I have a headache and I want my siesta. In fact, I want two.

You’ll be transformed in Spain they said.

Today was one of those days and not in a good way.

• Momma told you there would be days like this…

I have three new teachers and one regular from last year. The youngest kids all remember me and scream my name from everywhere, the playground the street, and out of the windows of the buildings. The first day they’d run up to me hugging me five kids deep and nearly knocking me down at least three times. Thank goodness for shoes with good grips, I don’t need a broken hip.

First, my schedule is similar to last year but there are more kids so there are more classes. I work four days a week. Have 22, 45-min classes and walk between three buildings with no AC. By 2 Pm I look like a drowned rat looking for a life raft.

Did I say 22?  Yes, 22 classes. 1st and 2^nd graders of five and six-year-old rabbits, through 13 and 14-year-old 6th-grade pre-pubescent moody, know-it-alls that argue every point. Some classes are better than others is all I’ll say. But the common denominator in the classes is how they feed off each other like lice jumping from head to head.

They either follow each other and listen and ask pointed good questions, or they are throwing papers, doodling, talking, and getting up anytime they want.

When I walk in they are all happy and say hello then it either goes well or really, really bad.

The last class was the latter; 25 6th graders born from Satan. The teacher even forewarned me just before entering “this class doesn’t learn anything.”

I walked behind the teacher into the classroom. Their desks were arranged differently than all other classes. They were in a U-shape.  From now on I’m thinking U -shape means “uuhhhh welcome to hell.”

The room was semi-dark because of the heat as this class faced the west. It was hot and stuffy, and I was already tired with a low-level headache brewing.

But even before I got started, right out of the gate they were all screwing around, talking, getting up, etc.  The teacher snapped at them to be quiet. I asked them a couple questions about their summer which many ignored and talked over me despite the teacher’s warning. Not a good start in a sweltering room and sweat running down my back and between my boobs. But it’s not my place to discipline even though I wanted to.

So, I put up my PowerPoint which was a hit in all the classes before this one. It’s 20 slides of places in Spain and the US and they had to guess which country the photos were from. I thought maybe they would like it like the others and pay attention.

I was wrong.

Within five minutes of starting the PowerPoint, they were doodling, throwing papers, and talking.  The teacher would get them to stop for one minute then it restarted. I even walked around the room asking each kid the same question; if they thought the slide was Spain or the US to get their one-on-one attention. It barely helped.  

I could see who the main troublemakers were. A tall lanky kid getting up constantly, another poking the others, a curly-haired girl throwing spitballs, and one boy that kept leaning over to the kids on each side of him talking and laughing.   At one point I just stood there my arms crossed and wished I could tell the troublemakers to get the F*** out and go to the principal’s office. But it’s not my place. Then the teacher snapped at them for the 5^th time, signaled me to wait, and got up and walked out.

Looking at my watch there were 20 minutes left of the class and I seriously questioned when I could start drinking. Next, in walked an older sturdy-looking woman, the teacher behind her. They all turned their heads in unison and suddenly went silent. She stood there at the back of the room watching.  Ok, then I can finish this damn thing I thought.

I restarted and within five minutes they didn’t care that she was there either and started the same crap; talking, getting up, doodling, and not listening to anything I said. I looked in my bag and wished for something cold to drink. I wished I had a juice box in my bag, except not the kind with just grape juice if you know what I mean.

She then gave them a stern lecture on respect, and they all got quiet. On my left was the lanky kid that kept getting up. He said something snarky to her in Spanish. She pointed at him and gave him the get the F*** out sign. He slapped the desk and got up in a huff; she looked really pissed then. I was hoping she’d grab his ear lobe and yank him out just for good measure.

They all watched him leave the room with her right behind him. Stick a fork in me I was done and so was the teacher. I shut down the presentation and we walked out. Not a peep was heard.

I was hot, sweating, irritated and thirsty. Then it dawned on me.  Whoever invented juice boxes is a genius.  Why not have an adult version? It will look like your just sipping some juice like the kids and no one would be the wiser. It could be called teacher’s little helper. Just pop it in your lunch bag for those “special days.”

On a day like this I could sure pop a straw in one and whistle my way out of the gate. Then, a day of yelling, sweating, and arguing with 6^th graders testing me with Spanish versions of English swear words will instantly vanish. Now that’s an idea.

A box and a straw.

Who knew how simple it could be.

Tomorrow is another day.

I need a lunch box.

Somewhere in Spain.