Typical Day
Dave Doogood lies half-asleep in bed at 5:15AM, keeping one eye on his cell phone and hoping it rings. He needs that money—he's got a car payment, and his "spacious" 600-square-foot studio apartment won't pay for itself. Thankfully, the phone does ring, and Dave does a little happy dance before scooping it up.
"Hello?" growls a sour voice. "One of our teachers ate some bad chicken and is spending the day in the hospital. You free?" First Dave makes sure the chicken wasn't from the school's cafeteria, then quickly agrees and leaps out of bed.
Today's gonna be different, he assures himself repeatedly during the time he showers and jumps in his car. Last Monday and Tuesday weren't great; he had a nightmare class with a bunch of rowdy sixth-graders. But today's going to be different—Dave's got lessons for every class laid out in his head. Maybe the teacher even left a lesson plan of her own this time.
Dave strides into the class and finds a single sticky note stuck to the desk. Class is working on angles. Work from book. He sighs; if there's one thing kids hate more than busywork, it's busy-math.
He watches as kids file in until 7:30AM, joking and laughing. He attempts to write his name up on the board. "Mr. Doogoo—"
"Who are you?" someone asks.
"I was just writing my—"
"I don't know you." Then the kid turns around to the other students. "Hey, no work today! We got a sub!" All the kids cheer.
Dave sighs and instructs the students to open their books to the section on angles. Nobody wants to. When he asks them what specific section of geometry they're in, they just say that they're not in geometry—this is art class, they say. Frustrated, Dave flips through the teacher's desk, looking desperately for any clue what to do. He finally just decides to have them work on sines and cosines—whatever those are.
Kids begrudgingly work in their books for about five minutes, and then start to fall asleep. Or play cards—there seems to be a lively game of poker starting up in the far right corner. Dave decides maybe he should just try out that lesson he prepared beforehand. With renewed vigor, Dave announces they'll be doing an interactive lesson where students will be measuring the circumference of spheres.
"I thought this class was supposed to be about cosines," someone says.
There goes that idea. The rest of the class is a free period.
At 8:45AM, period two rolls around and Dave decides he's going to make a better go of it. He proudly tells the class they'll be working on an interactive lesson.
A student asks, "Last class got a free period. Why don't we get one?"
By the end of the class, the kids are watching YouTube videos.
When period three begins at 9:30AM, Dave decides he's going to really tackle the problem head on. He bolts to the front of the room, wired with energy: "Hi class! Take your seats! Today, we're doing an interactive lesson on circumference! Right now!"
The kids all stare at him in confused silence. Dave hands outs class materials, still way too excited, and the students take turns measuring spheres. Some seem sort of into it. Dave glows with pride, feeling like a natural born educator. Substitute of the Year, hands down. Meanwhile, the kids are just hoping he doesn't accidentally stab them with the pencil he's waving around.
When it's fourth period study hall, Dave takes a moment to step out into the hall at 10:40AM—where he's immediately stopped by the vice principal, Mrs. Johnson. She asks him what the students are doing in his class. Dave assures her that things are going fine, then tries to cover up the sounds of Keyboard Cat coming from his room. Vice Principal Johnson gives him a suspicious look.
From fifth to seventh period, Dave just stands in the lunch hall, watching kids wander back and forth and laugh and eat. He's bummed. He tries to strike up a conversation with one of the cute full-time teachers, but he can't shake the sense she doesn't really want to engage. After all, he's just here for the day.
Finally taking his own lunch break at 12:30PM, he slumps a little lower at his—or rather Ms. Larkleton's—desk. Only one more period to go. And at least the cafeteria chicken was pretty decent.
In eighth period, Dave tries that lesson on spheres again, but the kids tell him it's just sixth grade math. He has them read from their books and just counts the amount of trees he can see through the windows outside. There are seventy-two.
Dave stares at the clock with anticipation. He's so ready for the day to be over. Just five more minutes and he'll be free. Sweet, sweet glorious freedom—then he suddenly gets called to the principal's office. "This is it," thinks Dave, "today was so bad they're kicking me off campus before the day's even over." As he walks into Vice Principal Johnson's office, she asks him to sit down.
"Dave," she says, a measured look on her face. She takes a breath and delves into it. "It looks like we're going to need you for the next week and a half. Is that okay with you?"
Dave drives home at 3:00PM, confused. He thought this was a one-day thing; now he's going to have to see these kids on a regular basis for the next seven school days. He collapses onto the couch in his spacious 600-foot studio apartment and thinks about tomorrow. Maybe tomorrow, he'll bring a really good lesson. Maybe he'll finally get the kids engaged.
Or maybe he'll just show a movie.