Van ride goes wrong

We had a field trip this week. One of the parents was kind enough to drive us. She had the nastiest mini-van I have ever seen. It had crumbs, dirt and assorted detritus all over it. It reeked, too. But she managed to top herself.

On the way back to school the mother stopped at the gas station to purchase gas. I kid you not about this: She seriously pumped 52 cents worth of gas into the van. I was dying inside. I wanted to call every single person I knew right then and tell them about what I had seen.

New New Kids mom going overboard

Gifts to me from new kids mom this week:

- bouquet of flowers

- photo album

- box of chocolate

- cigar from Niemann Marcus

- socks with monkeys on them

- an Atlanta Braves Baseball hat

Augusta's criminal activities move up in scope

Augusta's cousin works as a physical therapist for a local sports team. Often, Augusta gets to accompany his cousin to games, and meet the players. Augusta, as we know, is also somewhat of a kleptomaniac.
He recently came to school with a bunch of these tubes of glue. The packaging made the tubes appear to be syringes. Out at recess, one of the playground aides caught a large circle of boys that Augusta had rallied, all sniffing the Dermabond type stuff.

Augusta is nailed. He has succeeded in distributing inhalants to his peers at a public school. Him and all of the boys who were in the glue circle were summoned to the office. Many of the boys had, in their possession, a tube of the glue, given to them by Augusta.

Augusta's Dad claims that neither Augusta nor any of the boys were sniffing the glue. His blindness to this confuses me. It's not like Augusta had a model airplane out there with him. Augusta has been suspended for three days, and the other boys who were caught with the glue are suspended for one.

Augusta steals more food

Earlier this week, the new kid's mom brought him a meal from Kentucky Fried Chicken for lunch. It contained more food then he could eat in an entire day. There were 3 pieces of chicken, a biscuit, mashed potatoes, pudding and a big ass soda pop.
She set everything up for him; buttered his roll, cut up bites of chicken, put spoons in his pudding and potatoes. She then left. Augusta swooped towards him like a vulture. I was temporarily distracted by questions from the bitchy lunch money lady, and dealt with her for about 5 minutes.


After I deal with her shit, I walk over to the new kid, and notice that his lunch, in its entirety, is gone. Even his soda pop, finished.


I ask him how he ate his lunch so fast. Tyler, who is sitting nearby, points at Augusta, and says, "No he didn't eat it, the Kentucky Fried Fat-Ass over there did."

Treat jar causes problems

Brad and Tom got into a huge fight about who, out of the two of them, would get to chose from the Friday treat jar first. The Friday treat jar is glass, and has a metal top on it.

The two of them were pulling at the jar, each trying to select a piece of candy first, when they dropped the treat jar on the tile floor, causing it to shatter. This causes mixed reactions amongst the tards.

Some immediately burst into tears, as they can not deal with loud, startling noises. Lewis freaks out, and stays as far away from the glass he can because "Glass has AIDS."  All Brian wants to do is pick up the little bits of glass. Because of this, he is removed from the classroom until the custodian comes down to sweep it all up. Augusta charges the remnants of the broken jar like a pinata had just been broken into. He completely ignores the glass aspect, and starts grabbing at the candy on the floor. He cuts his hand, but it still takes two aides to remove him and his bleeding hand from the candy.

I decide that it is too dangerous to have the tards in the room with broken glass all over, so I take them outside to play until it was all cleaned up.

Tyrell has problems with referees

First of all, I wish to dedicate the following event to all my friends, with the exception of DW, who continue to ridicule, harass, and talk shit to me for encouraging and participating in the extra-curricular activities of my students; both former and present.

Fuck you guys. All of you passed up what DW referred to as "Better than a fucking Lakers game."

So it begins, Thursday, four o'clock, I arrive at Tyler and Tyrell's residence to pick them both up. I honk my horn a multitude of times, but no one exits the house. Fuck. I pull up into a handicap parking spot, leave the car running, and run up to their door. After several punches to the door, no one comes. I let myself in.

The home smelled like cats and smoke. The combination of T.V. and CD player almost deafened me. Both boys are on the couch, staring at the set. Tyrell had to be at his basketball game an hour early to practice. I scare the shit out of them both when I walk into the TV room. I ask if they are ready to go, and they say yes. We leave--the TV and CD player remain on, and the girlfriend remains on the dads bed. She is out for the count.

We walk out to my car and there is a cheap-ass rent a cop by my car. He begins to bitch at me for parking in a handicap spot. I need not respond to him, as Tyrell busts out with "Me and my brother have to be in special reading classes." I laughed. Not exactly the response he was looking for.

