When Tyler arrives at school today, he is very excited about that snack that he brought. He kept asking me if he could tell me something. I respond with the usual "Does it have to do with the work we are doing right now?" He answers with the usual "No," and we proceed with the days lesson.
Snack time rolls around, the kids who brought their snack get it out of their backpack. I hand out goldfish crackers to the rest. My phone then rings, it is our speech-language pathologist, and it is regarding some important shit. I am on the phone with her for one and a half minutes. I then hang up the phone, and turn back to the tards.
I can't believe what I see: Tyler is snorting Pixie Stick sugar.
He had opened up three little Pixie Sticks (which he knows he is not supposed to bring for snack), had lined up rails of sugar, and was using the paper pixie stick tube to snort the shit with!
I run over to him and snatch the pixie stick from his hand. He says "Hey, what do you think you are doing??" I told him we do not out things in our nose.
He said "I tried to tell you earlier, but you wouldn't let me."
I ask him what he had wanted to tell me. He says, "My dad always snorts stuff, he calls it nose candy. Before he went to jail, he gave me a bunch of my own nose candies, and told me I was allowed to have them at school."
I referred Tyler to our counselor, who will conduct some sort of drug intervention program with him.
Friday, January 31, 2003
Thursday, January 30, 2003
Book Order Day
Book Orders were due today. Only a few of the kids' parents allow them to buy any books, so it is a major deal. One of my girls really wanted some shit from the book order flyer, and her family is very poor. She didn't want books, she wanted stuff like kits to make jewelry, stickers and art sets. She brings her book order in a sealed envelope with her name on it (this is good, as she had followed directions).
Later on that night, I am going through my nightly grading and assessing routine at home, when I come across the girls book order. I open it and inside is her checksheet of what she wants and a check. The check was filled out with pencil in obvious tard writing, and was not signed.
Hmmm.......I wonder who did this?? The check was fucking hilarious!! Poorly scribbled on and ripped at the top. I had to keep the check, just to laugh at it.
So get this: I bought her, with my money, all the shit she had wanted. The items totaled $26.85.
The check had been made out for $13.30. I need to work on her math.
Later on that night, I am going through my nightly grading and assessing routine at home, when I come across the girls book order. I open it and inside is her checksheet of what she wants and a check. The check was filled out with pencil in obvious tard writing, and was not signed.
Hmmm.......I wonder who did this?? The check was fucking hilarious!! Poorly scribbled on and ripped at the top. I had to keep the check, just to laugh at it.
So get this: I bought her, with my money, all the shit she had wanted. The items totaled $26.85.
The check had been made out for $13.30. I need to work on her math.
Tuesday, January 28, 2003
The Tyrell Lap
go to another of Tyrell's basketball games. Why? HIS DAD IS IN JAIL AND HE NEEDED A RIDE!!! (He is serving ninety days for three DUI'S. This is the same dad who got his ass kicked my Mexicans and mooned a basketball game).
Tyler and Tyrell are currently under the care of their dad's girlfriend, who I met when I arrived to pick them up at their low-income housing complex. She appeared to be around 20 years old.
There was nothing but mayhem in the parking lot--kids running around, hitting each other, adults having conversations with each other from 50 yards away, a police car. I was honestly scared to get out of my car. I thought the presence of the police car would ease the fear, but there was no officer around. Someone who lived there could have stolen the police car from all I could gather.
I pull myself together and walk up to their apartment. Out comes Tyler, Tyrell, AND THE GIRLFRIEND! She didn't have a drivers license, and wanted a ride to the game. Whatever, I didn't care that she would be in my car, except that she reeked of wet cigarette smoke.
Once we arrive at the game, the girlfriend disappears, and is not seen again. Tyler and I watch the game together, people stare at me, probably thinking I was the dad's girlfriend. Things are going well, Tyrell is playing a great game, and I bought Tyler soda pop and candy. Everything was actually very normal, until the third quarter, when Tyrell's SBD kicks in.
The ref makes a call against him, and the damn breaks. Tyrell yells out "You're a stupid fucker!" He is immediately ejected. Not just ejected but aactually thrown out of the gym. The ref orders him to the locker room.
He is SO angry that he ignores the ref and removes his jersey and lays it flat in the center of the court. Instead of heading to the locker room, he jogs a full lap around the boundary line of the court. While he is doing this he is throwing his arms up and down screaming "RRaaaahhh" with occasional obscenities. He has the scariest look on his face that I have ever seen. Upon completion of the lap he exits the building. He doesn't even get his stuff from the locker room. His jersey was still in the middle of the court. Nobody in the entire gym had any idea how to react.
I calmly surpress my laughter and react in my usual manner: I just leave, taking Tyler with me, of course.
Tyrell is outside next to my car waiting. I ask him if he has seen the girlfriend. He hadn't, so we just leave.
On the way home I drive through Dairy Queen and buy them both a Blizzard. Tyrell deserved it, as the "Tyrell Lap" was possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen.
We pull into the parking lot of their complex. Still, at 8:30 p.m., there are kids running all over the place. The police car is still there. I walk them up to the door, not knowing what to do with them. Luckily, the girlfriend is there--WITH SOME FUCKING GUY!!!!! She tells me that she had gotten a ride back with a friend. Her hair looked like sex.
Sadly, I said goodbye to the boys. I was truly worried about the girlfriends ability to adequately care for them.
I called Child Protective Services the next day. My third call to them in the past month. The staff there knows me by name.
Tyler and Tyrell are currently under the care of their dad's girlfriend, who I met when I arrived to pick them up at their low-income housing complex. She appeared to be around 20 years old.
There was nothing but mayhem in the parking lot--kids running around, hitting each other, adults having conversations with each other from 50 yards away, a police car. I was honestly scared to get out of my car. I thought the presence of the police car would ease the fear, but there was no officer around. Someone who lived there could have stolen the police car from all I could gather.
I pull myself together and walk up to their apartment. Out comes Tyler, Tyrell, AND THE GIRLFRIEND! She didn't have a drivers license, and wanted a ride to the game. Whatever, I didn't care that she would be in my car, except that she reeked of wet cigarette smoke.
Once we arrive at the game, the girlfriend disappears, and is not seen again. Tyler and I watch the game together, people stare at me, probably thinking I was the dad's girlfriend. Things are going well, Tyrell is playing a great game, and I bought Tyler soda pop and candy. Everything was actually very normal, until the third quarter, when Tyrell's SBD kicks in.
The ref makes a call against him, and the damn breaks. Tyrell yells out "You're a stupid fucker!" He is immediately ejected. Not just ejected but aactually thrown out of the gym. The ref orders him to the locker room.
He is SO angry that he ignores the ref and removes his jersey and lays it flat in the center of the court. Instead of heading to the locker room, he jogs a full lap around the boundary line of the court. While he is doing this he is throwing his arms up and down screaming "RRaaaahhh" with occasional obscenities. He has the scariest look on his face that I have ever seen. Upon completion of the lap he exits the building. He doesn't even get his stuff from the locker room. His jersey was still in the middle of the court. Nobody in the entire gym had any idea how to react.
I calmly surpress my laughter and react in my usual manner: I just leave, taking Tyler with me, of course.
Tyrell is outside next to my car waiting. I ask him if he has seen the girlfriend. He hadn't, so we just leave.
On the way home I drive through Dairy Queen and buy them both a Blizzard. Tyrell deserved it, as the "Tyrell Lap" was possibly the funniest thing I have ever seen.
We pull into the parking lot of their complex. Still, at 8:30 p.m., there are kids running all over the place. The police car is still there. I walk them up to the door, not knowing what to do with them. Luckily, the girlfriend is there--WITH SOME FUCKING GUY!!!!! She tells me that she had gotten a ride back with a friend. Her hair looked like sex.
Sadly, I said goodbye to the boys. I was truly worried about the girlfriends ability to adequately care for them.
I called Child Protective Services the next day. My third call to them in the past month. The staff there knows me by name.
