Posts Tagged ‘mr.’
Good news: I got a gig for summer school. Perhaps bad news: I’ll need to brush up on my geometry skills to do it.
My summer school principal had already filled up all the history and English spots for the summer school sessions, and he didn’t end up needing me. I mentioned that if anything else came up that he should let me know.
All we have left is one geometry spot.
Yeah. I know it’s a little different from history, so let me know when you decide.
I can let you know right now. I’ll take it.
He cleared with his superiors the idea of hiring a substitute to teach summer school, as is common practice when in a summer school hiring bind. And that was that.
This is perfectly legal. As a substitute teacher in this district, I’m allowed to be in any given classroom for 30 days or fewer. Enter the Peterbilt-sized loophole: Summer school sessions are shorter than 30 days. Better yet, though I’m a substitute, I’ll get paid the same $35/hr. rate if I teach the full session.
Don’t worry about the kids, either: I was a math major for about a year and a half in college. I had almost mentioned here on the blog that I had managed to get through — and enjoy — all three sections of Calculus, but I couldn’t quite muster the testicular fortitude when I had the chance.
Our summer school principal will drop off a geometry book with me tomorrow. I plan to bone up enough by June 1 to pull off one of Dan Meyer‘s lessons. If only.
Seriously, Dan: I’m going to have to pick your brain in preparation for this summer.
Our school’s activity director, an out-of-character middle management V.P. type if ever there was one, is in charge of senior activities during our state testing. Seniors are exempt from testing around here, as long as they’ve passed the CAHSEE.
He could have had a revolt on his hands, but he handled the senior class with admirable aplomb.
There’s been a schedule change, guys. We need you to show up at 7:45 a.m. instead of 8 a.m.
Cries of shock and defiance. Teachers around me had a hunch that this was just a ploy to make the late students show up on time, and it turned out to be correct. Our graduating seniors didn’t, as a whole, realize this, so our activity director went on with his fake-out.
Now, now, now. Do you want to make it 7:30 a.m.?
Some jokers respond in the affirmative.
Really, now? Why not make it 7:15 a.m.? Or 7 a.m.? Or 6:15 a.m.?
While the jokers kept at it, the protests from everyone else got louder and louder at each suggestion. Our director then almost took on the manner of a charismatic preacher.
But I’m not going to make you get here by 6:15 a.m., and I’ll tell you why. There’s a reason. I was falling asleep last night, and I was wondering out loud what time I should make you guys come on Thursday.
“We have so much to get done, and so much to do,” I said to myself. “Maybe I should tell them to show up at 6:15 a.m.”
Then I heard this voice down from Heaven. He said: “No.”
And that’s why we’re sticking with 7:45 a.m.
Students laughed, and were ready to move on. Because of his authority, and because he joked at the very end, students accepted that arrival time. I said aloud something about establishment of religion, and I think he heard. Into the microphone, he told the students:
By the way, the voice I heard was Mr. Goldsmith’s.
Mr. Goldsmith is our principal.