Monday, October 27, 2003
MY BRILLIANT CAREER(S) 1B
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER
“Good morning, this is Jeannie. Are you available today?”
“Sure,” I said. “What do you have today?”
“We need a physical education sub at Junior High #1. Report to the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”
I still couldn’t get a read on Jeannie. The voice was neutral, uninflected, overly professional, almost robotic. No feeling at all. I bet she didn’t talk to Parker that way.
I was almost looking forward to the day. Getting paid for gym might not be so bad.
YOU CAN LOOK, BUT YOU MAY NOT TOUCH
A big square-jawed, square-headed brute approached me. A gym teacher right out of central casting. A grown man, working, in short pants and a tee shirt, a whistle around his neck.
“Chuck Shukley. We’ll be teamed together most of the day. Do you have a state insurance waiver?”
I was thinking of my high school gym teachers. A short stumpy balding man, the wrestling coach. His name was Gary, but everyone called him Fat Jack. God knows why. A thin nervous man, Mr. Lop. Another thin man, but with a mustache, Mr. Arming. Spent a lot of time in the locker room, making sure everyone took a shower. Shukley would have mopped the floor with the lot of them.
"A what?”
Shukley gave me a disgusted look. “An insurance waiver. Most of the long-term subs have them.”
“I just started subbing,” I said.
“If you want to sub for phys. ed. you have to get one. If you’re not certified, you can’t touch any of the equipment. And that includes the balls. Look, just take attendance for your group and I’ll handle both classes.”
I took out my attendance sheet, and wrote ALL PRESENT at the top. “Done,” I said.
Shukley glared at me, then blew his whistle. “Everyone take a lap. Then break up into groups and choose sides. Play shirts and skins. Now!”
He blew his whistle again and off they ran.
As they ran, Shukley got four basketballs from a bag and rolled them out. Soon there were four half court games in progress. Shukley sat down on the bleachers and began puzzling his way through a copy of Sports Illustrated. I stood in the corner of the gym.
A ball bounced my way and I instinctively moved to grab it.
The whistle blew. “Freeze!” Shukley yelled. “You! Don’t touch that ball!”
Everyone froze. I froze. The ball rolled by. Finally, one of the boys walked by me and picked it up. Some of them were looking at me curiously.
Shukley spent the rest of the period standing, arms folded, glaring at me. His Sports Illustrated lay untended at the bottom of the bleachers. After an eternity, a bell rang. The students ran to change. I checked my schedule. Four more classes in a row with this guy.
AND THOSE WHO CAN’T TEACH GYM
As the day progressed, I tried to work on getting out of the way of errant balls without being too obvious. But it wasn’t foolproof. Every now and then one would head directly for me. With Shukley on alert, I had no options. I ducked, I jumped, I ran away. It was noticeable. The students began to look at me as if I were some sort of freak. A man afraid of a basketball. Running away like a frightened animal.
After a while, (by the end of 3rd period, I think) I actually had become afraid of the ball. My personality had undergone a massive upheaval. I was now some sort of cringing, craven, hunted sub-human, lurking under the bleachers, terrified of what the crypto-fascist gym teacher had in store for me should I touch one of the official junior high basketballs.
WE CANNOT GO TO THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA BEHIND THE SCHOOL
FOR THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA WILL BRING US NO PEACE
I was still rattled at lunch. I flinched at every motion. I needed a break.
I knew there was a small wooded area behind the school. I thought if I could walk out there and sneak a smoke or two, there was a chance I could clear my head and get through the rest of the day without cracking. I followed a little path to a clearing, but I had been beaten to it. Two boys were there smoking.
They didn’t seemed worried about being caught smoking by an authority figure. In fact, they didn’t seem to see me as an authority figure at all. I recognized one of them from gym class. He recognized me.
“Hey,” he said to his friend. “Goddamn. That’s the guy I was just telling you about. Right there.”
They both burst into laughter.
I turned around and walked back into the school.
OUT OF THE FIREPLACE
For the last two periods of the day, I was to report to room 36, for ISS. I stopped by the office. “What’s ISS?” I asked
“It’s In-School Suspension. They usually have the gym teachers do them. The kids are pretty bad in there. The gym teachers are the only ones who can keep them in line.”
“What do I do if they get out of line?”
