![]() On more than one occasion I’ve heard substitutes and even regular teachers say they won’t work “south of the 8,” and it never fails to bum me out.Ī lot of substitutes avoid middle schools because it’s difficult as hell. ![]() ![]() This geographical distinction comes up many times among educators. The first sub placement I accept is at a middle school in an affluent neighborhood, north of Interstate 8. I enter the substitute pool because the other options feel like regression or stagnation. My options are: 1) go back to looking for writing jobs in fields that have already destroyed my soul, 2) find an additional part-time restaurant/bar job, or 3) enter San Diego’s substitute teaching pool. I’ve just spent a lot on a teaching credential, and it looks like it’s going to go to waste. It’s the beginning of the year, and I haven’t been able to land a teaching position. Perhaps in high school, we begin to think about the consequences of actions when the teacher is gone, but that kind of foresight is all but absent in middle school. At that age-when our impulse controls were not fully developed-it was easy to forget that we even had teachers. If someone told me a year ago that I’d find myself speaking in front of hundreds of teenagers every day and trying to get them to do work, I’d have said, “Why are you describing a very specific nightmare to me?” I mean, we all remember how we acted on sub day, right? Those days didn’t count. You take a breath, summon your bravest voice, and say, “good morning!” You stand up and gaze out at 40 pairs of eyes staring back. Apathy is definitely a W in the substitute’s book. It’s a fool’s dream to expect respect, but at least maybe you can get a pacified apathy. The best you can hope for is to not fail too badly. No substitute teacher ever really passes this test. In these few seconds, the students will determine the extents to which they want to respect you or fuck with you. They are waiting to see what you will do, a tacit, indiscernible test that, if you fail, will make the next 90 minutes hell. The kids file in, all with some variation of that evil grin. You sit in the classroom, listening to this excitement, becoming increasingly more terrified. The teacher is gone! The effect is like a battle cry, instilling fear in the opponent. You hear them just beyond the door, telling everyone approaching that the teacher is gone. It’s universal: they enter the classroom, briefly freeze with a quick caught-in-the-headlights look.Īnd then give you, like, the most sinister smile. There are a few constants in life: death, taxes, and the look on a kid’s face when they realize they have a substitute. ![]()
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