Monday, January 27, 2003
Lindsay's OCD causes problems
Lindsay is a very sweet girl. She has OCD and is always very anxious. Unfortunately, I am forced to take away many of her recesses because she often refuses to do her work during class time.
She has recently developed a new way of dealing with her anger towards me: she chews away at her fingernails. She bites them down to little stubs, and will not stop until they bleed profusely. This only has started recently, but has escalated quickly in severity.
Her hand are always bloody. If she is irritated at all, she gnaws at her fingers like they are pork spareribs. It is disgusting. Her mom will not discuss this with me. Again, Child Protective Services (CPS) has heard from me.
I have programmed CPS into my phone's speed dial. Seeing as how I am calling them so much, it just seemed practical.
She has recently developed a new way of dealing with her anger towards me: she chews away at her fingernails. She bites them down to little stubs, and will not stop until they bleed profusely. This only has started recently, but has escalated quickly in severity.
Her hand are always bloody. If she is irritated at all, she gnaws at her fingers like they are pork spareribs. It is disgusting. Her mom will not discuss this with me. Again, Child Protective Services (CPS) has heard from me.
I have programmed CPS into my phone's speed dial. Seeing as how I am calling them so much, it just seemed practical.
Saturday, January 25, 2003
Tards go to play, all hell breaks loose
A few weeks ago I received an invitation from the local Children's Theater inviting my class and me to a performance of Hansel and Gretel.
For taking tards out in public, there is almost nothing worse than a play. Whenever there is a calm moment in my class, I say this: "If I wanted to be busy I'd go see a play." But the kids were excited, so I decided to go ahead and get my yearly play punishment out of the way.
I send home permission slips two weeks prior to the play date. [FYI: Normal classroom teachers send home permission slips ONE week prior. Plus I realize that acquiring the entire $5.50 to cover the cost of the trip may require some serious re-budgeting.] The day prior to the play I only have 3 slips turned in.
Being a good little Riti Sped, I call the homes of the 10+ kids that had not turned theirs in. Amongst the litany of unbelievable conversations I have with whoever answers on the other line, my favorite is this:
An answering machine that says "You have reached the Mercer family. We are unable to come to the phone at this time because Lola is shopping, Mark is watching football, Antoni is nowhere to be found and Tom is picking his nose."
The above is a true, unabridged greeting on the voicemail of one of my tard families. Normally I would have thought this was lame, but that my tard Tom does constantly pick his nose, so this is funny.
Surprisingly, all but 2 of my tards get their permission slips on the morning of the trip. The other two will have to spend the day in the preschool tard class. Nice.
The bus ride there was actually quite calm. I think that adjusting to the size of a regular school bus was a bit much for them. I can only imagine the thought processing in their little heads, something like, "Wow. A long bus and seats without restraint equipment--what is this strange new world??"
Our bus arrives at the auditorium, and there are tons of kids all over the place. At least a couple thousand. If one of my tards gets loose, the shit will hit the fan. This worries me, so I assign each tard a buddy to hold hands with and to be "in charge of." This proves to be a good idea, as they argue with each other over who is actually in charge, squeeze the crap out of each others hands, and kick at each other.
The best part are the other kids. Imagine being a normal kid, say sixth grade or so, and seeing a line-up of tards holding hands, stomping through the crowds. The kids were snickering, joking, I heard "look at that" plenty of times. Tons of kids are staring, but my tards are LOVING IT!! They are waving and smiling, still holding hands, basking in the attention.
Since my group is disabled, I am able to reap the rewards of "special needs check in." We are all escorted in, and given the front row of seats to the left of the stage, next to the crying room, coincidentally.
All of the ruckus of the crowds coming in, the noise, etc. causes Lindsay to cry. She wants to sit on my lap. I let her. Soon after this, she has to go to the bathroom, and one of my aides takes her. Things seem to be going smoothly, so I pull out The Tucker Max Saga Continues...E-mail #20 from my purse and begin to read it.
I am about one minute into it, laughing hysterically, when I realize that there are a bunch of kids behind me, peering over my shoulder. I put the papers back in the purse, and hear one kid tell another one that the paper I had said "vagina." Immediately they begin to laugh. I chuckle to myself, as it is kind of funny.
While waiting for the production to begin, nothing that great happens, although Tyler does say "Let's get this bitch on the road."
In preparation for the story of Hansel and Gretel, I read the story to the kids nine times prior to the play. NINE TIMES. We also talked about how it is only a story, and that witches who eat kids are not real, parents don't really lose their kids in the woods, etc.
I am confident that nine times had been enough, and that the kids will understand the play. I was wrong. The witch scares all of the little kids.
Emmy and Brian are crying and screaming. Now I realize the strategic seating arrangement. I take them both to the crying room. But they can still hear the play through speakers in the crying room. So we sing songs and look away from the stage.
Then they fight over who will sit on my lap. Then, and this fucking kills me, they want to hear the story if Hansel and Gretel. I had not of course brought the book with me. But I did have Email #20. I quickly stop this line of thought.
We remain in the crying room for the entire duration of the play. The rest of the tards did such a good job of watching and tying in the ideas from the book to the play. I was so proud of them!! I almost cried on the bus when they told me how much they loved it.
We got back to school, and, aside from Tyler repeatedly telling everyone that he "Would of schooled that witch bitch," all goes well. I give them all granola dipp bars. They fight over who gets rocky road and who gets peanut butter.
For taking tards out in public, there is almost nothing worse than a play. Whenever there is a calm moment in my class, I say this: "If I wanted to be busy I'd go see a play." But the kids were excited, so I decided to go ahead and get my yearly play punishment out of the way.
I send home permission slips two weeks prior to the play date. [FYI: Normal classroom teachers send home permission slips ONE week prior. Plus I realize that acquiring the entire $5.50 to cover the cost of the trip may require some serious re-budgeting.] The day prior to the play I only have 3 slips turned in.
Being a good little Riti Sped, I call the homes of the 10+ kids that had not turned theirs in. Amongst the litany of unbelievable conversations I have with whoever answers on the other line, my favorite is this:
An answering machine that says "You have reached the Mercer family. We are unable to come to the phone at this time because Lola is shopping, Mark is watching football, Antoni is nowhere to be found and Tom is picking his nose."
The above is a true, unabridged greeting on the voicemail of one of my tard families. Normally I would have thought this was lame, but that my tard Tom does constantly pick his nose, so this is funny.
Surprisingly, all but 2 of my tards get their permission slips on the morning of the trip. The other two will have to spend the day in the preschool tard class. Nice.
The bus ride there was actually quite calm. I think that adjusting to the size of a regular school bus was a bit much for them. I can only imagine the thought processing in their little heads, something like, "Wow. A long bus and seats without restraint equipment--what is this strange new world??"
Our bus arrives at the auditorium, and there are tons of kids all over the place. At least a couple thousand. If one of my tards gets loose, the shit will hit the fan. This worries me, so I assign each tard a buddy to hold hands with and to be "in charge of." This proves to be a good idea, as they argue with each other over who is actually in charge, squeeze the crap out of each others hands, and kick at each other.
The best part are the other kids. Imagine being a normal kid, say sixth grade or so, and seeing a line-up of tards holding hands, stomping through the crowds. The kids were snickering, joking, I heard "look at that" plenty of times. Tons of kids are staring, but my tards are LOVING IT!! They are waving and smiling, still holding hands, basking in the attention.
Since my group is disabled, I am able to reap the rewards of "special needs check in." We are all escorted in, and given the front row of seats to the left of the stage, next to the crying room, coincidentally.
All of the ruckus of the crowds coming in, the noise, etc. causes Lindsay to cry. She wants to sit on my lap. I let her. Soon after this, she has to go to the bathroom, and one of my aides takes her. Things seem to be going smoothly, so I pull out The Tucker Max Saga Continues...E-mail #20 from my purse and begin to read it.
