What is it with cheeky little blighters who are incapable of seeing through
a plan properly? Just when I was relaxing with my new classes this year
and finding out what makes them tick, some idiot pulls a stunt that warrants
much slapping of the forehead and gnashing of teeth.
It was last lesson on a Friday and I was covering for a class who have mock exams so close they should be smelling the fear. They were supposed to be revising. Okay, I turned a blind eye to that one, after all I know how reluctant I am to do any hard graft at that time of week. I did try chivvying them along a bit, but gave up after being told for the umpteenth time that they didn’t have the right books, notes et bloody cetera.
The consequence of that, though, meant I had to spend my paper shuffling
time trying to avoid the face as miserable as sin in my peripheral vision.
One girl in the class refused to accept that she had any work to do, which
annoyed me even more because she has numerous pieces of coursework outstanding
for me. Her friends spent their time productively, sorting the junk out of
their school bags, comparing social diaries and sneakily trying to cake on
more eye-liner before the bell. But Miss Face-as-miserable-as-sin just sat
there, slouched against the wall, pouting. She didn’t even move her head
enough to rattle her numerous cheap gold earrings. And I became more and more
aware of her pallid face, smeared with blotchy spot concealer, as I tried to
clear the week’s debris from my desk.
So I was quite glad when she asked to go to return an overdue library book, because I was trying to shake the image of her sulky face which was beginning to become etched upon my retinas. I did find it a little odd that she would even have a book from the library. However I was willing to give her the benefit of my doubt. But after ten minutes had passed, the doubts about the validity of her library trip became more worrying. And by the time the school bell finally signalled the end of the day, she was nowhere to be seen.
Now, perhaps I should accept that this was a blessing in disguise.
She’d scarpered early, saving me the agony of feeling her eyes bore into me,
so we both got what we wanted. But of course it doesn’t work like that. In
the first instance, I’ve unwittingly allowed a pupil to place themselves
in possibly a vulnerable position at a time when she should be being
supervised. Whatever dangers a trip to the library / sneaky fag
behind the bike sheds (delete as applicable) may bring. In loco parentis and
all that. Secondly, she has broken a school rule and so this has to be followed
up. But most importantly, she probably laughed all the way home, thinking that
she’d pulled off a mightily fine stunt, and that the teacher is too dumb to
realise she hadn’t returned.
So my school day no longer ends at the usual time, because I’ve got to fill in an incident slip, seek out the relevant teacher to pass it onto, decide on whether to send for her on Monday, and remember to tell her off next lesson we have together, when I’ll have a hundred other things to think of. The thing is, I can predict exactly how she’ll respond: a few hastily thought up lies followed by sulky silence, and an even deeper hatred for me, my subject, and the world around her. And yet professionally I’m meant to continue to encourage her and praise her if she does one little thing right. I’m expected to put myself out at lunchtimes if she needs extra help with work she couldn’t be arsed to do in the first place. And then I can’t be seen to hold the incident against her lest I be accused of holding a grudge or guilty of always “picking” on her.
It all just confirms my idealistic theory that education should not be
compulsory after the age of 14. She doesn’t want to be there. I don’t want her
to be there. Let’s create a human zoo or holding pen for such annoyances,
where they can sit and watch videos all day as they often beg to do, and
perfect their computer game skills or techniques of trashy make-up application.
In fact, I can think of plenty of teachers who would welcome the task of
supervising children amusing themselves in this manner, rather than having
to bust a gut trying to engage disaffected youths. Let those far more
idealistic than myself attempt to mould these kids into valuable members
of society. Because there’s no way that forcing them to write coursework
about something in which they have no interest or understanding is doing
them much good. They are just seeking other ways to liven up their low-brain
lives, whether that’s making teachers run around after them when we just
don’t need the extra hassle, or disrupting lesson after lesson with idiotic
behaviour. Oh, somebody just stop me before I start agreeing with right-wing
tabloid headlines.
added 27/11/04
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