She was thinking. “Well,” she said. “There’s really not much you can do. To get to In-School Suspension, they’ve already been sent from classes, been given detentions, and most have been on suspension on and off all year. And, of course, we can’t expel them. They’re too young. The only important thing is to make sure none of them leave the room. They’ve got to stay in there until the last bell rings, no matter what.”
“Great,” I said. “No problem.”
I got to room 36 and hunkered down. Soon I was deluged with nonstop requests, pleadings, threats.
“Just let me go to my locker.”
“I’ve go to see my guidance counselor. I’m suicidal.”
“I left my stuff in the lunch room.”
“I left my stuff in homeroom.”
“My cousin’s waiting for me outside. It’s an emergency.”
On and on it went.
The room faced the parking lot. I could see the buses lining up. I’d just about made it. I only had to hang on for the last ten minutes. Then, with no warning, three girls picked up their stuff and headed for the door.
“Back to your seats,” I said. “We still have ten minutes.”
The students turned on me.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
“They’re allowed.”
“Can’t you see they’re pregnant, man?”
“If you’re pregnant, you get to leave early. Everybody knows that.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you have any respect when somebody’s pregnant?”
“If Ronnie finds out how you act, he’ll kick your ass. He ain’t afraid of no substitute teacher.”
“How about they get knocked down in the halls? Is that what you want?”
“Man’s ignorant. Doesn’t know how to act when someone’s pregnant.”
“Doesn’t know how to play no ball either, I hear.”
“I oughta call Ronnie.”
The girls has paused near they door. Now, vindicated, they held their heads high and marched out the door. One of them “harumphed” at me.
A minute or so later they reappeared on the parking lot. They were laughing and pointing at their classmates still at their desks. “Look at you suckers,” one of them said.
"They’re lucky,” someone in the back of the classroom said. “They’re pregnant. They get to leave early.”
The room quieted down as the remaining suspendees pondered their classmates’ good fortune. The bell rang.
JUST ON THE OFF-CHANCE
“Well, how was it today?”
“I’m getting a real education,” I said. “Oh, and by the way, if a guy named Ronnie comes around, tell him I moved."
ANOTHER DAY, ANOTHER
“Good morning, this is Jeannie. Are you available today?”
“Sure,” I said. “What do you have today?”
“We need a physical education sub at Junior High #1. Report to the office at 7:15 for your schedule and instructions.”
I still couldn’t get a read on Jeannie. The voice was neutral, uninflected, overly professional, almost robotic. No feeling at all. I bet she didn’t talk to Parker that way.
I was almost looking forward to the day. Getting paid for gym might not be so bad.
YOU CAN LOOK, BUT YOU MAY NOT TOUCH
A big square-jawed, square-headed brute approached me. A gym teacher right out of central casting. A grown man, working, in short pants and a tee shirt, a whistle around his neck.
“Chuck Shukley. We’ll be teamed together most of the day. Do you have a state insurance waiver?”
I was thinking of my high school gym teachers. A short stumpy balding man, the wrestling coach. His name was Gary, but everyone called him Fat Jack. God knows why. A thin nervous man, Mr. Lop. Another thin man, but with a mustache, Mr. Arming. Spent a lot of time in the locker room, making sure everyone took a shower. Shukley would have mopped the floor with the lot of them.
"A what?”
Shukley gave me a disgusted look. “An insurance waiver. Most of the long-term subs have them.”
“I just started subbing,” I said.
“If you want to sub for phys. ed. you have to get one. If you’re not certified, you can’t touch any of the equipment. And that includes the balls. Look, just take attendance for your group and I’ll handle both classes.”
I took out my attendance sheet, and wrote ALL PRESENT at the top. “Done,” I said.
Shukley glared at me, then blew his whistle. “Everyone take a lap. Then break up into groups and choose sides. Play shirts and skins. Now!”
He blew his whistle again and off they ran.
As they ran, Shukley got four basketballs from a bag and rolled them out. Soon there were four half court games in progress. Shukley sat down on the bleachers and began puzzling his way through a copy of Sports Illustrated. I stood in the corner of the gym.
A ball bounced my way and I instinctively moved to grab it.
The whistle blew. “Freeze!” Shukley yelled. “You! Don’t touch that ball!”
Everyone froze. I froze. The ball rolled by. Finally, one of the boys walked by me and picked it up. Some of them were looking at me curiously.
