it. We were watching Julius Caesar that day, so while they pretended to enjoy that shit movie, two wiseasses near my desk asked if they could play with my “white goo.” I broke off a piece for each of them and said, “Yeah, let me give you some of my goo.” We laughed, and it was on.

For the next 20 minutes, these two wits put on serious faces and played with my goo, making comment after comment, under their breaths and with straight faces, comments such as, “Oh no, I got some of Mr. Bitters’ goo in my hair” and “Don’t get any of his goo in your eyes or it will burn” and “I just tasted Mr. Bitters’ goo and it’s really salty” and “Mr. Bitters’ goo can get really stringy if you run it around your fingers.” I couldn’t write the rest of the lines down because I was heaving with laughter behind my computer. They never smiled once, which made it even funnier.

fter the movie, a different girl asked, “Mr. Bitters, can you give me some of your goo?” She was not trying to be funny. I threw it to her. She said with absolutely no crude intent, “Man, Mr. Bitters. Your goo is so warm.” The two boys and I nearly suffered hernias from holding in our laughter.

* * *

I had a Chinese kid who spoke much like white people do when imitating Chinese people. One day he finished his work and asked me, “Mr. Bitters … you correcting this?” I told him I was. He tried to hand it to me. I said I’d get it later. He said again, “But you say you correcting this, right?” I said, “Yes, but I’ll get it later.” He looked puzzled and asked, “Why you no just correct now then?” Just as I was about to lose my patience, I realized what was happening. This kid was trying to say “collecting,” but it was coming out “correcting.” It was right out of an old Hollywood movie, when guys named Bill Jones used to don black wigs with pony tails, squint their eyes and do bad Chinese accents where the L’s turn into R’s. The only thing missing was the pointy straw hat and rickshaw.

* * *

Yep, I laugh hard at this job every single day. I won’t even tell you about the kid who peed in the lab jar when the teacher wouldn’t let him use the restroom, or about the time a teacher brought his lunch (leftover steak dinner from Applebee’s) for the first time all year, only to find the empty container in the trash when he went to enjoy it, or the kid who, when I asked how he got those nasty brushburns on his knees, said, “That shit’s from bangin’, son!” or about the girl who came to my class the period after the National Honor Society induction ceremony, laughing hysterically because one of the new inductees had asked if she could cheat off that student earlier that morning.

I have all this fun and they still give me over two months off every summer. So if you ever hear me complain about this job, just shoot me an email and call me every dirty name you can think of. I’m serious. I know I have it great, so don’t let me forget it … FAG!

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Similar Posts:

• The Teachers’ Lounge – Advice to new teachers
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. I

Ned Bitters

Let us continue with Part II of “Another Screwball Year in Another Run-of-the-Mill Public High School.” Be assured that I have no need to embellish.

* * *

We have a junior who, by November, was failing most of his classes and becoming increasingly difficult to handle in the classroom due to his miserable disposition. He is borderline obese and extremely gay, hence the miserable disposition. However, he has a maturity beyond his years and comes to school dressed more professionally than most of the staff. He is quite articulate and, despite his shitty grades, rather intelligent.

This is where you expect me to describe how a caring, understanding (and probably gay) teacher took this troubled young man under his wing and turned him around. Well, almost. An elderly V.P., tired of dealing with this young man’s discipline issues, decided on a more novel approach. He took him out of most of his classes and let him serve as his quasi-assistant for most of the day. Before long, this young man was helping clear the halls. Then he began serving tardy and unexcused absence papers to students. He carried an administrative walkie-talkie. Eventually, when a teacher would page a V.P. for an in-class discipline problem, this student would show up at the door. One day he came to the room next to mine when the young teacher had called for a V.P. I heard this exchange:

Teacher: “So-and-so in the back row needs to leave my class immediately.”

Junior V.P.: “What did he do?”

Teacher: “He cussed me out when I repeatedly asked him to stop talking.”

Junior V.P. (to bad kid in back of class): “Okay, let’s go …”

Bad Kid in Back of Class: “Shut the hell up, Asswipe…you’re in my third period.”

* * *

During an evening meet, a wrestler suffered an injury severe enough to require EMT treatment. The athletic director, a man in his mid-60′s who has been at the school for over forty years, stood near the injured wrestler while the coach called 911. Immediately after the call, the A.D. ran off to his office. The coach assumed he was going to begin whatever legal process ensues during in such situations. The usually rumpled A.D. returned three minutes later, now sporting a coat and tie and freshly combed hair. The coach gave him a puzzled look. The A.D. said, “Some of the EMT’s from that station are pretty hot, and I want to look good for ‘em.” The wrestler ended up being okay. The coach resigned after the season. The A.D. is returning for year 43. He still keeps a tie and jacket in his office so he can look sharp for cute, young EMT’s. He’s still in his mid-60s.

