I hate this job.
I sit down and take attendance of all those hard to name kids. They laugh every time I mispronounce the slightest syllable in any name. What kind of name is Hooman? Who, man, would name their kid that?
Then there is the name I know I got right, yet, people are giggling out their wazoos. G-d I hate this. It is the “classic” name-changing trick. Oh, how funny. I cannot believe those two kids who are friends switched their names around and me, the unsuspecting sub, fell for the trick. Goodness gracious, it was like I have never seen these kids before or something.
Now it is time for revenge. Take a lap. No, make it two. No, make it three and you have to wear a heart rate monitor. It’s time for me to get into my target satisfaction zone. Keep running.
Well done. You kids earned the right to do thirty pushups. Let’s throw in some lunges for good measure. I love this job.
After separating the kids into random teams, I watch some punk stay with his friends and not go to the team I assigned him. Now he is on a new team: Team Dean. Then I hear some little brat whiner cry, “These teams aren’t fair, Mrs. Substitute.” Life’s not fair, buddy. I am a PE substitute and have to deal with you kids.
They’re playing pillow-polo. Who in g-d’s name invented this stupid, violent game? I had to kick out this kid for getting into a swordfight with another kid. They were making lightsaber sounds! The kid told me his name was Tom. I believed him; that is, until I heard someone call him Jon Pollen. Now, Jon is making fast friends with Mr. Treadmill.
Two bloody noses, three broken pillow-polo sticks, and a handful of girls who never moved. I love this job. I hate this job.