I am about one minute into it, laughing hysterically, when I realize that there are a bunch of kids behind me, peering over my shoulder. I put the papers back in the purse, and hear one kid tell another one that the paper I had said "vagina." Immediately they begin to laugh. I chuckle to myself, as it is kind of funny.
While waiting for the production to begin, nothing that great happens, although Tyler does say "Let's get this bitch on the road."
In preparation for the story of Hansel and Gretel, I read the story to the kids nine times prior to the play. NINE TIMES. We also talked about how it is only a story, and that witches who eat kids are not real, parents don't really lose their kids in the woods, etc.
I am confident that nine times had been enough, and that the kids will understand the play. I was wrong. The witch scares all of the little kids.
Emmy and Brian are crying and screaming. Now I realize the strategic seating arrangement. I take them both to the crying room. But they can still hear the play through speakers in the crying room. So we sing songs and look away from the stage.
Then they fight over who will sit on my lap. Then, and this fucking kills me, they want to hear the story if Hansel and Gretel. I had not of course brought the book with me. But I did have Email #20. I quickly stop this line of thought.
We remain in the crying room for the entire duration of the play. The rest of the tards did such a good job of watching and tying in the ideas from the book to the play. I was so proud of them!! I almost cried on the bus when they told me how much they loved it.
We got back to school, and, aside from Tyler repeatedly telling everyone that he "Would of schooled that witch bitch," all goes well. I give them all granola dipp bars. They fight over who gets rocky road and who gets peanut butter.
Thursday, January 23, 2003
Poetic justice is sweet
Poetic justice is sweet:
This story is almost enough turn to make me question my atheist principles.
Tyler's father came into the school today. Tyrell had been out sick for three days, and the end of the third day his father showed up to get his work to make up. I was not pleased with this for several reasons:
1. I do not like. He is not a good person (see above story).
2. He had not called to tell me he was going to do this. Therefore, I am unprepared with a tard make-up work packet.
3. He smelled like a fucking dumpster.
4. Someone had obviously kicked his ass. BOTH of his eyes were black, he had various cuts on his face, open wounds on his arms, bloody knuckles, and his hand was wrapped with medical tape. Did I mention he stank?
Merely looking at him obligated me to question his well-being. I didn't want to, but it really was inevitable. I am hoping that he will tell me that his tard kicked his ass.
Unfortunately this is not the case. The dad tells me that he was at the drive-thru of Taco Bell when he is cut-off by a car full of Mexicans, making him lose his rightful place in the line-up. (Note: he uses the word Mexicans this time only, after this he just says 'cans') Words are exchanged, birds are flipped. The 'can' driver then gets out and pulls him out of his car. He throws him on the ground, and begins kicking him. Then, the other 'cans' get out and help the driver 'can' to whoop his ass.
And, from a first-hand perspective, I can verify that they did, indeed, whoop his ass.
I asked him if he had gone to the hospital. He said "No, I'm okay." He is not okay, but I don't say it. I tell him that I don't have the make-up work prepared, but would send it home with a sibling the next day. He says OK, and turns to leave. I tell him that I hope his son gets better soon, and that his own injuries healed soon, yada yada yada. He then stops, turns to me and says "Yeah, well ya fuck with one bean and ya get the whole burrito."
I guess sometimes everything does come out in the wash.
This story is almost enough turn to make me question my atheist principles.
Tyler's father came into the school today. Tyrell had been out sick for three days, and the end of the third day his father showed up to get his work to make up. I was not pleased with this for several reasons:
1. I do not like. He is not a good person (see above story).
2. He had not called to tell me he was going to do this. Therefore, I am unprepared with a tard make-up work packet.
3. He smelled like a fucking dumpster.
4. Someone had obviously kicked his ass. BOTH of his eyes were black, he had various cuts on his face, open wounds on his arms, bloody knuckles, and his hand was wrapped with medical tape. Did I mention he stank?
Merely looking at him obligated me to question his well-being. I didn't want to, but it really was inevitable. I am hoping that he will tell me that his tard kicked his ass.
Unfortunately this is not the case. The dad tells me that he was at the drive-thru of Taco Bell when he is cut-off by a car full of Mexicans, making him lose his rightful place in the line-up. (Note: he uses the word Mexicans this time only, after this he just says 'cans') Words are exchanged, birds are flipped. The 'can' driver then gets out and pulls him out of his car. He throws him on the ground, and begins kicking him. Then, the other 'cans' get out and help the driver 'can' to whoop his ass.
And, from a first-hand perspective, I can verify that they did, indeed, whoop his ass.
I asked him if he had gone to the hospital. He said "No, I'm okay." He is not okay, but I don't say it. I tell him that I don't have the make-up work prepared, but would send it home with a sibling the next day. He says OK, and turns to leave. I tell him that I hope his son gets better soon, and that his own injuries healed soon, yada yada yada. He then stops, turns to me and says "Yeah, well ya fuck with one bean and ya get the whole burrito."
I guess sometimes everything does come out in the wash.
Wednesday, January 22, 2003
Tyler's father is the retarded one
Remember Tyler's father, the one who mooned a junior high basketball game? He might be the worst parent ever. His son Tyler is a tard, and thus very impressionable, but his father is impressing very bad things on him. Two examples:
Tyler was sent home Thursday around noon for this: we were doing a unit on Martin Luther King Jr. He announces to the whole class that his Dad said "What is black and yellow and makes you laugh?" "A bus full of black people rolling over a cliff."
On MLK Jr. Day, my school has the day off, but I ran up to the school to get some papers I need to correct. There were some kids riding their bikes around the parking lot, and one of them is Tyler. I asked him if he was enjoying his day off. This is exactly what he said:
"My dad said that we don't celebrate that troublemakers birthday."
It is almost enough to make my jaded soul sad.
Tyler was sent home Thursday around noon for this: we were doing a unit on Martin Luther King Jr. He announces to the whole class that his Dad said "What is black and yellow and makes you laugh?" "A bus full of black people rolling over a cliff."
On MLK Jr. Day, my school has the day off, but I ran up to the school to get some papers I need to correct. There were some kids riding their bikes around the parking lot, and one of them is Tyler. I asked him if he was enjoying his day off. This is exactly what he said:
"My dad said that we don't celebrate that troublemakers birthday."
It is almost enough to make my jaded soul sad.
More Tyrell stories
Tyrell was in my class last year. Dumb he was, but not really retarded. He did have major behavior problems though. He was nothing but trouble. Some of the Tyrell highlights from last year:
- One morning he is late to school, I ask him why, he responds that "My dad couldn't find his drugs."
- He brought marijuana to school.
- He brought a steak knife wrapped in a towel to school. He took it out on the playground to threaten a kid who had been making fun of him. Told the kid that "If you mess with me you'll have to mess with this. And I'll be rapping at your eulogy baby."
- Made these bombs and brought them to school. He made them out of his dad's gun powder. The kid is crazy, the next Una-bomber. He used household items (Carmex container, mechanical pencil lead container) to assemble bombs. He even put heavy duty wicks on them. I took them home, ya know, in case I ever need to blow anything up.
- One morning he is late to school, I ask him why, he responds that "My dad couldn't find his drugs."
- He brought marijuana to school.
- He brought a steak knife wrapped in a towel to school. He took it out on the playground to threaten a kid who had been making fun of him. Told the kid that "If you mess with me you'll have to mess with this. And I'll be rapping at your eulogy baby."
- Made these bombs and brought them to school. He made them out of his dad's gun powder. The kid is crazy, the next Una-bomber. He used household items (Carmex container, mechanical pencil lead container) to assemble bombs. He even put heavy duty wicks on them. I took them home, ya know, in case I ever need to blow anything up.
Tuesday, January 21, 2003
Sub is not welcomed
As is life, I was so sick on Sunday night that I had to call a sub for the following day. My sub plans included writing words on the kids small chalkboards. Because I was gone, and the kids can't adjust to this, they all were bad.
