Paper bag

Cue the cheers and applause because I've graduated and am now a proud member of the working population. At least for the next month or so.

I'm back in Los Angeles. Home, smoggy home. Except I'm back in a dorm room, living out of a suitcase, working for a "high school professional forum" - fancy schmancy words to disguise what it really is. A Camp for Overachieving High Schoolers. Not that I don't love my group of kids. Because I honestly do love them. Who wouldn't love a group of kids willing to cross-dress and dance around - a choreographed dance, mind you, not random spastic movements - to Aqua's Barbie Girl song?

Granted, it's been a little tough.

The morning went perfectly. My students were a little tired, but that was to be expected. We played some "energy-up" icebreaking games, and then they were on. Everyone was participating, which really made my job a whole lot easier. Then we started PBL (problem-based learning). And they started to get frustrated. Which they then started to take out on me. Luckily for me, (note the sarcasm), my boss decided to come observe my classroom at that exact moment.

Survey the scene, if you please.

One female student, blatently sleeping on the floor in the middle of the room, despite my protests and beseeching.

One male student, adamantly refusing to determine "what is wrong with Mrs. Anderson," and repeating, continuously and loudly, "she's going to die, she's going to die, she's going to die."

Another male student, picking at his cuticles and hangnails. And responding with huhs every time I ask for his feedback in a desperate attempt to get him to participate.

Three female students loudly gossiping about the cute boy in the other corner as he blushes and pretends that he can't hear them.

Me - trying desperately to look like I have some kind of control over the group and failing miserably.

I can't wait to get my formal evaluation...

Oh but the fun didn't end there. Oh no siree.

After that trying session, we headed over to dinner, where I picked up a spaghetti plate and headed over to the salad bar.

"Sorry, can I just reach in here and grab some dressing?" asked the cute little Asian girl.

"Sure!" responded the naive faculty advisor who, from this point on, will not let another soul cut in line.

"Thanks!" said the cute little Asian girl as she reached across, leaned against my cafeteria tray, which then proceeded to tip dangerously. I reached out to save the tray, two seconds too late, and the tray with the spaghetti plate came crashing down on my pristine black and white skirt.

The next day I was eating a teriyaki burger, when the wax paper holding the bottom of my burger broke, and a hamburger patty with a side of teriyaki sauce fell into my lap. So now, I have yet another souvenir - a permanent stain on my khaki skirt.

I can't wait to see how many outfits I have left at the end of the week.

But regardless, this week has been so enlightening and fun. I now have a newfound respect for teachers everywhere. I don't know where I would be if I didn't have a pre-set lesson plan waiting for me every morning. And I'm learning so much. Learning to eat with a napkin in my lap. Learning choreographed dances. Learning to not use trays in the dining hall. Learning how to use my height to command respect. Learning to know when to not let people know you listen to country. Learning how to read people (but we'll save that for next time).

I bet I'm learning more than my students. What with the blatent gossiping and sleeping.