I just couldn't contain my enthusiasm yesterday. It bubbled-over around 3:16 pm, when the fact that there was this one asshole kid who I would never have to ever teach again hit me square between the eyes like a bowling ball fired from a cannon.
Except that, instead of a bowling ball, it was a money-shot of pure ecstasy. And, instead of a cannon, it was a cannon of pure ecstasy.
...did I mention I was ecstatic that I won't ever have to talk to that little hellspawn ever again? The one who made my life, and the lives of 22 other unfortunate souls who had the lack-of-pleasure of spending up to 75 minutes in the same room with him 92 times, a living hell? The one whose mom is completely out-to-lunch about how truly horrible a person her son is? The one who has absolutely no filter between his vile, rotten brain and his putrid, railroad-tracked mouth? The one who, oddly, looks like Butthead from that old MTV cartoon?
Yes, that one. Hallelujah.
Now, my colleagues (and even a few students) assure me that I have some real winners coming down the pipe next semester: a mild-mannered Chemistry teacher, who is definitely not prone to fits of yelling and screaming and other such emotional outbursts, lost her shit on one kid multiple times into whose head I apparently will have to cram some Physics knowledge in the upcoming five months.
You know what, though? I can take it. If I spent five months with the aforementioned hellspawn — an extremely talented colleague of mine told me yesterday, "I purposely chose not to teach Grade x so that I wouldn't even have the chance of possibly teaching him" — I swear to whatever's-up-there I can take any kid that ever comes my way. Ever.
Think I'm exaggerating? Back in the fall, we had a pow-wow in the principal's office with the student, his parents, all four of his teachers, a representative from the Academic Resource (aka "Special Ed") department, both vice-principals and the principal, basically letting he and his parents "have it with both barrels," telling the parents about a small sample of the crazy shit he'd done in our classes. I've never seen anything like that before, and neither had any of my fellow teachers, and one of them has been in the game for 25 years.
Alas, I am done with him. Forever.
Ergo, since I have no exam to supervise tomorrow, and we don't have to be in the building if we don't have kids writing, I am travelling to Kingston — namely, Clark Hall Pub at Queen's University — and drinking my goddamn face off at Ritual, starting around 12:30-ish to 1:00-ish. If you're around, and you're thirsty, look for me in the Golden Words jersey which has my approximate age on the back.