The sub left the worst feedback I had ever seen. She also asked that I not call on her again. This is what Tom (rice box boy, and above story) wrote on his chalkboard. She was so angry that she left it for me to see.
I was proud of him, it was all spelled correctly and the "I" was capitalized. If he had included a period at the end, I might have let him chose from the prize box.
The sub left the worst feedback I had ever seen. She also asked that I not call on her again. This is what Tom (rice box boy, and above story) wrote on his chalkboard. She was so angry that she left it for me to see.
I was proud of him, it was all spelled correctly and the "I" was capitalized. If he had included a period at the end, I might have let him chose from the prize box.
Monday, January 20, 2003
Tom gets upset
Tim refuses to accept the fact that we only use a capital letter at the beginning of our name. He wants to just throw in random capital letters. I will not allow this.
One day he kept making capital letters and arguing with me about it, so I took away his writing journal and his pencil. Needless to say, he got violently angry. He threw shit all over the place while calling me a "crack head bitch."
One day he kept making capital letters and arguing with me about it, so I took away his writing journal and his pencil. Needless to say, he got violently angry. He threw shit all over the place while calling me a "crack head bitch."
Friday, January 17, 2003
Guest Contributor: What it's like in Riti's clas
Ed. Note: This is written by a guest contributor, who is friends with Riti and once visited her classroom:
I met Riti Sped during a spring break a few years ago. She let me come to her class one time to check out the kids.
They were all terrible. Some loud, some mute, some shat in pants, some pissed, some spit, swore, some wrote things like "Fuck" on the tables, some scribbled over anything. This list of their transgressions is nearly endless. Despite all the entertaining behavior, the funniest thing was how Riti dealt with the tards. I will never forget this incident:
Riti was quizzing the tards on their ABC's with flashcards. She is going from tard to tard, and as she held up a card with a letter on it, they would say what letter it was. She gets to one girl, and the letter is a "T." Riti didn't know it, but the card was upside down.
The tard looked at it and said "What the fuck is that?" This alone makes me explode. But then Riti says "Oh, I am sorry [name of kid] I don't think I said it is time to use bad words." The girl then said "That's a weird fucking letter," to which Riti said something like, "Excuse me [name of girl] if you would like to use bad words, we can do this during our recess time. The rest of us would like to finish up here," and left it like that.
Later on I asked her why she didn't send the girl out. She said something like, "If I send out every kid that swore I would have no kids here to teach."
Though this was funny, the capstone to the trip was this:
I laughed at this one huge fat kid because he all the sudden started smelling like shit. He had literally shit his pants, right there in the classroom. Riti hits the intercom button.
The response is some lady who says "Yes, office?"
Riti says this only "We have a code brown."
The lady says "I will send down the principal and the janitor."
I no longer was able to contain my laughter. THEY HAD A SYSTEM SET UP TO DEAL WITH THE SHITTY FAT KID! I started to laugh uncontrollably loud.
At this, the fat retard becomes mad and charges me, knocks me into a bookcase and the bookcase falls over and all the books fall out, and he lands on top of me, in the middle of all these books all over the floor. He was so huge that the impact of him landing on me knocks the breath out of me and breaks my hand. NO SHIT--BROKE MY FUCKING HAND!
Now I am not a small man, nor a wimp, and at 6'4, 200 lbs, I figured I was safe around the tards. But the kid was so big that he broke my hand and scratched up my neck and side.
Mentally picture this image: bookshelf down, little tard books scattered everywhere, me in the middle of them with a fat tard on top of me, the principal and janitor are at the door, AND RITI CONTINUES TEACHING! AS IF NOTHING AT ALL HAD HAPPENED!!
Finally I throw the tard off of me, and I see the diarrhea all over the ass of his huge, tent-size sweatpants. That image, combined with the intense shit smell, caused me to vomit on the floor.
Later, I am sitting in a tiny little chair, made for someone 1/4 my size, with my hand throbbing and the taste of vomit in my mouth. All Riti does is look at me and say, "I knew you couldn't handle this. Real good AJ, real good," and then continues to teach. Her and all of the kids acted as if nothing had happened, with me sitting in my midget chair, nursing my broken hand, faintly smelling of tard crap, and feeling like the biggest tard in the room.
My roommates had a great 6 weeks of making fun of me until the cast came off. They all signed it with stupid shit, like, "Beware of Fat Tards."
Riti signed it "Real good, AJ".
And if I recall correctly, Riti has a picture of me with the cast on later that evening. She had no pity for me at all.
I met Riti Sped during a spring break a few years ago. She let me come to her class one time to check out the kids.
They were all terrible. Some loud, some mute, some shat in pants, some pissed, some spit, swore, some wrote things like "Fuck" on the tables, some scribbled over anything. This list of their transgressions is nearly endless. Despite all the entertaining behavior, the funniest thing was how Riti dealt with the tards. I will never forget this incident:
Riti was quizzing the tards on their ABC's with flashcards. She is going from tard to tard, and as she held up a card with a letter on it, they would say what letter it was. She gets to one girl, and the letter is a "T." Riti didn't know it, but the card was upside down.
The tard looked at it and said "What the fuck is that?" This alone makes me explode. But then Riti says "Oh, I am sorry [name of kid] I don't think I said it is time to use bad words." The girl then said "That's a weird fucking letter," to which Riti said something like, "Excuse me [name of girl] if you would like to use bad words, we can do this during our recess time. The rest of us would like to finish up here," and left it like that.
Later on I asked her why she didn't send the girl out. She said something like, "If I send out every kid that swore I would have no kids here to teach."
Though this was funny, the capstone to the trip was this:
I laughed at this one huge fat kid because he all the sudden started smelling like shit. He had literally shit his pants, right there in the classroom. Riti hits the intercom button.
The response is some lady who says "Yes, office?"
Riti says this only "We have a code brown."
The lady says "I will send down the principal and the janitor."
I no longer was able to contain my laughter. THEY HAD A SYSTEM SET UP TO DEAL WITH THE SHITTY FAT KID! I started to laugh uncontrollably loud.
At this, the fat retard becomes mad and charges me, knocks me into a bookcase and the bookcase falls over and all the books fall out, and he lands on top of me, in the middle of all these books all over the floor. He was so huge that the impact of him landing on me knocks the breath out of me and breaks my hand. NO SHIT--BROKE MY FUCKING HAND!
Now I am not a small man, nor a wimp, and at 6'4, 200 lbs, I figured I was safe around the tards. But the kid was so big that he broke my hand and scratched up my neck and side.
Mentally picture this image: bookshelf down, little tard books scattered everywhere, me in the middle of them with a fat tard on top of me, the principal and janitor are at the door, AND RITI CONTINUES TEACHING! AS IF NOTHING AT ALL HAD HAPPENED!!
Finally I throw the tard off of me, and I see the diarrhea all over the ass of his huge, tent-size sweatpants. That image, combined with the intense shit smell, caused me to vomit on the floor.
Later, I am sitting in a tiny little chair, made for someone 1/4 my size, with my hand throbbing and the taste of vomit in my mouth. All Riti does is look at me and say, "I knew you couldn't handle this. Real good AJ, real good," and then continues to teach. Her and all of the kids acted as if nothing had happened, with me sitting in my midget chair, nursing my broken hand, faintly smelling of tard crap, and feeling like the biggest tard in the room.
My roommates had a great 6 weeks of making fun of me until the cast came off. They all signed it with stupid shit, like, "Beware of Fat Tards."
Riti signed it "Real good, AJ".
And if I recall correctly, Riti has a picture of me with the cast on later that evening. She had no pity for me at all.
Thursday, January 16, 2003
Tard parents makes ass out of himself, literally
I go to a basketball game at the junior high. I do this because a current student of mine, Mark, has a brother, Dave, playing. He is a former student of mine. I agree to go to the game, but I take a friend with me.
