The Ironman

I don’t know if anything gives me more pleasure in this job (other than June, July and August) than pissing off other teachers with a thousand little things I do or don’t do each day. Most of these pathetic wannabe-dictators got into this job simply because it allows them to put the clampdown on kids all day. Since most teachers could never attain such ball-busting status in the real world, they get to stick it to kids all day in their little classroom fiefdoms.

So for the past 20 odd years, I’ve made it a point to ignore as much misbehavior as I can without bringing on the wrath of the administration, whom I never have a problem with. In fact, when it comes to certain areas, I am the Cal Goddamn Ripken of NOT busting kids for offenses that are clearly spelled out in the County Student Code of Conduct handbook. (Perhaps you remember these from your school days. They are the glossy, 30-page booklets that overflow from the trashcans on the first day of school each year.)

In all my years on the job, here are some things I’ve never done:

• Busted a kid for smoking.
• Turned in a student cutting class.
• Refused to write a bogus tardy pass for a late student.
• Made a kid take off his hat.
• Confiscate a CD player or cell phone
• Sent a girl to the office because her skirt was too short, her midriff was showing, or her cleavage exceeded the minimum measurement described in the Hooters Code of Conduct book. (That booklet is only a page long, by the way. It reads, “Act the wing-bearing whore and trick pathetic fat older men into thinking you’d actually fuck them if only you didn’t have to work until 2:00 a.m. that night. Bring check. Collect embarrassingly large tip. Try not to imagine pathetic fat older man whacking off in his trailer later that night.”)

What else have I let slide? There was the day a senior girl was at my desk talking to me about her classes. She was one of those high-achieving Barbie types who was going to graduate with a GPA of 5.27 and go on to be the head cheerleader at State U. You know (and probably hate) the type. When she mentioned her English teacher, she said, “Oh man, I hate that bitch. She can suck my dick!” When she saw my eyes widen in shock, she quickly retracted her insult. How? She said, “Oh ... I mean ... if I HAD a dick, she could suck it.” Hey, thanks for clearing that up, sweetie. Her punishment? I told her I’d only laugh at that for about 8 years.

I knew two seniors that used to skip their morning classes about three days a week. They’d go to McDonald’s and chill out there until third or fourth period. One morning, they ambled in late and came into my room with a sturdy, metal chair. Out of boredom, they had heisted a McDonald’s chair when they left the restaurant that morning. Just walked out with it and put it in their car. They wanted it to be the new computer chair in my room. I expressed my dismay and told them they’d have to take it back. But damn, that sucker was comfortable and well built, and well ... that was 9 years ago and I’m sitting on the same chair as I type this.

These same two kids accompanied me on a field trip to a major daily newspaper that year. When we boarded the bus to go home, one of them showed me these clever little rolls of line tape, which are used when laying out a newspaper. They had stolen them from the newspaper’s layout room. I was apoplectic and raving and foaming at the mouth! I said, “This stuff is so cool – why did you only steal two rolls?”

They also lifted a pair of channel locks on another field trip to another newspaper. This time I was really pissed. I told them that if they are going to steal something, at least make it something we can use. Of course, my words meant nothing. They stole posters from a store at the mall when we stopped there for lunch. Couldn’t use those either. I couldn’t teach ‘em a thing. I didn’t write them up, either.

But my favorite non-punishment was the day I burst out of the exit door near my room during my planning period and saw, on the steps, a girl falling onto her ample rump and a young man screaming “Ahhhh....” as he ran up a few steps while adjusting his zipper. Seems I had happened upon two of our scholars engaging in a little Latin homework. They were doing some research on the word “fellatio.” Instead of taking them to the office and subjecting all of us – including their parents – to crushing embarrassment, I somehow managed to keep a straight face and asked them where they belonged. They each said, “Gym class.”

So I walked them over there and sent them into the gym through one of the outside doors. I motioned to the P.E. teacher that the kids had been with me. Hey, the poor boy didn’t even get to bust his nut, so I couldn’t make his day worse by subjecting him to a tardy.

I saw that the class was having one of those screw-around days where they play basketball, football or whatever. It was June, after all. As the two kids walked into gym, I just couldn’t resist. I said, “Oh, and hey ... be careful in there, honey. You don’t want to get hit in the chin by any flying balls.”

No one turned me in.

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.