This is the last week before final exams, and the end-of-semester pressures are causing weird things to happen. The morning began normally. I read over lecture notes in my office as my work-study texted her boyfriend. I also snacked on the peanut butter balls that she cooked over Thanksgiving break. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed the teacher in the neighboring office limp by with a walking cane. It turns out that he went to a Wynonna Judd concert the night before and slipped on the wet pavement as he was walking out. He assured me that the libations of the evening had nothing to do with his lack of balance. I considered it an honor that he told me half of the truth because I heard him tell another teacher that he broke his foot saving his neighbor’s dog from a fire.
My first class went off without a hitch, but the second class went total “Twilight Zone”. I expected Rod Serling to show up at any point and start a monotone monologue. I announced the exam time to the class when I noticed one of the students roll his shoulders; roll his head; and roll his eyes. Apparently, the exam schedule that has been online all semester did not suit him. (Sidenote: This kid drives all of the teachers crazy. He never shows up on time and is always looking for an easy way out. It’s like he is searching for someone to mistreat him. Everyone wants to fail him, but the fucker makes good grades.) So, I continue with the announcements when this guy suddenly yells, “What did you say?” The kid he was yelling at looked stunned, and, like anyone would do, incredulously asked, “What?” It continued:
“You were making fun of me.”
“No, I wasn’t” (Although, he probably was.)
“Tell me what you said.”
“I didn’t say anything, but if you want to step outside we can take care of this.”
At this point, my shock subsided, and I explained that is was a good time to be quiet. I couldn’t believe that two students were about to come to blows over an exam time.
After this stupidity, things around campus returned to normal. A student who scheduled a registration session never showed up. As punishment, I signed him up with all of the hard teachers.
The moral of the story is don’t fuck with teachers. We can stop fights with just a few words. We can ruin your life by placing you in the worst classes. But most importantly, we can save dogs from fires instead of breaking our ankles while leaving concerts drunk. Of course, we can’t sit through a Wynonna Judd concert sober.
SBI: A Thinning Crowd 
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