* * *

After the unexpected mid-year death of a math teacher, we were forced to hire a long-term sub who was all of 21 years old. He was friends with many of the kids, as he lived in a local neighborhood. They’d show up at his house to play video games and just hang out. They called him Mr. Steve, for they found him young and cool. One day a student walked by his classroom door and playfully punched his arm. The teacher playfully hit him back, only a little harder. The student hit back harder. The teacher hit back harder. Soon, they were wailing on each other’s arms. The student caught the teacher in the wrong place, hurting him, and Mr. Steve reacted by thumping the kid square in the chest with a hard right cross. The kid fell to the floor, unable to breathe, in the throes of a seizure. He spent the night in the hospital. It was cool, young Mr. Steve’s last day at our school. No one was too upset. After all, when he was in high school just a few years ago, he had failed the very math course he had been teaching at our school all year.

* * *

One morning at the copy machines, another depressed, defeated teacher was staring at the bulletin board looking over next year’s schedule. Suddenly he brightened. He said, “Oh yes! Next year we start Christmas break on the 19th and don’t have to go back until January 5th! That’s a 16-day break!” Then he paused, cocked his head, did some considering, and said, kind of sadly, “Well, looks like I gotta stay in teaching at least one more year.”

* * *

When our current principal came to our school, he did away with the daily morning sign-in sheet in the office. A true professional, he was under the hilariously misguided belief that his teachers also adhered to professional standards. After a few months, he noticed that many of the same bozos were arriving up to a half hour late. He had the techies install a computer sign-in system so that we could all sign in from our rooms instead making that oh-so-long trek to the office every morning. This worked for a month or so, but then people started ignoring this procedure. The principal mentioned at a staff meeting that he would begin monitoring the sign-in system and docking the habitually tardy teachers. However, he couldn’t follow through on this threat. Two days later, the sign-in system no longer worked. Someone had hacked it and rendered it useless. It was never fixed. Neither was the tardy problem.

* * *

One of our V.P.’s is a hardass former wrestling coach. He does a fantastic job, but let’s just say he’s not too into his classroom observation duties. He’s the prototypical former coach, lewd, brusque, loud and intimidating. (He’s also a softie with a heart the size of Greenland, but that doesn’t belong in this anecdote.) He saw a group of us talking in the hall one afternoon. He came up and griped about how he had to do classroom observations on most of us. He hates doing observations. A second-year P.E. teacher, no doubt intimidated by a man who was recently inducted in the National Wrestling Coaches Hall of Fame, said, “Just let me know when you’ll be in and I’ll have a lesson plan all written up for you.” How did our Mr. Testosterone handle this gesture of professional respect? He literally jacked the young teacher up against the wall and said, “If you waste one fucking minute writing up a P.E. lesson plan I will fucking waste you, do you understand?” When he observed one of my classes two weeks later, I handed him a written lesson plan just to piss him off. I found it in my mailbox later, crumpled into a ball with the word “ASSHOLE!” in red ink. I got a stellar observation report.

* * *

I wrote one of our borderline illiterate seniors a letter of recommendation for his mandatory senior portfolio. I handed it to him during my lunch break just as another teacher was walking into my room. Just after the kid thanked me, the smartass teacher asked the kid, “Would you like me to read that for you?”

* * *

A kid came to my room with a bag of candy tied up with colorful ribbon. I asked him where he got it. He said he won it in Health class. I asked him what he did to win it. He told me, “I got the highest score on the test about healthy eating habits.”

* * *

During the first week of teacher activities, we were subjected to yet another session on how to vary our teaching techniques. We had to read a section of a book, then share what we just learned. (You know, lesson # 7 in the “Lazy Ways to Present Bullshit to Fellow Co-workers in Meetings that Absolutely No One Wants to Attend.”) But since the presenters were friends of mine, I figured I’d help them out and participate. When they took responses, I went first. I said that research has shown that kids respond more to intrinsic rewards (praise and such) than they do to tangible rewards (candy, prizes and such). One presenter, thrilled that someone volunteered to participate, said, “Well done!” She ran over to reward me for my participation. How did she reward me? With a very tangible mini Snickers bar.

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Similar Posts:

• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010

Ned Bitters

It’s early June, which means it’s time once again to look back at some of the more memorable moments from a year in the life at a public high school. Why anyone ever leaves this humor goldmine of a job is, like the art of teaching itself, beyond me.

