I hate the tanagers.

Early Friday morning, I woke up to a 7:00 phone call from Mr. Anderson, the Vermillion Middle School principal. He needed a substitute teacher.. for 8th grade... science class... on the Friday of homecoming. And for a reason that I'm still trying to explain, I said "Sure!"

It was awful. I hate 8th graders and they hate me.

The day started with a school assembly and pep rally. I didn't know where the gym was, who my students were, or  who I was subbing for. And I was the only person in the entire school who wasn't wearing red. 

Then it was time for class. I assumed that since it was a sub-day and the Friday of homecoming, I would be responsible for popping in a Billy Nye video or handing out some worksheets. Instead I fumbled by way through 7 periods of attempting to teach about high and low-mass star life cycles.  It was joke. I was a joke.

I heard two kids on my left calling me "Lightbulb." I saw a football fly through the air.

Then I heard two kids on my right say I wasn't qualified to be teaching. I said, "You know what? You're right that I'm not used to teaching 8th graders. I teach college students at the University" (Bam!). One of them said, "So shouldn't we be calling you Dr. Lightfield?" I said, "Ms. Lightfield is fine for today." Rude.

And then they all chimed in.

"You're old enough to be teach college kids?'
"How old are you?"
"Are you married?"
"Are you ever going to get married?"
"Where is our real teacher?"

They sneaked cameras and took pictures. They sneaked glitter hair spray and decorated themselves. They would not shut up.

I waited and threatened and bribed and finally I yelled.

I ate my lunch at my teacher's desk because no one showed me where the teacher's lounge was. I slipped off my shoes, closed my eyes, and prayed for 3:00.

Finally 3:00 came. I wrote one helluva report for the teacher and got the H out of there.

Teaching FAIL.

Tanagers talk while I talk.