Shukley spent the rest of the period standing, arms folded, glaring at me. His Sports Illustrated lay untended at the bottom of the bleachers. After an eternity, a bell rang. The students ran to change. I checked my schedule. Four more classes in a row with this guy.
AND THOSE WHO CAN’T TEACH GYM
As the day progressed, I tried to work on getting out of the way of errant balls without being too obvious. But it wasn’t foolproof. Every now and then one would head directly for me. With Shukley on alert, I had no options. I ducked, I jumped, I ran away. It was noticeable. The students began to look at me as if I were some sort of freak. A man afraid of a basketball. Running away like a frightened animal.
After a while, (by the end of 3rd period, I think) I actually had become afraid of the ball. My personality had undergone a massive upheaval. I was now some sort of cringing, craven, hunted sub-human, lurking under the bleachers, terrified of what the crypto-fascist gym teacher had in store for me should I touch one of the official junior high basketballs.
WE CANNOT GO TO THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA BEHIND THE SCHOOL
FOR THE GRUBBY SHRUBBY AREA WILL BRING US NO PEACE
I was still rattled at lunch. I flinched at every motion. I needed a break.
I knew there was a small wooded area behind the school. I thought if I could walk out there and sneak a smoke or two, there was a chance I could clear my head and get through the rest of the day without cracking. I followed a little path to a clearing, but I had been beaten to it. Two boys were there smoking.
They didn’t seemed worried about being caught smoking by an authority figure. In fact, they didn’t seem to see me as an authority figure at all. I recognized one of them from gym class. He recognized me.
“Hey,” he said to his friend. “Goddamn. That’s the guy I was just telling you about. Right there.”
They both burst into laughter.
I turned around and walked back into the school.
OUT OF THE FIREPLACE
For the last two periods of the day, I was to report to room 36, for ISS. I stopped by the office. “What’s ISS?” I asked
“It’s In-School Suspension. They usually have the gym teachers do them. The kids are pretty bad in there. The gym teachers are the only ones who can keep them in line.”
“What do I do if they get out of line?”
She was thinking. “Well,” she said. “There’s really not much you can do. To get to In-School Suspension, they’ve already been sent from classes, been given detentions, and most have been on suspension on and off all year. And, of course, we can’t expel them. They’re too young. The only important thing is to make sure none of them leave the room. They’ve got to stay in there until the last bell rings, no matter what.”
“Great,” I said. “No problem.”
I got to room 36 and hunkered down. Soon I was deluged with nonstop requests, pleadings, threats.
“Just let me go to my locker.”
“I’ve go to see my guidance counselor. I’m suicidal.”
“I left my stuff in the lunch room.”
“I left my stuff in homeroom.”
“My cousin’s waiting for me outside. It’s an emergency.”
On and on it went.
The room faced the parking lot. I could see the buses lining up. I’d just about made it. I only had to hang on for the last ten minutes. Then, with no warning, three girls picked up their stuff and headed for the door.
“Back to your seats,” I said. “We still have ten minutes.”
The students turned on me.
“Hey, what’s wrong with you?”
“They’re allowed.”
“Can’t you see they’re pregnant, man?”
“If you’re pregnant, you get to leave early. Everybody knows that.”
“What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t you have any respect when somebody’s pregnant?”
“If Ronnie finds out how you act, he’ll kick your ass. He ain’t afraid of no substitute teacher.”
“How about they get knocked down in the halls? Is that what you want?”
“Man’s ignorant. Doesn’t know how to act when someone’s pregnant.”
“Doesn’t know how to play no ball either, I hear.”
“I oughta call Ronnie.”
The girls has paused near they door. Now, vindicated, they held their heads high and marched out the door. One of them “harumphed” at me.
A minute or so later they reappeared on the parking lot. They were laughing and pointing at their classmates still at their desks. “Look at you suckers,” one of them said.
"They’re lucky,” someone in the back of the classroom said. “They’re pregnant. They get to leave early.”
The room quieted down as the remaining suspendees pondered their classmates’ good fortune. The bell rang.
JUST ON THE OFF-CHANCE
“Well, how was it today?”
“I’m getting a real education,” I said. “Oh, and by the way, if a guy named Ronnie comes around, tell him I moved."
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