Posted 8:15 PM by Andrew Faehnle
This is Torture

Speaking of isolation:

I STILL DON'T HAVE A FUCKING KEY TO MY CLASSROOM! In my room: various chemicals some of which have safety ratings of 3 (of 4, higher being more dangerous), 27 iBooks, tons of teaching supplies, lots of chemistry equipment. And three cabinets that won't open.

You know those shitty little keys that lock up desk drawers and file cabinets? They are the bane of every teacher's existence, because at the end of each year, no one fucking remembers to turn in those goddam tiny keys. Which would be okay if teachers weren't so fucking overzealous about seniority. When a veteran teacher retires, the remaining teachers will pounce on anything they can get: physical plant, furniture, supplies, parking spots, you name it.

But no one wants to move a desk. Because every room has one. And the veteran teacher never turned in that shitty litte tiny key.

Hence, my problem: three cabinets worth of who-knows-what? in my classroom. And most importantly, I can use the storage space. And since, despite this being my fourth week of work this academic year, I STILL DON'T HAVE A FUCKING KEY TO MY CLASSROOM (see above), I seriously began to doubt I'd ever see the inside of these cabinets unless I made it my mission to.

Ingredients:

-Hammer
-Elbow Grease
-Liberal sprinkling of curse words

Mix. Results vill vary.

Behind door number one: lots of mouse poop and about three reams of ancient 11"x14" construction paper that had been chewed half to dust by Trevor. (The mouse who lives in my room.)

Door number two: dust and 4 cans of rust-oleum rustproofing spraypaint.

Door number three: a 16-mm film projector and several reels of educational films, including:

-Africa: An Introduction
-Plankton: Life in the Sea
-St. Louis Blues
-"The Eagle Has Landed" The Apollo 11 Story [in color!]

Of course I was incredibly eager to see if the projector worked. [It does.] A couple students were in my room for detention while I was finishing my exploration of the projector, and an idea was born: educational films of the 1950s and 1950s during detention. And a quiz afterword, to see if you were paying attention.

During today's screening of "Plankton: Life in the Sea," W.T. remarked, "Mister Faehnle, I am never gonna talk back in class again. This is torture!"

One point for the teachers.

Posted 7:35 PM by Andrew Faehnle
Living in a Vacuum

Sometimes, when I am at work, it seems like I am not on Earth. I work in a public school. September 11th was my 4th day as a teacher. I didn't know about what happened until well into the afternoon. Out school doesn't have much money, so there are few televisions, and certainly no cable hookups. Most of the computers don't work, so the internet was inaccessible. Currently, the room in which I teach has no windows. And no cell phone reception. Some of the rooms in the school don't even have a phone jacked into our school phone network. I have a small FM radio, but I can barely get reception because of the thick concrete walls that encase the science lab I teach in. The amount of isolation I can endure in one workday is stunning.

But today, it really felt like I was on the moon. I was teaching 710, which is the most special of our seventh-grade special education classes. J, for example, started throwing puches at himself, grunting and yelling, "Uh! Uh! Someone's punchin' me! Unh! Unh! Unh!"

I also witnessed a fight in which the two aspiring pugilists were standing so far apart that neither of the punches landed. They were swinging at air.

But the best was Marvin. Marvin asked me, "Mister Faehnle, what happens if a person eats an eraser?"

"Well, probably nothing, but I don't know for sure." I was puzzled, but I get weird questions all the time, and not just from special ed classes. I envisioned the worst, but dismissed the idea.

"I don't eat erasers any more," Marvin proudly asserted. He was really proud of this fact. I was a bit scared. We got back to business: bridges and how they work.

Marvin again, "Can I have an eraser Mister Faehnle? I made a mistake."

Uhhhh. That is the sound that came out of my mouth as my brain spun frictionless, none of the gears meshing, as I searched for a response.

"No." I looked at his work. Outer space, I tell you: "Marvin, you haven't even written anything on your paper."

Posted 5:09 PM by Andrew Faehnle
Hey

"Virginia."

[Beat]

"Virginia..."

[Beat. A stance & practiced glare.]

Poke, poke. "Psst, he's looking at you." Point.

"Virginia. Take off your jacket."

"No."

"I am not asking you. I am telling you. It's not part of the uniform."

"No."

Jamal: "Just take off your--"

Veronica: "Shut the fuck up! I ain't takin' off my fuckin' jacket. He's not my father."

Holy shit: "TAKE OFF YOUR JACKET YOUNG LADY!" wheredidMr.Thundersoncomefrom?howlonghadhebeenoutsidelistening?thisislikethethirdtimehehascomeintointerruptmylessons.

