Handcuffs

Yr 8 English, room 31

Boy, this is dodgy! Teacher’s notes are “Work on next sheet in English Rules 2”. Only trouble is, as the students saunter in in dribs and drabs, slouching around, it’s apparent none of them have bothered to bring said textbook - and their lockers are far away. I end up with nine students – the rest have either left the room without permission or are on the year eight camp. To make things worse, this class is in one of the rattiest-looking portables in the school, and it’s situated at an extreme edge of the school, as though it’s been quarantined.

Most of the students sit up the back. There’s one girl, Melanie, who sits alone up front. She’s busy drawing all over the table with yellow highlighter. When I ask her to clean it up she replies quietly, venomously, that she can’t. Her attitude is sarcastic, hostile; I sense enormous angst due to the fact that she’s a loner in the class. I figure it’s better to mostly leave her alone. I have to speak to her again later when I find her cutting up bits of the table with her scissors, but she eventually settles down to watching the antics of the other students.

Two boys, Joel and Kevin, are holding court in the corner of the room, regaling anyone who listens – and they talk so loudly no one has a choice – about possible careers they’d like to have: these include astronaut, pizza deliverer and porno star.

A girl tells me that another girl would have been in class but she had been handcuffed by some boy to a pole and couldn’t get away.

Two girls get a bit antsy and wander around the room. One of them asks me why I’m not getting them to do any work or at least something to pass the time. Exasperated, I reply I’m not there to entertain them, and that they had work to do but no one could be bothered to bring it; so I’m just sitting this one out.

Normally in this situation I’d hand out some word finds or puzzles or something, but I didn’t bring any. I know it’s silly – I’m an English teacher, why don’t I just teach them some English? – but you really have to know it’s hopeless giving students almost any work that’s not from their actual teacher. You have to be a real charismatic raconteur-cum-entrepreneur to pull it off, and that’s not me.

The class comes near to an end - and guess what? – that girl who’s supposedly been handcuffed to a pole comes in. And she has one end of a pair of handcuffs on her arm! Unbelievable.

Most of the students head out the door well before the bell. I could yell and rant and rave for them to stay, but I can’t be bothered, and I wonder how affective it’d be anyway. The few that obediently remain include, strangely enough, Melanie, the sulky loner. When I see it’s getting too much for them and they’re champing at the bit, I release them a couple of minutes before the bell. Gives me just enough time to clean the room up. When the bell finally goes, I walk out decorously, like nothing much has happened - just a normal day at this strange, strange country school.