The Low Five: Desperate Moments in Teaching

Ryan was backpackless.
I shared a classroom and
my roommate was always late.
Tired of monitoring her students before the bell,
I locked the door – lights out – “no one’s home.”
Then Ryan came for his backpack.
Another teacher let him in, flipped on the lights,
and discovered me,
writing on the board,
in the darkness,
like a madwoman.

Vanessa was bored.
It was Halloween and I walked the aisles,
my antennae bobbing,
passing back papers.
It was difficult to maneuver the
narrow rows because
I had drastically underestimated my wingspan.
“I hate this class,” Vanessa said,
her arms folded.
“It’s so BORing.”
I looked at her. Paused.
“I’m dressed as a friggin’ butterfly,” I said.
“What more do you want?”

Javi was distracted.
They were taking notes while
I lectured on transcendentalism.
(What could be more captivating?)
I paused and stuck a pencil up my nose.
Javi stared out the window.
I took the pencil out and poked him
with the slimy end.
He just blinked at me,
uninspired.

Brianna was hungry.
She asked (127 times) if she
could have one of my potato chips.
I refused.
Then, she wanted a sip of my water.
“No,” I said, “don’t ask me again.”
I wrote something on the chalkboard,
then turned to find her sipping from
my water bottle.
“I had one of the chips, too,” she sneered.
I took three long strides to my desk
and spit all over my chips.
And I spit in my water bottle, too.

Amber was cheating.
She stuck her vocabulary list
in a binder and hid it on her lap.
“Everything under your desks,” I reminded.
She clutched the binder and
glared at me with the red hot anger
of a thousand suns.
“Give it to me,” I said with my hand out.
“Never,” she whispered.
The next bit is a blur.
Somehow I wrestled it away and
came up triumphant. The binder
in my hands. Sweating.
Dust on my pants and a
crushed Skittle embedded in
my elbow.
The class erupted in applause.
“Rock on,” they cheered.“Rock on, Miss Smith.”