Me, to Virginia: "Ouch. Bad timing."

"Mr. Gibson I want an incident report. Including the curse words."

"Yes sir."

Thundering: "GET UP, YOUNG LADY, AND BRING YOUR JACKET WITH YOU!"

Leandro, to Virginia, unprovoked: "Yea."

Me, to Leandro: "You stay out of it. This is not your problem."

Jonny, to Leandro, unprovoked: "Yea, keep your mouth shut."

Thunder: "ANYONE ELSE NEED TO COME WITH ME?"

Me: "Yea, take these two."

ohfuckwhatayearthisisgonnabeanditsonlysecondperiod. "Textbooks, page sixteen. Copytheobjectiveandkeyterms. Hurryup." imsupposedtobeonaprep. whyisntIversonhereanywayohyeahhesgettingmarriedtomorrow. whywasntIinvited? whydheschedulehishoneymoonforthethirdweekoftheschoolyear? wtf?

---

lunch sucked. one of 706 pulled the doorstop out of his door and he still didn't have a key. so he didn't get a chance to eat until eighth period. when the phone rang:

"Good afternoon, this is Mister Gibson."

"Heyit's Dave, are you teaching a class this period?" thatsastupidquestionyoumadetheschedule.

"No. I'm on a prep. Eating my lunch. I still don't have a key to my room. I really need a key, because we have all of the science stuff in my room, including lots of potentially dangerous chemicals. and that science teacher from The High School keeps poking around my room. I'll be right down." goddammitIalwaysforgettopackaspoon: Gibson opened his applesauce cup and "drank" it.

The old IS183 building now houses four schools: MS203 (Gibson's school), PS162or8 (a K through 8 school for kids with severe behavior problems), and two new schools: MS224 (a middle school with a brand-new principal, and only two experienced teachers, the other four being first-years from America's Teachers, a teaching program that served poor urban and rural areas throughout the country) and The High School. It used to be more confusing. Gibson's first year as a teacher, there were only two schools in the building (183 and 162or8), but in addition to IS183 the second floor housed the Manhattan and Bronx borough School Maintenance offices. It was an awful setup: the Maintenance people were right in the middle of the second floor, so if you wanted to go from the north part of the second floor to the south part, you had to go either up to the third floor or down to the first floor and circumnavigate the Maintenance people. They kept the doors to their secion Locked At All Times. You had to go around. Way around.

But, the first year of 203 had been so successful, that Mayor Bloomberg, newly in charge of the Board of Education, oh wait Department of Education, moved the Maintenance people elsewhere and gave the middle part of the building to MS 203 at a press conference. A press conference that Gibson had asked to take his kids to, as a kind of mini field trip for his social studies class, y'know, to see government and the media in action, and also because it was right in the school building. The principal said no way.

But, during eighth period on a Friday, there are more important things to worry about. Like happy hour and finding out who is gonna go. Gibson was cruising through the just-finished middle part of the second floor, on his way down to Dave's office, trying to find Gino. The new layout of the second floor was confusing, not aided by the fact that the organization sheet with all of the teachers' room numbers was very very wrong. All of the listed room numbers didn't exist for the new middle secion. Idle wandering, looking for Gino: heyallfourfloorsofthisbuildinghavedifferentfloorplans. thatsfuckedup. fuckginosgotaclassnow.

"Hey, Gibson, sit down."

"Whats up Dave?"

"I spoke to Thunderson today. He wants to schedule a meeting with you about classroom management. [wtf?] If it's okay with you [wtf?] I'd like to be there." wtfwtfwtfwtf? Dave [wtf] was the building's [wtfwtf] union representative.

"Classroom management? I don't even get a chance to manage my classroom. Thunderson came into my room today. Okay. wait. I was teaching a class, this girl was wearing a jacket, told her to take it off, she said no, started cursing, thunderson heard her and barged in and started yelling."

"Oh, I didn't hear that part."

"Third time this year."

"Wow." Gibson considered Dave a good friend. Dave was a good friend.

"He's always interrupting my lessons."

"That's no good."

"I like to take care of my problems in-house, Dave, and he's making it look to the kids like I can't handle my shit."

"Yeah."

"702, I had them on Wednesday. Edgar Polanco is in that class. I taught Edgar two years ago in the seventh grade. He was sitting silently and taking a test and taking notes. Silently, Dave."

[Beat]

"And Thunderson even said we shouldn't be calling him unless there's a real problem."

"I know, Gibson."

Posted 7:43 PM by Andrew Faehnle
wow this is the coolest thing ever

Posted 7:35 PM by Andrew Faehnle
blogging from my mobile phone