We all get in the car, the rent-a-cop continues to talk to me. He is signaling at me to roll down my window. I ignore him and slam the car into reverse. We have a basketball game to attend.

We arrive at Tyrell's middle school and drop him off. Tyler and I go get McDonald's. We hit the drive-through, and I buy them both dinner. Tyler eats his in my NEW car, spilling shit all over the place. I ask him to be more careful. He says OK, and continues dropping french fries everywhere.

We then go pick up my friend DW, who has expressed great interest in attending one of the games. DW was a baller in High School, but I actually met him in college, where he continued to star on the court. Sadly, he relied way too much on his image, and not enough on the actual game, so his post-college career has been pathetic. But, at one time, he was quite a star, especially regionally.

Tyrell knew who he was, and it was going to be a surprise for him when we arrived at his game with DW.

So we arrive back at the school, it is 5:00, the game was to start at 5:30. I have DW take Tyrell his food. Tyrell was speechless, all he could muster up was "I saw you on TV." Tyrell then spouted out something about DW and I getting married and adopting him and his brother. This was too much for DW, he returns to the bleachers.

The next twenty minutes is filled with DW bitching at me, Tyler asking DW what it is like to be "really black", and Tyrell trying to show off on the court for DW.

The game finally starts, but Tyrell is not a starter. We could see him bitching to his coach about this, but could not make out any words. Tyrell then points to DW, the coach looks over, Tyrell jumps up and down in temper tantrum, and the one of the starters is pulled. Tyrell is in.

All is normal for a long ass time. Tyrell is on his best behavior, and is playing a great game. Half-time rolls around, and Tyler is throwing his Ju-Ju fruits on the court. He is aiming for the center. DW is encouraging this behavior. I do nothing to stop it, because it is funny. Finally it is announced on the microphone that "anyone throwing objects at or on the court will be asked to leave."

Second half begins, and immediately Tyrell is shoved by a kid on the other team. They talk shit to each other throughout the next 5 minutes of the game. Finally, after the kid makes a remark about his dad being in jail and his teacher having to take care of him, Tyrell's dam breaks.

In the angriest, loudest tone I have ever heard come out of that kids mouth, he screams "Don't make me cotton candy your ass, Mother Fucker!! I'll cotton candy that shit right now, Mother Fucker!" The referee blows his whistle, and throws Tyrell out of the game. Tyrell will not accept this. To the referee he says, "You want your ass cotton candied too mother fucker? Cuz I will cotton candy that shit, and with a capital K."

Yes, he said with a capital K. One of his spelling words last year was cotton. I am a poor teacher.

Everyone in the gym is angry, mothers are covering the ears of their children. DW stands up and shouts out "Cotton candy him kid. Candy dat ass!!"

DW is now ejected. Tyler then stands up to contest both ejections, when he is also ejected. He calls the ref a "Pansy ass mother fucker." DW then repeats it, except a lot louder.

At this point, everything is chaos. Tyrell is refusing to leave the court. All his teammates are cheering him on, as is DW. He is loving the attention. He then decides to drop his shorts, grab his penis, and tells the entire visiting side of the bleachers to "EAT THIS".

DW was barreled over laughing, headed toward Tyrell, I was in shock. DW actually goes out onto the court, and tryies to coax Tyrell off of it. Tyrell looks at DW, again grabs his penis, and suggests that DW "suck my twelve-year old cock."

DW looks up at me in the bleachers, gives me a seriously apologetic look, and signals for me to get down there. I grab my bag and Tyler, and we head down. Everyone is staring. I refuse to make eye contact with anyone.

Tyrell's coach is nearing him, when Tyrell announces " Coach get away from my cock!!!" I have never in my life seen a kid as out of control as Tyrell was at this point. I was truly amazed.

The coach warned Tyrell that the police had been called, when Tyrell decided to pull his pants up. He walks over to the bench, gives some of his teammates a high five, then exits the gym.

DW, Tyler and I follow him out. DW asks Turell him for an autograph. Tyrell agrees, we get to my car, and he scribbles his name on the McDonalds bag that was still in my car. He proudly hands it to DW. DW then says, "Kid, you have no idea how famous you really are."

I pull up to DW's house. Tyrell demands that DW kiss me goodnight. I about shot myself. I told Tyrell that this was inappropriate. He announced that his Dad's girlfriend kisses her friends all the time. DW laughs, kisses me on the cheek, and gets out.