When I get there I see Mark, who introduces me to his father. His father appears to be my age, and will not let go of my hand when I shake it. He is also wearing a jersey. I hate this shit. I automatically label him as poor white trash. His behavior this night will prove this.
The game starts, and Dave is playing is playing well. He is a good athlete. Almost every call that the ref makes against Dave's team receives a loud "LOOOSER" comment from the dad. Dave fouls someone and the dad disagrees. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WATCHING, REF? OPEN YOUR EYES." Other parents are staring. My friend and I are about to die from trying to hold in our laughter.
A penalty is later called against one of Dave's teammates. "THAT IS BULLSHIT," the dad calls out. At this point he is approached by the coach about his behavior, and asked to calm down and stop making these remarks.
He is basically calm for the rest of the game, until the last 2 minutes, when Dave fouls out. At this, the dad stands up, yells "KISS THIS REF" and moons the entire court and everyone on the bleachers. He is then ejected from the game. I can not contain myself. Mark is crying because he doesn't want to leave the court. The gym is virtually chaotic with the commotion.
The game over, everyone start filing out of the gym into the parking lot, parents, kids, teachers, coaches, etc. Dave's dad is in the parking lot yelling at Dave for his on court performance. Everyone is staring.
The family gets into their mini-van, and all of them are fighting. They pull out of the parking lot, when the dad slams on the brakes, screeching the tires and to bring the van to an abrupt stop. The door flies open and out tumble Dave and Mark. The dad pulls off, not even bothering to close the van door, leaving the brothers to walk home. Mark and Dave are beating the shit out of each other on the sidewalk as we all watch. At least 50 parents/kids are watching this. They are swearing at each other and fighting ruthlessly.
My friend and I get in my car and begin to drive out of the parking lot. We get about a quarter mile down the road from the school when we pass Mark and Dave, still kicking the shit out of each other as they walk home.
As we drove by I honked like ten times and my friend gives a loud "Yeeee-haaaaaaah".
When I get there I see Mark, who introduces me to his father. His father appears to be my age, and will not let go of my hand when I shake it. He is also wearing a jersey. I hate this shit. I automatically label him as poor white trash. His behavior this night will prove this.
The game starts, and Dave is playing is playing well. He is a good athlete. Almost every call that the ref makes against Dave's team receives a loud "LOOOSER" comment from the dad. Dave fouls someone and the dad disagrees. "WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU WATCHING, REF? OPEN YOUR EYES." Other parents are staring. My friend and I are about to die from trying to hold in our laughter.
A penalty is later called against one of Dave's teammates. "THAT IS BULLSHIT," the dad calls out. At this point he is approached by the coach about his behavior, and asked to calm down and stop making these remarks.
He is basically calm for the rest of the game, until the last 2 minutes, when Dave fouls out. At this, the dad stands up, yells "KISS THIS REF" and moons the entire court and everyone on the bleachers. He is then ejected from the game. I can not contain myself. Mark is crying because he doesn't want to leave the court. The gym is virtually chaotic with the commotion.
The game over, everyone start filing out of the gym into the parking lot, parents, kids, teachers, coaches, etc. Dave's dad is in the parking lot yelling at Dave for his on court performance. Everyone is staring.
The family gets into their mini-van, and all of them are fighting. They pull out of the parking lot, when the dad slams on the brakes, screeching the tires and to bring the van to an abrupt stop. The door flies open and out tumble Dave and Mark. The dad pulls off, not even bothering to close the van door, leaving the brothers to walk home. Mark and Dave are beating the shit out of each other on the sidewalk as we all watch. At least 50 parents/kids are watching this. They are swearing at each other and fighting ruthlessly.
My friend and I get in my car and begin to drive out of the parking lot. We get about a quarter mile down the road from the school when we pass Mark and Dave, still kicking the shit out of each other as they walk home.
As we drove by I honked like ten times and my friend gives a loud "Yeeee-haaaaaaah".
Wednesday, January 15, 2003
New kid has interesting background
New kid Brian tells me, while standing in line waiting for computer lab that:
"My grandpa was in jail cuz he busted up a lot of computers."
No shit?? I am instantly drawn in to the conversation. I allow him to continue:
"He's dead now. Because he died at the doctors office. He went up there now (he points up)"
Later that night, there was a family night at school. My friend Jason who eats lunch with Jamel on Wednesdays is there with me. I had told him about what Brian had said to me earlier, but of course I think it would be best if Brian told him.
I spot Brian without his parents. I go up to him and say "Hi Brian, is your grandpa here?" He then rambles on about his grandpa being dead, going to jail for busting computers, died at the doctors office, etc. He then throws this one in:
"He was in jail a long time ago because he killed a policeman."
HOLY SHIT!!! This is better then I could of ever expected. And my friend is there to witness it!!!!!
Brian's dad rushes over and says "Brian, what tales are you telling?" He seemed nervous and hurried. He then said "Come over here with me, I have someone I want you to meet," and then wisks Brian away.
"My grandpa was in jail cuz he busted up a lot of computers."
No shit?? I am instantly drawn in to the conversation. I allow him to continue:
"He's dead now. Because he died at the doctors office. He went up there now (he points up)"
Later that night, there was a family night at school. My friend Jason who eats lunch with Jamel on Wednesdays is there with me. I had told him about what Brian had said to me earlier, but of course I think it would be best if Brian told him.
I spot Brian without his parents. I go up to him and say "Hi Brian, is your grandpa here?" He then rambles on about his grandpa being dead, going to jail for busting computers, died at the doctors office, etc. He then throws this one in:
"He was in jail a long time ago because he killed a policeman."
HOLY SHIT!!! This is better then I could of ever expected. And my friend is there to witness it!!!!!
Brian's dad rushes over and says "Brian, what tales are you telling?" He seemed nervous and hurried. He then said "Come over here with me, I have someone I want you to meet," and then wisks Brian away.
Tuesday, January 14, 2003
Augusta won't touch mail either
Augusta is in the office, waiting to go home because he was touched. It happened during PE, when they were having relay races and he was shoved. [For a complete understanding of Augusta's problem, see 12/10: Meet Augusta, but don't touch him] I call up to the office from my classroom and ask them to assign Augusta some task to work on while he waits.
So they have Augusta put the mail away in the teachers boxes. And we all know how many people touch mail. He was freaking out. Scared even.
The secretary told me that she left him in the mailroom to put away a huge bin of mail. She checked on him 5 minutes later. He was moving at the pace of a one-hundred year old woman, cautiously picking up each letter with either one finger from each hand or with his sweatshirt pulled over his hand. He treated each piece of mail like he was handling weapons grade plutonium.
She went in and asked him why he wasn't moving along. He said that he didn't really like to put away mail. She offered him some rubber gloves. He accepted, and the bin of mail was put away in ten minutes.
So they have Augusta put the mail away in the teachers boxes. And we all know how many people touch mail. He was freaking out. Scared even.
The secretary told me that she left him in the mailroom to put away a huge bin of mail. She checked on him 5 minutes later. He was moving at the pace of a one-hundred year old woman, cautiously picking up each letter with either one finger from each hand or with his sweatshirt pulled over his hand. He treated each piece of mail like he was handling weapons grade plutonium.
She went in and asked him why he wasn't moving along. He said that he didn't really like to put away mail. She offered him some rubber gloves. He accepted, and the bin of mail was put away in ten minutes.
Monday, January 13, 2003
Tards contribute snacks
Augusta comes to school today with snacks that he was donating to the class. A regular size ziploc sandwich bag stuffed so full of nuts that it would barely close. It was weird. I put them aside, and later when the kids are at music I look more carefully at the nuts. There are 2 kinds of nuts in the bag. Hazelnuts and Brazil nuts. Both of which are nasty. They were also salted.
I was puzzled, so I asked Augusta about the odd donation. He told me that his family has a huge 5 pound can of mixed nuts at home, and that they liked all of the nuts except these two kinds. Super. I am very excited about feeding the rejected nuts from Augusta's family to my class.
