I started back two weeks ago to teaching high school English in the hood but as most teachers will tell you, you barely start teaching until the second week. Okay, maybe just my school. They made the kids do a diagnostic standards (CST) test for two days. This was nice because I could do my lesson plans. Of course, that was blown to hell when they informed me my books were not going to arrive. Luckily, that has happened the last two years, so I was ready for it. There was a plan B; hell, there was a plan C too.
I have 9th and 10th graders this year. Three classes of each. They look so cute in their little uniforms. Burgundy sweater vests with ties and white shirts and khakis. They hate them. Oh, man do they hate them. Especially when it is 100 degrees outside and 110 in my classroom.
So, here’s a funny story (I winced and gritted my teeth on “funny” just so you know.): Los Angeles began a heat wave on Monday. It was Labor Day so it was spent with my boys at a neato farm in the Valley in the morning (before it got hot) where we got to feed farm animals and I tried to get the boys to pick some veggies that they might like to eat. The carrots “scared” Dash and Max said he would stick with apples. Forget the strawberries. That was like a hour of begging and I finally gave in. I will just keep hiding the veggies and fruits in their food. I will shove it in there any way I can.
The afternoon was spent at the pool. Ah, I love the pool. Even though you know like, every single kid (and probably some adults) have peed in it. But hey, swimming in the sunshine? Nothin’ cuter than little white tushies after the pool. (Theirs, not mine) Even with 50 SPF we all still were tan like we were on vacation. When we have a national holiday on a Monday, I like to pretend it is a vacation. Just a little one. I like to put a little umbrella in my coffee and try desperately to move slowly and languidly throughout the day. Yep, that never works. My children’s usual languid nature is enough to make me go from languid to impatient in like an hour. Seriously, be relaxed but actually listen and do something by the third time I ask. It’s like I have a button stuck on repeat. “Don’t touch that. Don’t touch that. Don’t touch that.” “Because I said so. Because I said so. Because I said so.” “Put the cat down. Put the cat down. Put the cat down.” Jeez, not really much of a vacation now that I think of it. But there was a pool, so…
Anyway, back to the heat wave story. So, Tuesday, I walk into my classroom and it is like a sauna. I turn on the air conditioner and it begins to spit luke warm air into a two foot radius. I turn on the fan, spray my room with air freshener and begin to sweat. It is not even 8am. By 10am, my room becomes reminiscent of a male locker room without all of the naked people. I diligently try to teach and remind my students that in December when the heater doesn’t work and it’s 45 degrees in my classroom, they will long for today. I tell them they can take off the sweater vests, which is like a federal offense at my school. They are fanning themselves with their grammar work sheets. At least they are good for something. Perhaps the adjectives will fly off of the page and stick to their brains. It could happen.
Wednesday is even worse and by the afternoon, I have had knocked back six bottles of water and sweated most of it out. The idea of eating is repugnant and I just keep sipping, chugging, drinking water. I begin to wonder if it is hotter outside than inside and realize there is no difference. It is 100 degrees outside and a bit warmer and more humid in my classroom. Teaching grammar becomes amusing as we come up with adjectives to describe my room. Hot, sweaty, humid, disgusting, sticky, stifling, etc. At one point I decide to buy loofas and seaweed and open a spa. Perhaps a nice sweat lodge with a drumming circle. One administrator visits my classroom and asks if I knew how hot it was. Really? I want to say “duh” but refrain as there are fewer and fewer teaching positions available in Los Angeles so I need to keep my muggy one.
Thursday morning and it is even worse. It’s like the Florida Everglades and I am sure I have spotted an alligator loitering near the bathroom. The maintenance man comes and wants to know who turned my heater on. I laugh, thinking he is joking. He is serious.
“You mean the heater that hasn’t worked in three years?” I asked. “Yes, your heater is on.” “Oh seriously…” I sit down on my makeshift couch (the backseat of a minivan, no really) and laugh. The students laugh. Nice break, but we continue to learn about adjectives with no end in sight. My favorite part is when Mr. Maintenance Guy tells me the air conditioner would work better at 76 degrees. I just stare at him, my mouth open, sweat dripping down my back. Yep, that makes sense.
I weighed myself at the gym today and have lost five pounds. So who cares?
Back to the sauna tomorrow to teach Lyric Poetry. Sweater vests optional.
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