What I don't like as a secret Type A is the chaos and ridiculous things that come from teaching middle school in NYS:
- Stupidity-My performance at work no longer is based on MY performance at work. Instead it is based on how much I can encourage, nudge, coerce, shove, plead, guilt, manipulate, and hardhead my students into caring about what I am teaching. You know that reading and writing is at the very tip top of every middle school boy and girls' to do list.
- Drama. Lots of DRAMA. Here is a typical day of nonsense. Girl is nearly late to class. She is nearly late or late EVERYDAY. She is currently hanging out with her friends in the hallway even though her last class ended two minutes ago. Yell down the hallway, "You have less than a minute to make it to class before you are officially late for my class." Girl ignores you, but upon hearing "MOVE IT" leaves pack of about five or so friends to move towards her locker (AWAY FROM MY CLASSROOM). Tell girl she will be written up if she isn't on time. Half of the time she doesn't make it ensuing in the time-sucking hobby of writing up my stubborn little lemons, or even worse, she scrapes through the door right before class starts with nothing but a lovely, little, nasty attitude. Ask her where her stuff is. She unreasonably exclaims, "In my *&$^&@# locker." Grrr. Morph into Beast-mode in my head. Then turn to her and gently direct her to sit down. Write her up for not bringing materials during the loads of spare time I have. Give her materials to use in class. Nudge, encourage, beg, nag her to get her work done. Grr.
- Further Drama-I have somehow morphed into a giant human ear wearing a sign that screams, "I care about everything you have to say. Everything, no matter how unreasonable, ridiculous, creepy, rude, offensive, and infuriating your comments are, PLEASE tell ALL." In the morning, I cannot even make it to my door before the carnival ride begins. I have multiple stalkers this year. This is my morning routine: Walk through the door towards my classroom. Walk fast as to avoid being seen. Unlock my door. Stealthily slide in. The bawking starts as the door closes. They have penetrated my defenses, and slipped through the door before it latched. The conversation runs quite the gamut. Anywhere from what would be done to Hilter if said student could time travel, to how to survive a zombie apocalypse, the names, drivers, numbers, and VINs of every nascar car that has ever been raced since the time of Jesus, why I am probably in my 50's, the intricate history behind world of warcraft, HALO, or whatever other video game has been substituted for reality at this point. It is a scientific fact that middle schoolers cannot read body language. My subtle shoulder block or lack of eye contact suggests, "Try harder, Talk louder, move into line of vision." Being direct had no effect either. They wear a deflection forcefield that is pretty dang powerful. Being told, "I cannot talk right now" only results in a faster machine gun firing of the one sided conversation. Without any results from all angles tried, I will grab my coffee cup, walk through the door like a mother duck followed by 5 or 6 baby ducks, all talking, following me in a neat little row, literally all the way to the faculty room door, where I load up on caffeine for the day. Ah, the blessed coffee maker. Hallelujah for coffee.
- Still further Drama- I somehow have to referee my way through solving arguments such as who hit whom first, why they shouldn't yell slut at a girl who is stealing their boyfriend (Why they aren't mad at their boyfriend is beyond me), where someone's pen, pencil, toy, Spanish book, or who knows what was hidden, or the almighty "fight of all fight" who can survive during a zombie apocalypse best. I do not want to know about the new toys your mom/dad/uncle/baby sister bought you. I'd rather know when I am going to get that last writing assignment you didn't do. I do not want to know about why you are fighting with the girl you sit next to everyday in class because I know you will be sitting next to her by tomorrow. I want you to figure out a way to solve your problems without needing my interference. I can guide you. I can give you suggestions on how to handle conflicts, but you need to become your own emotional body guards because I am not omnipresent. You cannot carry me around in a backpack for the rest of your life. I cannot put you in a bubble. There are mean, little wolves around every corner, and they will seek to hurt your feelings especially in places I cannot see. You are your best defense. At some point you will need to fend for yourself. Choose battles. Walk away. Walk away again. Hey, guess what? Walking away again. When in all doubt or frustration fight chosen battles.
As a Type A, I need plans and fruit of my labor, so therefore gardening. I can control that right?
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