Other donations: - Lindsay: Scooby-Doo fruit snacks
- Brad: peanut butter Rice Krispy treats
- Tom: cheese mini-Ritz bits
I know what I will be giving Augusta for his snack for a long, long time.
I was puzzled, so I asked Augusta about the odd donation. He told me that his family has a huge 5 pound can of mixed nuts at home, and that they liked all of the nuts except these two kinds. Super. I am very excited about feeding the rejected nuts from Augusta's family to my class.
Other donations: - Lindsay: Scooby-Doo fruit snacks
- Brad: peanut butter Rice Krispy treats
- Tom: cheese mini-Ritz bits
Saturday, January 11, 2003
Riti teaches the tards about sex
have to teach them about sex, in a series called "Family Life." I can hardly stand it. Primarily, because I still laugh at words like "uterus" and "fallopian tubes." Especially if there are other people laughing hysterically, it is hard for me to contain myself. I was trying so hard not to laugh throughout the entire 25 minute duration of "Family Life".
I had to show a diagram of the female reproductive system, point out the parts, and describe their functions. Also, I have both males and females in my group, unlike the other classes, where they split the classes into male/female groups
I started the unit on Friday. I am also obligated, by state law, to take questions from the tards and answer them honestly.
The very first (and only) question I received was this, from AUGUSTA, "What does sex feel like?"
Fucking-A. I am now in the worst situation possible. How do I answer this to a group of tards? I definitely do not want to imply that I have ever had sex. I think about it for a bit, and finally say "Well, I guess it feels good, otherwise people wouldn't do it." They all seemed to accept this answer. Thank God that Family Life time was over before someone asked me another question.
I am dreading Monday. I am convinced that they will verbally attack me, and force me to answer questions about my sex life. Plus I still can't help but laugh during the entire lesson.
Somebody shoot me, please.
I had to show a diagram of the female reproductive system, point out the parts, and describe their functions. Also, I have both males and females in my group, unlike the other classes, where they split the classes into male/female groups
I started the unit on Friday. I am also obligated, by state law, to take questions from the tards and answer them honestly.
The very first (and only) question I received was this, from AUGUSTA, "What does sex feel like?"
Fucking-A. I am now in the worst situation possible. How do I answer this to a group of tards? I definitely do not want to imply that I have ever had sex. I think about it for a bit, and finally say "Well, I guess it feels good, otherwise people wouldn't do it." They all seemed to accept this answer. Thank God that Family Life time was over before someone asked me another question.
I am dreading Monday. I am convinced that they will verbally attack me, and force me to answer questions about my sex life. Plus I still can't help but laugh during the entire lesson.
Somebody shoot me, please.
Friday, January 10, 2003
Retardism runs in Family
Trevor is in third grade. He was born with fetal alcohol syndrome and as a result if very slow. He is also very bad at reading. He guesses at words, and doesn't even know his sounds. The most frustrating part is that he doesn't care. It doesn't seem to bother him that, in his reading group are 3 kindergarteners, retarded ones no les, and him.
Last year I had Trevor's brother in my class. He has since moved on to high school. He was scary. I guarantee he will be on America's Most Wanted in like 10 years. Him and I fought just about every day last year because he always wore bandanas to school, which is against school rules. He would always try to compromise with me regarding the bandana ("if I finish all my typing, can I wear it out to recess", etc.)
The most annoying thing he would do was to constantly repeat song lyrics. At least fifteen times a day he would, out of nowhere, bust out with "Jiggah-Jiggah Slim Shady". I wanted to beat him. Near the end of last year he had changed it to "Notorious B-I-G- baby baby". This wasn't nearly as bad as "Jiggah-Jiggah Slim Shady" but was still annoying.
Trevor has replicated this annoying habit. It is as if his brother and him concocted a New Years resolution to piss me off. Trevor was sent to the principal's office, then eventually home because he could not stop saying "Forty degrees when I tell that bitch please." This was his answer to anything and everything. During reading group I asked him to read one sentence from the book. The fucker puts his finger on the sentence, and says, while pretending to be reading, "Forty degrees when I tell that bitch please."
Luckily, the kindergarteners are too young and retarded to comprehend this. Trevor is then sent to the principal's office after doing the same thing three more times.
Today Trevor returns, and his new phrase is "Young and dangerous, ain't nobody can hang with us." This one isn't as bad, but it pisses me off because he is saying ain't. I don't want my kids to hear this, because they will be prone to repeating it.
After several warnings, the behavior continues, so he goes back to the office. The principal asks him if he needs to call his mom to come get him.
Trevor's response (I kid you not), "Nigga Please."
He went home shortly after that.
Last year I had Trevor's brother in my class. He has since moved on to high school. He was scary. I guarantee he will be on America's Most Wanted in like 10 years. Him and I fought just about every day last year because he always wore bandanas to school, which is against school rules. He would always try to compromise with me regarding the bandana ("if I finish all my typing, can I wear it out to recess", etc.)
The most annoying thing he would do was to constantly repeat song lyrics. At least fifteen times a day he would, out of nowhere, bust out with "Jiggah-Jiggah Slim Shady". I wanted to beat him. Near the end of last year he had changed it to "Notorious B-I-G- baby baby". This wasn't nearly as bad as "Jiggah-Jiggah Slim Shady" but was still annoying.
Trevor has replicated this annoying habit. It is as if his brother and him concocted a New Years resolution to piss me off. Trevor was sent to the principal's office, then eventually home because he could not stop saying "Forty degrees when I tell that bitch please." This was his answer to anything and everything. During reading group I asked him to read one sentence from the book. The fucker puts his finger on the sentence, and says, while pretending to be reading, "Forty degrees when I tell that bitch please."
Luckily, the kindergarteners are too young and retarded to comprehend this. Trevor is then sent to the principal's office after doing the same thing three more times.
Today Trevor returns, and his new phrase is "Young and dangerous, ain't nobody can hang with us." This one isn't as bad, but it pisses me off because he is saying ain't. I don't want my kids to hear this, because they will be prone to repeating it.
After several warnings, the behavior continues, so he goes back to the office. The principal asks him if he needs to call his mom to come get him.
Trevor's response (I kid you not), "Nigga Please."
He went home shortly after that.
Lewis is funny
Lewis (from 12/20: Every student is funny in their own way) approaches me and says, "Are you affected by Global Warming?"
Me "Sure, are you?"
Him "Well, in what way?"
Me "Is your skin more suseptable to sunburn due to the increase in UV ray penetration and a boost in the albedo effect?"
Him "I would assume so," he says, "I will have to do some research on the internet, and then I will let you know."
This is a classic example of a highly functioning autistic nutcase. Later on that same day he asks me "What is the difference between raw sewage and cooked sewage?"
Me "Sure, are you?"
Him "Well, in what way?"
Me "Is your skin more suseptable to sunburn due to the increase in UV ray penetration and a boost in the albedo effect?"
Him "I would assume so," he says, "I will have to do some research on the internet, and then I will let you know."
This is a classic example of a highly functioning autistic nutcase. Later on that same day he asks me "What is the difference between raw sewage and cooked sewage?"
Wednesday, January 8, 2003
An average day in Riti's life:
From Tucker Max: I asked Riti to keep a running journal of just one day in her life. This is it:
- Emmy got so excited when I was looking at a book with her that she kicked me in the knee really hard, huge bruise already.
- I was so angry that for nap time I put on Wheelz of Steel by Outkast instead of the usual "Betterman" by Pearl Jam. The tards were whining and crying. I was laughing.
- Zach peed his pants. Second time this week.
- I got pulled over for speeding in a school zone. I had to pull into the school parking lot to deal with the cop. He left his lights flashing, and everyone was staring. The short busses pull in, my kids wave at me, see the police lights, and think I am getting in big trouble. One tard refuses to get off the bus. Apparently he has learned from incidents with his parents that flashing lights mean daddy is going away for awhile.
