Queen of the Damned Nerds, Indeed

I fully admit that I did this to myself.  

I set myself up to be the least invisible teacher in the building, in spite of my classroom being in the most awkward not-quite-either-wing armpit of the school.  

Well, maybe more like the shoulder - at least I have windows.

The point is: I made a basketful of decisions that made it so that I can never sneak down a hallway in the school, or duck into the staff room or copy room unnoticed.  I wear all black (most days), my hair is a ridiculously vibrant color, and I have the audacity to read silly books in silly voices to my silly youngest students.  Not everyone under 4 feet tall is my biggest fan, but there's enough on Team Library now that trying to go anywhere in the primary hallway is like being a puck in a game of Plinko.  

...I absolutely adore it.

Even in my best years in my first school, I never achieved this.  My colleagues in the other schools seemed to have some sort of special sparkle - it was lovely and and I envied them.  When it came time to either stay and kick a colleague out of the school where they loved her, or to leave and forfeit seniority to protect what she had built, I was swayed by the actions of her former students.  They plastered themselves on the windows of the library while walking past our meeting one day - gleefully showing her that she still had that sparkle for them even years later.  I couldn't take that away.  At best, I'd made a lasting positive impression on a dozen students over the years, mostly through D&D.  I love those connections, but I'm not under any illusions that the remaining kids missed me much this year.  

These new kids though?  They're worth all of the papercuts, the layers of salt dough crust under nails, the cleaning, the animal movement games, the classroom routine songs, the smiles-through-migraines, and more.  They're a lot more work, and they need a lot more help in many ways, but the return on investment is always worth it.  The joy is electric. 

The high school is a different animal, but if recent events are anything to judge, I'm doing alright.

***

Friday, I had a bit of a run-in with a 9th grader refusing to follow some perfectly reasonable stipulations in the library.  I have few rules: 1) Take care of the space.  2) Ask before eating, clean up after yourself.  3) Don't be disruptive/obnoxious. 4) Bring a pass to show that you have permission to be here.

Socializing, cell phones, taking a nap - it's all generally fine if you're not being a dirtbag. And for the most part, students are perfectly willing to play along.  

Cue the Chaos Crew.  

Study Halls have always been a catch-all for any students who can't be scheduled elsewhere, either because they're unmotivated academically, or because stuff just doesn't fit during that block for them.  There aren't as many hands-on electives with a low academic entry point throughout the school day, so if the "3 Rs" aren't your thing, you end up in "Support."  This leads to a high concentration of students who can't be bothered to give a single crap about traditional expectations for behavior, and many appear in multiple Study Hall periods throughout the day.  Chaos Crewmember 1 has FOUR support classes almost every day. Their favorite 9th grader underling has two - rather astounding when you look at credit requirements for the academic year.   Thankfully, they only officially cross paths once a week in the library, on Tuesdays.  

But I didn't know this until we had an issue last week.  

Tuesday, Chaos1 and Underling were quietly watching a movie during 6th period Support.  Perfectly acceptable, though not ideal use of Underling's time.  Chaos1 got a reminder not to eat in the library because he "forgot" to ask permission repeatedly the week before (intended to be a temporary consequence, because I'm not a monster).  Seventh period rang in, however, and the trouble began.  They transitioned to one of the couches and proceeded to take out a bag of mixed nuts.  With the arrival of Honor Roll Bad Girl (who serves as audience and enabler), the volume and crassness of conversation increased dramatically.  Lots of "nuts" jokes and implied touching, until it became so loud and obvious that I had to say something.  I asked them to separate, and to put the food away.  Spoilers: they continued to eat, making a pile of nut shavings on one of the upholstered chairs.  When the bell rang, they had wrecked that corner of the room.  Empty soda bottles, food scraps, and wrappers strewn about.  I was annoyed, but not angry, and planned to have them clean it up the next time they were both in the room again.  Through some combination of forces though, they didn't appear together again until Friday.  Almost immediately came the sound of a soda can opening.  Chaos1 looked up, met my look, and started trying to negotiate.  Too Late.  I calmly instructed to set it aside until the end of the period, and reminded (just as Underling took out an apple) that they were both banned from food in the library after their mess on Tuesday.

"We didn't make a mess." "What mess." "That wasn't me." "What mess." "Wasn't me."

The gaslighting that some kids think they can get away with is astounding.  I must have hit some kind of Butthead Trigger for Underling though, because he proceeded to loudly eat an apple anyway.  After being told to throw it out, another apple seemed to magically materialize every time my back was turned (hi, Honor Roll Bad Girl, I DO see you there).  Finally, I gave up fighting the blatant disrespect, while the tiny bullied kid inside my chest had an absolute field day with my heart rate.  As I walked back to my desk, seething, I realized that Underling had only recently appeared during 7th period Support.  Confirming my suspicions, the Support monitor tagged in, saying much the same thing (too little, too late, thanks dude).  

Turns out, Underling had been skipping English just to hang out and be a jackass with Chaos1.  I informed the Support monitor within Underling's earshot, and let the monitor handle the fallout.

"Oooh, she went undercover for that info." "What. Class is almost over." "No, I'm not leaving, class is half done anyway." "I don't want to leave." "I'm not leaving."

...which seems to have pressed a particular nerve in this Old Dude.  He walked over to confront Underling, and I reached for my phone...juuuust in case either side got feisty and we needed impartial record.  Apparently, one of the other HS kids recognized it as well, and zipped out of the room to fetch the principal.  I later heard from a colleague that he burst into the office, saying "There's a couple of guys in the Library being really really rude to the Librarian and [Monitor] is getting really mad." 

Eventually, Underling realized he'd been outwitted and proceeded to trudge down the hallway toward the class he'd been skipping.

***

I would have been really disheartened by all that if it weren't for a kaleidoscope of positive interactions otherwise.  From the 1st, 3rd, and 8th period drop ins (always with a pass and a friendly greeting), the random, slightly transient kids just being happy to check out books and scroll their phones quietly, the homeschool kid who spends his 15 minute passing time chatting about D&D and good books, to the kids who overheard Friday's incident and made a point to publicly Do The Right Thing - small in their own way, but important as a collective.

I also have good working friendships with colleagues across the building, and friendly interactions with just about everyone else.  I have colleagues who recognize the work I'm putting in, and my "difficult" classes are more squirrely and exhausting than truly bad.  I get to play with robots, show off 3D prints, reveal fresh new books, play games, share knowledge, grow empathy, and reward The Good Stuff.  It makes me weary in my bones by the end of the week, but I know I'm making headway.

And if this big, loud, purple-haired super nerd isn't your people? No problem, just move on; I have plenty of inspired minds on my team already.