Thirteen Ways the Sub Got Sunk

A few days ago one of my students asked me who the worst substitute I ever had was.  I believe this was in response to my being gone and him facing the music of acting inappropriately when I was not present.

Now, I’ve had subs that have flat-out not followed the lesson plan, ones that teach incorrect grammar, and a few who just sit and do nothing.   I’ve even had subs turn kids off to some of the best literature out there because of their ineptness to read aloud or direct a discussion.  However, I believe the epitome of bad sub experiences occurred in my first full year of teaching.  I was away at a district assignment.  If I remember correctly, the district was making all new teachers undergo a Six Traits of Writing training.  Never mind the fact that I had just been teaching this to my students the week before and had already received this instruction (and practice) in college.  I was new, so I had to go, and that in itself put me in a not-so-smiley mood.

The workshop surprising ended early, so I thought I would return to my classroom to see how things had gone.  I arrived at 2:25.  School ended at 2:35.  Perfect: just in time to catch a report before everyone disappeared…or so I thought.

When I arrived at y door, it was locked.  The lights were off, and there were no students to be found…anywhere.  Everyone was gone—including the substitute.

But that was just the beginning of my little welcome back surprise.  My classroom library, consisting of one shelf back then, was tipped on its side, the contents scattered down one aisle.  What had once been a pile of magazines stacked neatly on a shelf looked like it had erupted and started a landslide, the base of which was about six feet across.  And when I went to pick them up, they didn’t want to come.  A layer of magazine printed pages had been systematically stapled to the floor in a tight circular pattern.

Half the desks were facing a different direction.  The recycle bins looked as if they got indigestion and spit everything back up and out.  The lesson plan I had left peeked out from under one of the now-upside down garbage cans, tattooed with unintelligible scribbles of almost every color.

When I got the paper mess cleared away, I sat down at my desk to read the requested sub report.  All of my paper clips were strung together in one long chain.  My hall pass slips were missing—all three tear-away pads.  I opened my top drawer to drown my disgust with the Snickers I kept for chocolate emergencies.  Someone had eaten half of it and left it in the drawer, large teeth marks clearly visible, caramel draped across pens and paperclips. Seriously?  He got into my desk?  He ate my candy bar?  Or even worse…he let the students wreak this kind of havoc? 

Really?

Needless to say, that sub (and I never found out his name) never worked in our building again.

The next day, I instituted a behavioral boot camp after I acquired my classes’ full confessions.  Without me speaking a word, they all dragged in, heads bowed, eyes cowed.  They ratted themselves out and confessed all their sins.  They knew better than to trust someone who told them they didn’t have to follow any rules that day.  Whatever fun they had while I was gone, they sure made up for in effort after I got back.

He who breaks the law shall be punished. Back to the house of pain!