- Kids learned a new song in music. I go to pick them up. The music teacher tells them to sing me the song. They all had forgotten it.
- Ivan brought food coloring from home, and then eats it.
- I tell Zach to stop picking his nose. He tells me his mom says it is OK to pick your nose, just not OK to eat the boogies.
- I am reading "Red Racer" to the kids. It is about a girl who tries to ruin her bike so her parents will buy her a new one. One page describes the sound as her bike goes over a cliff like this "bong, bong, bong." Ivan raised his hand and said his dad has a bong
- Got a new kid today. He can't sit still for the life of him. I told him to put his coat in the coat closet and he started to bitch right off the bat. "Work is too hard, I hate working." Hopefully he will pee in his pants or masturbate or something good.
- Emmy got so excited when I was looking at a book with her that she kicked me in the knee really hard, huge bruise already.
- I was so angry that for nap time I put on Wheelz of Steel by Outkast instead of the usual "Betterman" by Pearl Jam. The tards were whining and crying. I was laughing.
- Zach peed his pants. Second time this week.
- I got pulled over for speeding in a school zone. I had to pull into the school parking lot to deal with the cop. He left his lights flashing, and everyone was staring. The short busses pull in, my kids wave at me, see the police lights, and think I am getting in big trouble. One tard refuses to get off the bus. Apparently he has learned from incidents with his parents that flashing lights mean daddy is going away for awhile.
- Kids learned a new song in music. I go to pick them up. The music teacher tells them to sing me the song. They all had forgotten it.
- Ivan brought food coloring from home, and then eats it.
- I tell Zach to stop picking his nose. He tells me his mom says it is OK to pick your nose, just not OK to eat the boogies.
- I am reading "Red Racer" to the kids. It is about a girl who tries to ruin her bike so her parents will buy her a new one. One page describes the sound as her bike goes over a cliff like this "bong, bong, bong." Ivan raised his hand and said his dad has a bong
- Got a new kid today. He can't sit still for the life of him. I told him to put his coat in the coat closet and he started to bitch right off the bat. "Work is too hard, I hate working." Hopefully he will pee in his pants or masturbate or something good.
Tuesday, January 7, 2003
Riti's class makes stuff for Tucker
My class forgot everything they had learned prior to Christmas break, so we will spend the week reviewing. We made cards for Tucker today. I pulled out the old scrap box, and let them have at it. I even made a sample card to show them. I told them to decorate the outside and to draw pictures of things they liked on the inside.
My favorite card is cut in the shape of Florida, with fish and boats around it. They actually did an OK job. They forget everything important, but can still make funny ass cards. I guess I should dwell on the positive.
My kids are so sweet, as they elected to give their class necklace to Tucker. They earn beads when they are well-behaved for their music and p.e. teachers. These beads go into their bead jar, and every Friday the beads are strung onto their class necklace. It has become quite large.
They wanted to know if my friend Tucker got to play with kids. I said no, he never gets to be around kids, and that is why we are making cards for him. Sweet little Lindsey suggested that Tucker get the necklace because if you want to have friends you need to give them stuff. Hmmm, mom must have taught her that one.
And the mom who tried to kill herself, the one with the deer costume, well, it seems as if she and her kids moved over break. No one really knows for sure, but neither child is present, and it is rumored that they just up and moved. The sad part about this is that Emmy would have made the best card for Tucker. She scribbles and stabs papers with pens and pencils.
Monday, January 6, 2003
Augusta's fear of germs goes to a new level
ugusta has spent every recess inside with me this week, due to his candycane theft before break (see Archive 12/30: Augusta the thief).
He hates it. I hate it more. Augusta smells like a hot litterbox. This is peculiar, as I never noticed it prior to 2003. I honestly think that he is making himself reek in order to keep others away, lessening the chance that someone will touch him. I know, it sounds exaggerated to those of you not in daily contact with tards, but I know my naughty little reetees and I think this is the case.
On Monday he spent all three recesses with me, in my classroom, with his head down. He fucking stank. Happy New Year To Me.
Tuesday he spent the two fifteen minute recesses with me. During the lunch recess (thirty minutes) I let him listen to a booktape at the listening station. I did this strategically, as the listening station is furthest from my desk. I didn't want my lunch to taste like the Augusta.
So here comes Wednesday, when Augusta proceeds to horrify me almost beyond belief.
It is approximately 10:30 a.m. when Augusta asks to go to the bathroom. I allow it, and set the timer. (They have 2 minutes to get back before they lose behavior points.) The timer goes off, Augusta is not back. Because he is a large child, I give him another 2 minutes. He still is not back. (The bathroom is directly next door to my classroom.) I send an aide out to get him. She comes back a minute later without Augusta. This is exactley what she told me:
" I yelled in and said 'Augusta, what are you doing in there?' In a deep, low mans voice, he says 'Go away, no one is in here.'"
Now Augusta is fucking with us. Being retarded and mentally disturbed, I do not find it odd that he is trying to play ghost in the bathroom with us. Now I am going to have to walk into the boys bathroom and haul his ass out. I walk to the door of the bathroom, which is always left open and say, "Augusta you get out here right now."
Augusta doesn't have a lot left to lose if he chooses to not follow directions. His behavior chart is already full of negative comments. He is already in at recess, with no snack, and I have told him already that he will earn no stickers for the entire week. I could revoke PE and Music privileges, but he hates them anyway.
"Do I have to come in and get you? Are you gonna be a baby?" (he is 11). Augusta doesn't respond. I brace myself and enter, only to see the most vile scene possible. This is the best way I can describe it:
The garbage can is in the middle of the floor. Augusta is squatting over it, completely naked from the waste down, one leg on each side of the trash can. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear are in a pile by the sink. His back is to me, his arms are straight out in front of him, and he is taking a dump.
I immediately turn and exit. I feel absolutely violated, like I had popped a few rohypnol, chugged a beer and laid myself on the couch at Phi Delts for all to have at. I then do what I do when I can't deal with what is going on, and push the alert principal button.
He comes down and goes into the bathroom. Augusta has dressed himself, and is washing his hands furiously. There is a pile of shit in the garbage can. The principal escorts him up to the office, where Augusta has a little one-on-one with the school nurse. My aide takes the bag of shit out to the dumpster.
Augusta's mom comes and takes him home, but not before a meeting with the principal. He said she was completely embarrassed.
The school nurse came down later in the day to talk with me. Apparently, Augusta doesn't want to sit on the school toilet seat because he is afraid of getting "butt germs". He used those two words! He will go pee at school, but will not sit down. I can only wonder how many other times this year he has had to take a crap....
He hates it. I hate it more. Augusta smells like a hot litterbox. This is peculiar, as I never noticed it prior to 2003. I honestly think that he is making himself reek in order to keep others away, lessening the chance that someone will touch him. I know, it sounds exaggerated to those of you not in daily contact with tards, but I know my naughty little reetees and I think this is the case.
On Monday he spent all three recesses with me, in my classroom, with his head down. He fucking stank. Happy New Year To Me.
Tuesday he spent the two fifteen minute recesses with me. During the lunch recess (thirty minutes) I let him listen to a booktape at the listening station. I did this strategically, as the listening station is furthest from my desk. I didn't want my lunch to taste like the Augusta.
So here comes Wednesday, when Augusta proceeds to horrify me almost beyond belief.
It is approximately 10:30 a.m. when Augusta asks to go to the bathroom. I allow it, and set the timer. (They have 2 minutes to get back before they lose behavior points.) The timer goes off, Augusta is not back. Because he is a large child, I give him another 2 minutes. He still is not back. (The bathroom is directly next door to my classroom.) I send an aide out to get him. She comes back a minute later without Augusta. This is exactley what she told me:
" I yelled in and said 'Augusta, what are you doing in there?' In a deep, low mans voice, he says 'Go away, no one is in here.'"
