Sweet Gummi Mary! The universe worked overtime on Friday, conspiring against Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
Friday was already a washout. Mrs. HM was scheduled to pair with Arch Nemesis, and whip the upperclassmen into shape for a state-wide standardized test coming up next week. To free up the needed faculty, Mrs. HM's morning classes were sent to share a substitute in another teacher's room. Not too big a deal, just a matter of getting the plans and assignment down to that room.
Mrs. HM is not complaining for an instant about working with Arch Nemesis for that intensive training. Arch has done it for years as a part of another program, and could do it in her sleep standing on her head with one eye closed and her hands tied behind her back. All Mrs. HM had to do was sit at her own desk, click on the advance arrow for Arch's PowerPoint presentation, and interact with students she has had in previous years.
No, the hardship comes from not having time to grade a previous class's papers while a current class is working on their assignment. From also losing her plan time. Losing more grading time. Being moved from her regular lunch shift at 10:53 a.m. to one at 11:54. Except with the drawing of lots to see which of four groups went first in line for Domino's pizza, her lunch time was cut down to 12 minutes by the time pupils left the room. In those 12 minutes, Mrs. HM had to use the facilities. Microwave her chicken sandwich, eat it, change shoes, and WOOOOOO! That's the sound of the tone sending pupils from lunch back to class!
So...Mrs. HM was scheduled to have her regular class full of pupils who had just been in the intensive training program...except they got called back to the cafeteria to fill out pre-paperwork for next week's test. Oh, don't think Mrs. HM had 50 minutes to herself to make up for her lack of plan time. Nope. She also had an older pupil, and a younger pupil in that class, through a quirk of scheduling at their previous alma maters. AND, are you ready for this?
MRS. HM GOT A NEW STUDENT!!!
Are you freaking kidding me, Universe? It's the end of the school year. Only four Fridays left. Who moves to a different school this late in the year? With testing in full swing, and Mrs. HM on the fast track to retirement?
Oh, but that's not the half of it! The pupil herself is not a big deal. She has attended Newmentia off and on for years. She's a known quantity. Able to achieve high-level grades. Quiet and polite to Mrs. HM, if not necessarily so with others of her station. It was not even that big a deal to search the cabinet for a textbook to assign her, a textbook that we probably won't get back into, what with the remainder of the testing, and other current event science topics to take us to the end of the year. The problem, though, is that
SHE'S A GOONER!
That's what kids used to call it around here when somebody stares at you. It has fallen out of favor recently, but I'm sure my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel remembers pupils admonishing each other, "Stop GOONING at me!"
So there Mrs. HM was, with a stack of papers she had sent one of her other two pupils to fetch from the sub, in exchange for permission to plug in her phone in a room with a charger specific to her electronics. Papers to grade, participation points for the week to total and record, all under the intense gaze of The Gooner.
Could she turn and talk informally with the other two class membersand enjoy the down time? Nope. She sat, her back to them, facing Mrs. HM, a mere 10 feet away (oh, how I regret that seating chart decision!), watching her every move. Forcing Mrs. HM to expend extra energy pretending she wasn't being scrutinized. It's surprising that a bindi wasn't burned into Mrs. HM's forehead from the intense stare.
The sun was shining on some other b*tch's a$$ Friday. Not Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's.