Wednesday, May 21, 2014

Weasel In The Henhouse

Oh, we didn’t actually have a weasel in the henhouse. I have not seen a weasel around these here parts. We’ve had a snake in the henhouse. And a beagle. But mostly it’s just a few of the tamer chickens who like to be pampered with a roof over their head, rather than roosting in the trees. 

No, I’m talking about a figurative weasel. One who creeps in where not wanted. Where he has no business being. Not necessarily with evil intent. But with the purpose of disruption. Chaos. Anarchy. Okay, maybe that’s a bit harsh. But I do not allow extra students in my classroom. Nobody can come visit with my scheduled charges, ask them a question from the hall, pop in between classes to converse. No. That’s my rule. Everybody knows. The current students and the past students. It isn’t done.

Yesterday, I was finishing up some makeup work at my desk when the bell rang for class change. Just a few more keystrokes to record scores was all I needed. But I was swarmed by the needy class. The ones who need attention all the time. Just friendly banter. Asking what we were doing, though the assignment was plainly written on the white board as it has been every single day this year. So I was a bit late to walk around the classroom to my post in the hall. Between having my head in the computer, and being surrounded by a wall of well-wishers, I was blocked from a view of my kingdom. 

“Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Make it leave! Make it leave!” This came from a gal who has a penchant for being a bit histrionic at times. And she was pointing in the direction of a kid she banters with all the time. I assumed she was joking, trying to get rid of him. You know what happens when we assume.

“Sure. Who do you want gone?” I elbowed my way through my throng of admirers and rounded the corner by the pencil sharpener, headed for the door. 

“The intruder! He snuck in!” I looked in the direction she pointed. Sure enough. An intruder. A last-year’s student, now in the upper atmosphere of 10th grade, had snuck in and sat at the desk of a kid who was on the absentee list all day. 

“Out. You know the rules. No visitors.”

“Okaayyy.” He mosied toward the door, then rounded the other corner toward the back of the room. 

“Nope. Out. I already told you once.” He came out the door. “And don’t come back!”

“Or what? I’ll get the firing squad?” 

“I don’t think I can go that far. And I don’t think you can even joke about that these days.”

“All right.” 

Sweet Gummi Mary! I must remain ever vigilant. At least I had a figurative watchdog to sound the alarm about the weasel in the henhouse.


Sioux said...

I guess your high schoolers like to tattle as much as 3rd graders.

I like watchdogs, tattlers and snitches. They help the classroom go round...

Hillbilly Mom said...

They have no idea what a great service they provide.