While classic quotes make up most of this year’s greatest hits, some of the better moments involved few or no words at all. This year I saw:

A student spend an entire three hour state-testing session writing with his right hand while his left hand massaged his cock like a baker kneading his dough. His hand was so entrenched in his dirty blue sweatpants that he even used his writing hand to turn the pages of his test booklet. He offered me a piece of candy before he left. I politely declined the offer. I’m not sure if it was a sourball.

A young lady come to my honors English class every single day for the first four months of school. She was never sick. Then, after New Year’s she missed two weeks of school. When I asked if anyone knew what was wrong with her, a student casually informed that “she had her baby.” Yep, Mr. Observant, Mr. I Really Get to Know My Kids, didn’t even realize she was pregnant.

A first-year 40-something teacher fall asleep so hard at his desk during class that he stayed in Snoozeville through an entire change of classes. We, the teachers, found it rip-roaringly funny. That is, until he died in his sleep two weeks later. Apparently, he had unknown health problems. However, he was kept alive in our memories for weeks. Why? Our clueless guidance counselor kept calling his name over the P.A. for parent conferences. I’m assuming he didn’t show up.

Parent email addresses “barwench@…” and “trustnobitches@…” Maybe these two single parents (“No way – those two prizes are single?”) can meet up at the Skank Inn for some drinks and darts some night this summer, fuck, and have a child that grows up and has the email address: myparentswereclasslessidiots@…

A male track athlete get harshly scolded by a female teacher for throwing around a football while shirtless. The kid calmly picked up his shirt and put it on, then promptly removed his shorts and continued playing catch. I’m sure the two-day suspension was worth achieving legend status in the Ned Bitters Smartass Hall of Fame.

But some of the best humor came in the form of unintentional funny lines. Here is a sampling of the best accidental comedy from the past year:

As if being middle-aged isn’t depressing enough, the kids reinforce the fact that I am now much closer to my deathday than my birthday. One well meaning little bastard said, with complete sincerity, “Mr. Bitters, you look young … from far away.” Thanks, you myopic prick. Another girl scrunched up her face and said, with great concern for my appearance, “Do you got paint in your hair? Oh wait, it’s only a lot of gray. My bad.” Thanks, you myopic wench. And finally, another girl, trying to give me a compliment, said, “Sure, Mr. Hobart has the hotness factor, but you’ve got the funny factor.” I guess I’ll take ugly and funny over ugly and unfunny. Then I’d be Billy Crystal.

Next we have the borderline mentally retarded kid from the hardcore special ed class who had one of his similarly dimwitted classmates go ask a girl if she’d go out with him. The messenger came back with a negative reply, explaining, “She said no because she knows you still play with Transformers.” The poor bastard frowned and said, “Not that much!”

This same kid, while trying to talk smack about the rich rival high school that has all top-notch facilities, including a gorgeous artificial turf football field, said, without trying to be funny, “They ain’t all that. They so poor they can’t even afford real grass.” Zinger!

I had a hardcore thug from D.C. with a criminal past who came here to get the few remaining credits he needed for a diploma. He missed at least eight days of school due to court dates. One day, while doing some vocabulary work, he asked for a dictionary like this: “Hey, Mr. Bitters, can you give me a dic-dic?” I gave him my best gay look, and the entire class roared while I went and got him a dictionary. I dropped it on his desk and said, “Here Shareed, I got a nice fat one for you. Let me slap it on your desk. Now use it.” He didn’t kill me. Yet.

Even I am not immune from saying something unintentionally ridiculous. I have a kid who is real-deal crazy, disturbingly so. He was sent away for special help for a month this year after he told a psychologist that he was this close to harming himself and others in the school. He is an expert on mass murderer lore. He is obsessed with deviant sex acts. He once drew me a picture of decapitated woman with a man standing next to her holding an axe in his left hand. In his right hand? The woman’s head, her open mouth placed over his cock. This picture was drawn especially for me. So yes, he’s batshit nuts. One day before class, he went to my computer without my knowledge. My email was open. He read an email from a parent, then commented on it when I came into the room. How did this 21-year veteran teacher handle this invasion of privacy? Very calmly and with great maturity, of course. I yelled, “You read my email? Are you fucking crazy? I mean, are you totally fucking nuts?” He said, with zero emotion, “Yes. But you know that already.” Another kid’s self-esteem raised high high high!

Those were just a handful of some of the countless unintentionally funny moments from this year. Next week, in Part II of “Why Our Schools Come Up So Miserably Short in Global Education Studies,” we’ll go over some of the funny lines that were meant to be funny. That is, if that crazy sonofabitch email reader doesn’t kill me before then. The decapitation doesn’t scare me. It’s the thought of being forced to give a post-mortem hummer that terrifies me.

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.

Similar Posts:

• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2011, Pt. I
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable moments 08, Pt. III
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010, Pt. II
• The Teachers’ Lounge – Memorable Moments 2010