The boys then fight over who will sit in the front seat. They begin punching each other. I stop the car, remove my seatbelt and turn around--just in time to see Tyrell clock Tyler so hard that his mouth starts to bleed. All over the back seat of my new car. I scold Tyrell and give Tyler my jacket to soak up the blood that is now gushing from his mouth. I did about ninety all the way back to their home. Luckily, his mouth stopped bleeding. I then turned them over to the care of the 20 year old girlfriend who asked me if I "had a smoke she could bum." I told her I didn't smoke. She asks "What do you smoke?"

I said goodnight and got the hell out of there. Next Tuesday I take them to see their dad in jail.

Tom loses it

Tom came to school today in full form. He was kicking other kids on the playground even before school started. When he came into the classroom, he refused to unpack his backpack, hang up his coat, pick up his reading notebook, etc.

About ten minutes into reading group, he is kicking me under the table, and it hurt. Imagine getting kicked in the shins repeatedly by a hyperactive tard on 45 mg of Dexedrine. I am used to this sort of kicking, but then he started to kick the other kids. One of them cried, but most kicked back at him.

My aide removed him from the room, and into the hallway. He was going nuts--kicking, wailing his arms around, spitting. She had to literally hold him in a bear hug type restraint. He was resisting as best he could. He got one of his legs free and kicked a non-retarded girl in the stomach as she was walking by. And he kicked her HARD. She buckled over in pain, crying, was short of breath.

My aide asked him if he wanted to have a good day that day, and earn all his points. Right then, a fifth grade class was walking by on their way to music. She kept asking him if he was going to improve his behavior, when he yelled out loudly "NO YA ASSHOLE!"

The fifth grade class of course thinks this is the funniest thing they had ever witnessed, and all twenty seven of them bust up laughing. Tom assumed they were making fun of him and begins kicking like crazy. A second aide was needed to hold him down. Tom continued with "NO FAT ASSHOLE!"

He was carried up to the office by the two aides, screaming at them the entire way up. His mom was called, and he was put into a small conference room while we waited for her. He destroyed the room and broke the fax machine. Mom was presented with a ninety dollar bill when she got there.

The new, new kid

I got a new kid this week. The circumstances behind his arrival at my school are funny.

I am at Bally's on the treadmill. I am also on my phone--talking loud, swearing, laughing loudly, saying highly inappropriate things. Everyone around me is glaring at me. Except for one lady, who moves from the bike to the treadmill next to me. I continue my conversation, and end it with "Fuck You Lorrie, call me later."

The woman starts laughing uncontrollably, looks at me, and laughs louder. She then says, "If that's how you talk to your friends, I'd hate to see how you talk to your enemies!"

I am not OK with this comment. She had been listening to my conversation, and is now trying to talk to me. This sort of thing annoys me. I mutter "yeah" to her, pull my hat down a little further, and flip open my magazine. This is no deterring this woman. She says "Oh, I read Newsweek too. Isn't it a great magazine?" This was quite possibly the dumbest thing anyone had ever said to me.

I look up at her with my best "what the fuck?" look. This does not silence her. She holds out her hand and says "Oh, I am Pam by the way." I automatically assume she is a lesbian. Fifty thousand things I could say to her are going through my head. "Riti" I say to her and held out my hand.

"You are cracking me up," she says. "What do you do?"
I act like I am reading my magazine and mutter "I'm a teacher."
"Oh, thats so great!! Wow, what a tough job you have."
I give her a half ass smile.
"What do you teach?"
"Special Education."
"No way!! My son is in special Ed classes. He has muscular dystrophy and Autism."
At this comment, I exhausted myself trying to hold in my laughter.
She continues, "I am looking for a really good school to place him in. What school are you at?"
I answer her, reluctantly, as she is obviously fucked in the head.
"Oh, I know where that is. Do you have a good program there?"
"Yes"
"Do you accept out of district transfers?"
"If there is room, yes."
"Do you have any space right now?"
"I just lost two, so yes, I do. It is nice with not as many kids."
"Well, I just think you are fabulous! I am going to see about transferring my son to your class."

At this point I hit the stop button on the treadmill. I am waiting for an "I'm kidding" to come out of her blabbering mouth. I continue to wait as she plays twenty questions with me. Finally I have had it. I give her a card and tell her to call the school to check on the specifics of a transfer.

Nine days later she calls me at work. "Guess Who...?" she said.

Oh, Fuck, I got kids snorting pixie sticks over here, I don't have time for this shit.

She is calling to tell me her son will start in my class on Monday. I tell her how happy I am to hear that, or some bullshit, and hang up.

I completely forget that this new kid will be coming until Sunday. He shows up on Monday, but I am not there. His mother calls my house repeatedly.

