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« on: April 13, 2010, 03:08:27 PM »
“Trevor, could you please pay attention?” I asked irritably, turning away from the blackboard. The boy snapped his head up and blinked before looking down at the inked tail trailing off his chair.
“Sorry, Mr. Bell...” he muttered feebly before digging a pencil out of his desk to copy down the notes I was writing. A few of the other student snickered amongst themselves.
I sighed before returning to the lesson. “Now then,” I continued, dragging the chalk across the board, “the recurrence of blood in Shakespeare’s Macbeth can be seen as a symbol for guilt and responsibility. This can be seen in how Lady Macbeth smears the King’s blood onto the servant’s clothes, and also how she becomes obsessed with washing her hands in the later Act. Furthermore this concept can be linked to—”
*RIIIIIING*
Oh thank heavens. The students burst into chatter the moment the bell sounded as they shoved books into bags, eager to get home and do anything except their homework.
“Just a second!” I called out, “Remember to have your essays ready for hand-in at the end of the week!”
There was a general murmur of acknowledgement with several startled squeals and profanities mixed in. A small handful of students stayed behind after their fellows had filed out of the classroom.
“Mr. Bell, what was the length of the essay again?”
“Mr. Bell, was dramatic irony one of the permitted topics or was that pathetic fallacy?”
“Mr. Bell, could I have an extension? My computer is in the shop.”
Another sigh. “Four pages at 12-point font, irony, and use whatever computer let you type out the biology assignment you gave Ms. Glass yesterday.” I rattled off automatically as I gathered my notes and coat before shooing the lingerers out and locking the classroom door behind me. I adjusted my glasses and glanced down at my watch. “3:45, blast.” I muttered, heading down the hall to the teacher’s lounge.
“Tough day?” Andrew asked when I dropped my notes on the coffee table and slumped down on the sofa.
“Draining day.” I corrected, taking off my glasses and rubbing my forehead. “First period I have a kid who does a Frankenstein presentation that was based on the movie, second period barely saw anything happen because half the class burst out giggling whenever I said “conch”, and fourth—”
“Wait, why would they laugh when you said conch?”
I scowled. “Someone made a phallic joke at the beginning of class.”
“I see.”
“Anyway, fourth period was relatively OK but I’ve got a meeting with Trevor's mother in twenty minutes.”
“Ah yes, parent, the bane of educators everywhere.” Andrew chuckled as he passed me a cup of coffee. “I think I met Mrs. Holt during the open house last year, come to think of it. She wanted to compliment me on my class since her son was enjoying it so much.”
I took a sip of coffee. “Well that’s no surprise. Trevor’s probably going to toon over before he graduates and a drama class is the perfect breeding ground for that.”
“I really wish you wouldn’t say it like that.” Andrew sighed. “You make it sound so... unsanitary.”
“Sorry, but you’ve got to admit that most of the students who go toon take drama.”
“They take an Art.” Andrew corrected. “Music, drama, art, any of the three, not just my course, Jonas. Toons are a creative bunch, after all, so is it any surprise that they flourish in the classes that offer the most creative freedom?”
I shook my head. “No, not really; it’s just... frustrating.” I sighed. “I see kids zoning out in class and getting ears and tails, and I have to wonder whether I should even bother trying to teach them if they’re going to end up tooning over and run off for their own thing.”
“Speaking of running off...” Andrew said with a grin, “I think that’s something you’ll be doing rather shortly.”
I sat up on the couch. “What’re you—” I began, but then I noticed the clock. “Oh, HELL!” I shouted, jumping off and running out the door.
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and I think it turned out pretty well.
