JACK TEACHER - 2

 

The spotty looking kid looked at Teacher and said, “Where’s our real teacher? We’re here to learn.”

Teacher replied, “Okay, first lesson, don’t sit in the teacher’s chair.”

“Who the fuck are you?” the spotty kid retorted.

“No one responsible for conceiving you.” Teacher replied.

The spotty kid missed a beat. Then his intellect dropped a level. “I’ll sit here if I want. Are you even a proper teacher?”

Teacher smiled. “I’m a better teacher than you are a student. Now please move to your proper place.”

Spotty replied, “Can’t make me!”

Teacher replied, “You’d look funny made twice.”

There was a murmur of quiet laughter around the room.

The spotty kid pulled one of those faces that only an imbecile can confidently pull off. Then he moved to his regular seat. He let himself bump into chairs and desks, as he moved past them, in an effort to save some pride.

Teacher introduced himself to the class. “Teacher. No middle name. First name Mister. You can call me Teacher.”

Then he took the roll.

One big problem that both relief teachers and ‘proper’ teachers faced in the lower decile schools, where Teacher normally found himself, was kids who came to school without a pen. Most teachers carried spare pens that they gave out when required.

Teacher had long ago noticed that bringing a mobile phone was no problem to just about all students. He’d wondered how many ballpoint pens could be purchased for the price of a phone. He came to school with one ballpoint pen and a wallet. He didn’t carry a phone and he didn’t carry spare pens.

A boy called to him. “Teacher, I haven’t got a pen.” The boy was playing with his mobile phone.

“You know that you’re not supposed to have your phone out in class?” Teacher asked. The boy thought about it and put the phone in his pocket. “I’ll make you a deal.” said Teacher. “I’ll swap you my pen for your phone.” The boy looked confused. Then he decided that it might be better to borrow a pen off one of his mates.

Teacher was probably among the first people in the room to notice the three young men sitting outside in the playground about twenty metres from his classroom. They looked almost young enough to be at school but they were wearing their own type of uniform. The most identifying part was a jacket that had a gang insignia on the back. The way they were sitting, mostly facing Teacher’s line of vision, made it hard to read what their jackets said.

The spotty kid called out, “Hey, there’s my brother!”