As a writer, one of my greatest pleasures is talking with people about their careers, and unforgettable experiences — bad and good. Their comments have yielded some interesting material.
Like the funeral director who told of one viewing that turned into a brawl between feuding family factions. And how police in riot gear were called out to restore peace to her funeral home. And another viewing where the deceased was laid out in her full length, designer mink coat and best jewelry to spite her neglectful, undeserving children. “Oh yeah,” the director told me; “this is not a dull business…!”
When we bought our last car, I sat in the back seat with pad and pencil as the salesman accompanied us on a test drive. He showed us the exact spot where a previous perspective buyer had pulled a gun, pushed him out onto the road, and sped away in the car.
A church organist told me how he had observed a minister answer his cell phone during his sermon. He merely stopped preaching, excused himself, and took the call — from the pulpit. Go figure!
I recently ran into a fellow teacher friend from the past. We had both done a little substituting at one point in our careers. “So how did you like being a substitute teacher?” I asked her.
“You’re kidding, right?” she said, smiling. “I hated every minute of it! And you?” So I told her. I couldn’t resist.
I’ve been thrown by a horse, run over by a Rascal Scooter, and hit head-on by a drunk driver — and still, my most horrifying experience was the day I substituted in a junior high school.
The entire eighth grade had gone on a field trip to Washington, DC. Everybody, that is, except for seven teenaged hoodlums whose teachers refused to take responsibility for them in public.
They had been described to me as a handful of students who would not be accompanying their class to Washington; I assumed for financial reasons and felt sorry for them. Briefly.
They were brought to my room by their various teachers, who handed me their assignments with an apologetic look and a reminder: “That intercom on the wall is connected to the principal’s office; it works!”
I smiled confidently. I’d been a teacher, I was a parent, for goodness sake, I’d been a Cub Scout leader, and a Sunday School teacher — I was not without ‘behavioral strategies.’ Besides, I’d even done some subbing in my own children’s elementary school. Their reactions had varied — from my first grader who had begged, “Oh Mommy, come to my room, please!” To my third grader pleading, “Please don’t come to my room. The kids will be mean to you, and I’ll have to get mad.” My sixth grader had told me a cautionary tale about how Paul’s mother had run from the class crying the day she’d substituted — just in case I’d planned on subbing for his class. He needn’t have bothered. I got the message loud and clear the day he was in line in the hall with his buddies as I passed by with my class. I smiled and waved to him, and he quickly looked the other way. I can take a hint.
The day from Hell began calmly enough. I was assertive. It’s good for substitutes to be assertive. I set some ground rules and promised that if they all worked hard, we’d take a break and maybe play a game… (Hey, it worked for elementary classes.)
By 10:00 am, the hoodlums began falling into one of two camps, reminiscent of Lord of the Flies. They shouted insults to one another and made threats. I was little more than the incredible invisible 
substitute. Two boys balled up their assignments and threw them across the room at each other. I tried to remember how Sidney Pottier had dealt with the hooligans in The Blackboard Jungle.
The strategies in my experience-arsenal were obviously worthless. More than once I eyed the intercom calculating the number of strides necessary to reach it in time to prevent a bloodbath.
I thought back to the time I had laughed at a substitute at the elementary school who always came armed with dozens of Snickers and Milky Way bars for ‘positive reinforcement.’ Maybe it wasn’t a bad idea. This group would probably have responded better to a Budweiser or National Bo. They’d obviously been held back at least once, were taller than I was, and had facial hair, like little unkempt putting greens.
Whenever it looked as though the tensions were dying down, the only girl in the room reignited the flames. “So does he really date your sister — like he says…?”
The day eventually ended, without bloodshed, (although I was very hoarse,) and I hurried to the office to remove my name from the substitute list. The good news was: I had ‘material,’ although I wouldn’t appreciate it for years to come.
13 Comments
Wishing you and your family a blessed Christmas and Happy Holidays Mrs. Rowe. Thank you for all the great stories and interesting things you’ve shared with all of us again this year. I always enjoy reading them. I wish all of you continued happiness, good health, and many blessings for a safe, happy 2012 as well. God bless & keep you all. Please pass my wishes along to Mike as well as the rest of your family. I hope that all of you are able to share the holidays together this year.
Thank you for the wonderful story- although I’m a day late and a dime short! I just found this site for Mike Rowe, and your blog, and I really enjoy this site. I am interested in Mike’s site regarding the loss of skilled labor in our workforce today. My husband began working as a welder some 30 yrs. ago; today, after being laid-off this past Jan.2011, he can no longer work due to health conditions.
My husband taught our son how to weld; how to drive our tractor; how to do wood work projects; how to do so many household things that require general skilled labor.
Our son today is a Jr. at the Colorado School of Mines studying to become an electrical engineer/computer engineering as a minor. But, one thing he knows how to do, is general skilled labor, and this country does need to find people that are willing to learn “trades of the past”, in order to keep this great country “up and running”!
Thank you and your family for this site, I love it!
Patricia McCarroll-Johnson
Elbert County, CO
Peggy,
I enjoyed your exasperating story about substituting.
I always gave students a choice of doing their work or leaving. I never had anyone choose to leave and most were very cooperative.
Juan was a foreign exchange student in a photography class. We were working in the darkroom when he chose to walk around in the dark and pinch all the girls on their butts. I knew his host parents, so I felt very comfortable settling the problem.
Mrs. Rowe, So glad you made it through class….If you worked in some of our east coast public schools…you may not have been so lucky. Great material for you, as long as you were not hurt.
Have some great florist stories that go hand in hand with the funeral directors…we are all a fun bunch of folks! You can’t make these stories up!
Mrs. Rowe, while I understand that this is about substituting, I am stuck on the image of your having been run over… by a Rascal Scooter!
It’s reminiscent of an episode of Seinfeld; was George Costanza driving?
Thank you for another lovely blog.
I substituted…once. And never went back. It has become clear to me that I do not like other people’s children, and that it takes a very, VERY special person to be a teacher. Better you than me. *grin*
Hehe. I don’t know if those students will have a chance to read this story, but if I know anything about adolescent boy psychology, the minute they had read that their prized facial hairs were like “little unkempt putting greens” they would probably throw their hands up and say “Touché!”.
I just have to laugh. I was just helping out a sub who was having trouble with her 8th grade class, and then came to read this darling story! I have also subbed, got the same reactions from my own sons(one excited, one mortified), and I have always refused to sub middle school. Nope, no way. I refuse to do it. I believe when people are sent up to complete community service, one of the options should be to sub 7-8th graders. That oughta straighten them out!
Mrs. Rowe, I so connect with you! Thanks.
Laughed out loud, your stories are always incredibly relatable. Substituting is something everyone should try at least once, maybe then there would be more respect for subs.
I love your writing. I see such clear mental picture of what you say in your blogs. Merry Christmas to you and yours.
Wonderful story Mrs. Rowe!
A few comments:
First of all, I am glad that everything turned out OK after you were hit by that drunken idiot. I hope he or she was arrested.
I love how you use the term “hoodlums.” Teaching your own students is hard enough – substitute teaching must be a whole different experience.
A preacher actually answered his phone during his message? That’s a new one! (Wow.)
Nope, can’t top that. I would think all teachers have ‘stories’. Thanks for sharing yours, Mrs. Rowe.
“The day from hell”. I’m glad you survived, without bloodshed.
Thank you for another great blog, Mrs Rowe.