There’s nothing like a new month. I get paid, I can tear off the ratty, marked-up sheet on my desktop calendar to reveal the clean one underneath, and I can pretend that I’m organized and productive for four, even five days before I’m back to my default routine of barely functioning. Part of this first week, when I’m working out regularly, getting regular sleep and brushing my teeth? Updating my blog! Lucky you!

Last semester, I finished taking the gen-ed classes that I needed to get certified to teach, so this summer I’m taking the necessary classes for the teaching program that I’m in. Long story short, I can’t stand it.

It’s not the classes – they aren’t my favorite, but I do feel like I’m learning valuable info from them.

It’s the other students.

I’ve mentioned this before, but non-traditional students piss me off, even though I am one.  They’re kind of confused, don’t really seem to know how to function in a classroom environment and are constantly interrupting the teacher so they can say as many pointless, random things as possible.

Fortunately, non-traditional students are usually the exception more than the rule. If you have three of them in all of your classes in a semester, you’re unlucky.

At least, most of the time.

Here’s the thing: the program that I’m in takes students who have a bachelor’s degree and then pushes them through a three semester program to certify them to teach. Do you know what that means? By definition, if you’re enrolled in this program, you’re a non-traditional student. The results are infuriating.

To give you an idea of what a typical class is like, let me show you the following: It’s an excerpt from a Saturday Night Live skit called “Little Sleuths”, where a crime solving team of kids want to help the police solve a crime:

Detective Maroney: [ interrupting ] Alright, fine!! You want to help me solve this case? [ slueths nod ] Here it is! We found a dead prostitute on Route 4.. somebody cut off her hands and feet.. and shoved a deli menu in her mouth!

Bookie Newton: Can we have a.. second, please..?

Sam: Uh.. uh..

Sam: First thing we need to do is find out what a prostitute is.

Bookie Newton: That’s where our Latin comes in handy.

Sam: Let’s break it down.. “Pro” means..

Bookie Newton: Professional!

Sam: Mm-hmm! And “stitute” sounds like.. “substitute”.

Bookie Newton: A professional substitute!

Together: Hmm… who would want to kill a professional substitute teacher??

Sam: And why would a professional substitute teacher want to eat a menu!

Bookie Newton: Maybe it’s a clue!

Together: Hmmmm….

Bookie Newton: Let’s start with the menu!

Sam: Well, a menu is made of paper..

Bookie Newton: And paper’s made of trees..

Sam: And trees grow in the forest!

Detective Maroney: [ starting to get it ] Yeah.. yeah.. this is starting to make some sense..

Sam: Yeah, yeah! and forest rangers wear badges!

Bookie Newton: Just like police officers!

Sam: And.. and police officers are heros!

All Together: Which is also the name of a sandwich!!

Lieutenant: That whore deserved it! I’ve got a wife and kids! That slut was gonna ruin everything!

Detective Maroney: [ outraged ] You disgust me! [ to police officers ] Take him away, guys! I doubted you little sleuths, but you proved me wrong. I’ll work with youse two’s any time! How can I ever repay you?

Sam: Candy!

Okay, see that part where the two kids go back and forth, talking about barely related things to figure out whodunnit?

- Make the things that they’re saying unfunny

- Add a rambling, unrelated personal story that takes five minutes to tell at the end of every association.

- Stretch the whole exchange from fifteen seconds to two and a half hours.

WELCOME TO MY SEMESTER.

Here’s an example of what I sit through for five hours a day:

"If peeing your pants is cool, consider me Miles Davis!" Sure it's hilarious, until you're trapped in a room with her for two and a half hours with four of her friends.

The teacher will get out four or five words about how to accommodate a disabled student in the classroom, when a student will raise their hand and the teacher will foolishly call on them. The student will then either A) tell a long-winded story about the time they were at the laundromat and a woman with a retarded child rudely took the student’s laundry out of the drier and just put it on a folding table, or B) and this is my personal favorite, the student will start arguing with the teacher about the best way to deal with a handicapped child in the classroom. It’s irrelevant that the teacher is currently working in a special needs classroom, or that the student has no experience with special needs children, or even that the teacher is simply explaining a law to us that isn’t up for debate. They will argue nonetheless. Then, at some point in their incoherent tirade, another student will hear a noun that reminds them of a story of their own, and the cycle continues as I seethe in the back of the room, my face contorted in rage and blood streaming out of my ear.

I’m not being entirely fair – I actually do like some of the people in my classes, and I just went over it in my head and there are only about five students who are determined to bring things to a screeching halt, but that’s more than enough to make things unpleasant, and my classes are only about twelve people. I’m getting kind of enraged thinking about it.

Well, that’s about all the productivity that I can handle for one day. It was good to use the old blog again. If patterns hold, I’ll see you all in mid-September.