Well, fuck, kids. Looks like I'm in the shit again. Smalltown's been real careful about how he represents our time spent together to his gal, as in... well, as in lying, basically, and telling her that every time we've met there have been other men there with me. Sometimes that's the truth, but lately it hasn't been. Now. I'm not one to take kindly to lying -- it's not something I myself do and/or tolerate. I am what I am and if someone can't be doing with that, then it's time to part ways. But I'm also not one to get up in someone else's business (or I try not to be), so I've kept my mouth shut about the whole situation.
Even with the lying, and the fact that there are dozens of people around Bupyeong who have willingly testified to her of our strictly platonic-ocity, she's still got in for me. Smalltown just rang to tell me they've had a massive fight after we were out last weekend (with my imaginary Korean boyfriend), and I've been banned.
Le sigh. Broads, man. What are you gonna do?
He's basically told her she can get to fuck, unless she wants to give up all contact with outside males herself, but I know this kid and I know his determination is bound to crumble at the first sight of a trembling feminine lip. So, either he'll up the ante with the fibbing, or....
Weak. But that's the way life goes, I suppose.
Gave my first stern talking-to of the semester today. Somehow my A Level Assholes have all ended up in the same damn class. Oh, for joy. The strength of adolescent numbers. My co-teacher (not being a huge fan of this class, herself) begged off and left them all to me, and they started out alright, but soon descended into a murmuring cloud of idle I-don't-give-a-fuck-about-this-because-I'm-like-so-above-it-ness. The Lovestick made its first appearance of the new year.
Look at me. LOOK at me. Look at my eyes. Now. I put up with this last year. Last year, you were second graders. This year, you are third graders. You are an A level class. You are supposed to be the best. But you're not acting like it. You're acting like children. Guess what? You're not children anymore. You're bored? Guess what. I don't care. Tough. Too bad. This is school, and you don't get a choice. This is our first class together, and you are already disappointing me. You have to do things in life that you don't like. That's life. Get used to it -- it only gets worse from here. Now. Are you going to act like men or are you going to act like children? Don't disappoint me right now.
My advantage is that I had a few of these not-so-little-anymore monsters in my after-school class last semester, and managed to reign them in quite firmly by the end. These ones know I mean business and, more importantly, have begun to care what I think about them. They're the strongest in the class, and they're not going to let the others pull the class down, if I pull them hard enough in the opposite direction.
They were flawless for the rest of class. Here's hoping it stays that way.
I have had a few smaller run-ins with some C boys who seem to have already smelt the blood in the water with regards to the new co-teacher. I don't know what's going on in her classes, but every time she walks into the office after class, she looks as though she's about to cry, hair flying in every which direction. She does her best, in her defense, to keep little pools of nonsense from springing up around the classroom while I'm teaching, but I've noticed that (as with the private school teacher they brought in for my C level first graders last year), they seem to get worse rather than better once she approaches the situation.
The first move, always, always, always is to spot the little bastards in the back rows and move them straight up front -- not in their preferred cluster formation, but all in a straight line across the first row. That way they can only get to one other comrade at a time.
There. You see? Now I can look at all your beautiful faces right here in front of me all class long. Isn't this nice?
I held a few after when they started in full-on heckling the private school teacher during my lesson as she tried to silence their whispering, and told them that they had terrible manners. These are C level students, remember, and they can't understand hardly any of what I'm saying, so it's not possible to lecture on too complicated a level, but I managed to get across the idea that they were not behaving like gentlemen, that that woman is a teacher and they are students, and that should still mean something, regardless of whatever else is going on.
Lord. They're holding tight for the moment, but it's only the first week. I've been working hard at getting better at all of this -- the discipline has been the hardest part of my job, for me, since the beginning. But I do believe (knock on wood) I've almost gotten there. Now hold this book for me while I prepare to eat my words.