Now Augusta is fucking with us. Being retarded and mentally disturbed, I do not find it odd that he is trying to play ghost in the bathroom with us. Now I am going to have to walk into the boys bathroom and haul his ass out. I walk to the door of the bathroom, which is always left open and say, "Augusta you get out here right now."
Augusta doesn't have a lot left to lose if he chooses to not follow directions. His behavior chart is already full of negative comments. He is already in at recess, with no snack, and I have told him already that he will earn no stickers for the entire week. I could revoke PE and Music privileges, but he hates them anyway.
"Do I have to come in and get you? Are you gonna be a baby?" (he is 11). Augusta doesn't respond. I brace myself and enter, only to see the most vile scene possible. This is the best way I can describe it:
The garbage can is in the middle of the floor. Augusta is squatting over it, completely naked from the waste down, one leg on each side of the trash can. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear are in a pile by the sink. His back is to me, his arms are straight out in front of him, and he is taking a dump.
I immediately turn and exit. I feel absolutely violated, like I had popped a few rohypnol, chugged a beer and laid myself on the couch at Phi Delts for all to have at. I then do what I do when I can't deal with what is going on, and push the alert principal button.
He comes down and goes into the bathroom. Augusta has dressed himself, and is washing his hands furiously. There is a pile of shit in the garbage can. The principal escorts him up to the office, where Augusta has a little one-on-one with the school nurse. My aide takes the bag of shit out to the dumpster.
Augusta's mom comes and takes him home, but not before a meeting with the principal. He said she was completely embarrassed.
The school nurse came down later in the day to talk with me. Apparently, Augusta doesn't want to sit on the school toilet seat because he is afraid of getting "butt germs". He used those two words! He will go pee at school, but will not sit down. I can only wonder how many other times this year he has had to take a crap....
Augusta's fear of germs goes to a new level
ugusta has spent every recess inside with me this week, due to his candycane theft before break (see Archive 12/30: Augusta the thief).
He hates it. I hate it more. Augusta smells like a hot litterbox. This is peculiar, as I never noticed it prior to 2003. I honestly think that he is making himself reek in order to keep others away, lessening the chance that someone will touch him. I know, it sounds exaggerated to those of you not in daily contact with tards, but I know my naughty little reetees and I think this is the case.
On Monday he spent all three recesses with me, in my classroom, with his head down. He fucking stank. Happy New Year To Me.
Tuesday he spent the two fifteen minute recesses with me. During the lunch recess (thirty minutes) I let him listen to a booktape at the listening station. I did this strategically, as the listening station is furthest from my desk. I didn't want my lunch to taste like the Augusta.
So here comes Wednesday, when Augusta proceeds to horrify me almost beyond belief.
It is approximately 10:30 a.m. when Augusta asks to go to the bathroom. I allow it, and set the timer. (They have 2 minutes to get back before they lose behavior points.) The timer goes off, Augusta is not back. Because he is a large child, I give him another 2 minutes. He still is not back. (The bathroom is directly next door to my classroom.) I send an aide out to get him. She comes back a minute later without Augusta. This is exactley what she told me:
" I yelled in and said 'Augusta, what are you doing in there?' In a deep, low mans voice, he says 'Go away, no one is in here.'"
Now Augusta is fucking with us. Being retarded and mentally disturbed, I do not find it odd that he is trying to play ghost in the bathroom with us. Now I am going to have to walk into the boys bathroom and haul his ass out. I walk to the door of the bathroom, which is always left open and say, "Augusta you get out here right now."
Augusta doesn't have a lot left to lose if he chooses to not follow directions. His behavior chart is already full of negative comments. He is already in at recess, with no snack, and I have told him already that he will earn no stickers for the entire week. I could revoke PE and Music privileges, but he hates them anyway.
"Do I have to come in and get you? Are you gonna be a baby?" (he is 11). Augusta doesn't respond. I brace myself and enter, only to see the most vile scene possible. This is the best way I can describe it:
The garbage can is in the middle of the floor. Augusta is squatting over it, completely naked from the waste down, one leg on each side of the trash can. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear are in a pile by the sink. His back is to me, his arms are straight out in front of him, and he is taking a dump.
I immediately turn and exit. I feel absolutely violated, like I had popped a few rohypnol, chugged a beer and laid myself on the couch at Phi Delts for all to have at. I then do what I do when I can't deal with what is going on, and push the alert principal button.
He comes down and goes into the bathroom. Augusta has dressed himself, and is washing his hands furiously. There is a pile of shit in the garbage can. The principal escorts him up to the office, where Augusta has a little one-on-one with the school nurse. My aide takes the bag of shit out to the dumpster.
Augusta's mom comes and takes him home, but not before a meeting with the principal. He said she was completely embarrassed.
The school nurse came down later in the day to talk with me. Apparently, Augusta doesn't want to sit on the school toilet seat because he is afraid of getting "butt germs". He used those two words! He will go pee at school, but will not sit down. I can only wonder how many other times this year he has had to take a crap....
He hates it. I hate it more. Augusta smells like a hot litterbox. This is peculiar, as I never noticed it prior to 2003. I honestly think that he is making himself reek in order to keep others away, lessening the chance that someone will touch him. I know, it sounds exaggerated to those of you not in daily contact with tards, but I know my naughty little reetees and I think this is the case.
On Monday he spent all three recesses with me, in my classroom, with his head down. He fucking stank. Happy New Year To Me.
Tuesday he spent the two fifteen minute recesses with me. During the lunch recess (thirty minutes) I let him listen to a booktape at the listening station. I did this strategically, as the listening station is furthest from my desk. I didn't want my lunch to taste like the Augusta.
So here comes Wednesday, when Augusta proceeds to horrify me almost beyond belief.
It is approximately 10:30 a.m. when Augusta asks to go to the bathroom. I allow it, and set the timer. (They have 2 minutes to get back before they lose behavior points.) The timer goes off, Augusta is not back. Because he is a large child, I give him another 2 minutes. He still is not back. (The bathroom is directly next door to my classroom.) I send an aide out to get him. She comes back a minute later without Augusta. This is exactley what she told me:
" I yelled in and said 'Augusta, what are you doing in there?' In a deep, low mans voice, he says 'Go away, no one is in here.'"
Now Augusta is fucking with us. Being retarded and mentally disturbed, I do not find it odd that he is trying to play ghost in the bathroom with us. Now I am going to have to walk into the boys bathroom and haul his ass out. I walk to the door of the bathroom, which is always left open and say, "Augusta you get out here right now."
Augusta doesn't have a lot left to lose if he chooses to not follow directions. His behavior chart is already full of negative comments. He is already in at recess, with no snack, and I have told him already that he will earn no stickers for the entire week. I could revoke PE and Music privileges, but he hates them anyway.
"Do I have to come in and get you? Are you gonna be a baby?" (he is 11). Augusta doesn't respond. I brace myself and enter, only to see the most vile scene possible. This is the best way I can describe it:
The garbage can is in the middle of the floor. Augusta is squatting over it, completely naked from the waste down, one leg on each side of the trash can. His shoes, socks, pants and underwear are in a pile by the sink. His back is to me, his arms are straight out in front of him, and he is taking a dump.
I immediately turn and exit. I feel absolutely violated, like I had popped a few rohypnol, chugged a beer and laid myself on the couch at Phi Delts for all to have at. I then do what I do when I can't deal with what is going on, and push the alert principal button.
He comes down and goes into the bathroom. Augusta has dressed himself, and is washing his hands furiously. There is a pile of shit in the garbage can. The principal escorts him up to the office, where Augusta has a little one-on-one with the school nurse. My aide takes the bag of shit out to the dumpster.
Augusta's mom comes and takes him home, but not before a meeting with the principal. He said she was completely embarrassed.
The school nurse came down later in the day to talk with me. Apparently, Augusta doesn't want to sit on the school toilet seat because he is afraid of getting "butt germs". He used those two words! He will go pee at school, but will not sit down. I can only wonder how many other times this year he has had to take a crap....
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