Tuesday I finally meet the kid. He is eight years old, blonde hair, blotchy red skin. He should not be in my class. He has severe problems, far beyond anything my class is equipped to deal with. He uses a walker, is pigeon toed, has a hearing aid, drools uncontrollably, and the poor kid has progeria. He is is bad shape. He can do nothing by himself. He loses balance when transferring from his walker to a chair. He falls over like ten times a day.

The worst part is that his mother dresses him like he is Prince Harry. He comes to school everyday in deck shoes, polo sweaters, khaki pants, suede jackets, etc. He is like the retarded Armani poster child.

This combination was the most alarming thing I had ever seen.

It is difficult to watch him eat. All those nice clothes get covered with shit. And he eats tapioca pudding every single day. This disturbs me to no end.

He has NO academic capabilities. None. He can barely talk. He can't even comprehend holding up three fingers.

But possibly the worst part is that every morning his mother walks him in and brings me something. Tuesday it was a latte and a muffin. Wednesday she brought me stationary. Thursday a desk calendar. But Friday is the kicker, she shows up with A FUCKING TURTLE. MY GOD WOMAN, I CAN'T TAKE MUCH MORE.

As for a husband? He committed suicide six years ago.

I can't help this kid. He needs physical therapy, not school. And he is exposed to the behavior problem kids that I have. He doesn't understand their funniness, but still, he doesn't need to be around them.

Augusta steals, again

I was out on Monday. I get a phone call at about 10:30 Monday morning. The caller ID says it is my work calling. Great, I couldn't wait to see what the hell had happened. I decided not to answer it, that if it was important enough, a message would be left. I wait, hoping not to hear the beep that signals a new message. The phone beeps. Dammit.

This is the exact message: "Good Morning (Riti), its Juanita from school. There was a little incident here this morning, and I wanted to give you a heads-up on the situation. All the kids are fine, so don't worry...... Just give us a call when you get a chance. I hope you are feeling better."

Never before had I received a call like this. The hesitation in Juanita's voice was almost eerie.

Do I call? No. Do I drink? Yes.

The next morning I unlock my classroom door. The room was completely dark, the aquarium light was turned off. I have a tortoise named Homer in my classroom, it is the "class pet", and the aquarium light is left on at night. This is a specific instruction in my sub plans. I assumed the sub was stupid, and felt bad that Homer had to spend the night in darkness.

I flipped the lights on and walked over to the aquarium. Homer was not there. I looked around for a bit, thinking he was crawling around on the floor or something--he wasn't. I am immediately drawn into one of those "what the fuck" mind states that seem to haunt my classroom.

I walk to my desk and flip on my computer. On my desk is a stack of pictures drawn by the kids. Each picture is of Homer. In some of the pictures Homer is crying, some have hearts around Homer, the best ones have a person crying while standing next to Homer.

There could be only one reason for this: SOMEONE KILLED HOMER.

I bolt to my table and read through the substitute's notes. She started off with the usual "I hope you are feeling better" and "Today was a disaster", which then led into "Jamel dropped the tortoise, killing it." I am angry now. In the sub plans, in bold letters, it says "The kids are not to handle the tortoise."

So the notes she left describe how Jamel insisted that on Mondays they get to hold the tortoise, how all the kids held him, and how Jamel was the last one to hold him. While he was holding Homer, he peed on his hand. So Jamel dropped him on the tile floor, cracking open his shell and killing him.

Jamel insisted that Homer was taking a nap, and all his peers believed him. He then demanded Homer go back in the aquarium to nap, because I would be mad if he napped anywhere else.

The sub then summoned the principal. He came down and assured her that I was going to be very upset. The custodian then came down and disposed of the poor turtle.

I see Jamel a little later, and he requests that I get a guinea pig for the new class pet. I wanted to strangle him.

Augusta steals, again

I don't lock my classroom door during the day. My purse is locked in my cabinet, and there isn't much anyone would want to steal. Except for one kid and one item. Augusta AND food.

I had gone up to the staff lounge to eat lunch, the kids were out at recess. They are not to enter the building until recess is over. This is a rule they are familiar with. I had to come back down to my room because I had left my diet coke there. I walk in the room, flip on the lights, and find Augusta digging furiously through the kids lunches, gobbling up their food.

"What do you think you are doing?" I ask him.
"I was seeing if I forgot my lunch," he responds.

This is bullshit. The kid buys lunch everyday. And he has powdered sugar all over his face and shirt.

I scold him for awhile, then drag him up to the office, where he gets to tell the principal what he did, call his mother and tell her what he did, and then write letters of apology to all the kids whose lunches he ate.