Welcome to the trenches, people. Join me for the last half-day of the school year, a day that should be full of rainbows and unicorns and fluffy kittens, a day for saying tearful goodbyes to each other, a day to reflect upon how you've grown as a person over the year, under the tutelage of those wiser than yourself. SCREEEEEEECH! There goes that vinyl LP again.
"But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom," you say, "what could possibly go wrong on the last half-day of school?"
We'll begin at the beginning, because Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a structured and orderly professional. First cat out of the bag, before the tardy bell 1st Hour, a young lad who came to us in the middle of second semester, not exactly a transfer, because to be a transfer means that you must have been attending another school right before you enrolled at Newmentia and not just slacking about truantly, created a fracas over by the windows, near Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's desk. The object of his infliction was a much smaller boy who is altogether pleasant and has the added benefit of actually attending an institute of medium learning for the entire school year. Plus, he doesn't have a mohawk. Or even a fauxhawk. Mrs. HM called Slacker out into the hallway and made him stand up against the wall, where students walking by took great pleasure in catcalling and hooting at him.
Upon entering the classroom after the bell, the second cat escaped from the bag, that being an eager beaver lass who is always the first to volunteer to hand out papers or do bonus work, even though she's a hood, not a nerd, who asked if she could use her phone because one of those staffers who hijacked HM's Academic Award Night reserved table had told her to keep calling her sister, because if sister didn't bring in her pants, she would not be able to graduate. Yeah. Mrs. HM, too, questioned the pants issue. Seems that Sis did not turn in her softball uniform, and could not walk with a debt.
Second hour brought us S-Disturber, who was flaunting a sideways cap and jamming to the beat of his MP3 player. Never mind the fact that he was told every day upon entering class to put it away, and did so, and never caused an issue all year. S-D got all mouthy about how it was the last day, and he saw a kid in the hall wearing a hat, and that MP3 wasn't bothering nobody, and why can't we just do whatever we want on the last half-day of school? Well, Mrs. HM suggested that he could have stayed home, though after two class periods already, only two kids had been absent, which was better attendance than a regular day. Then the Nose In Everybody Else's Business girl with her feet up in a desk wanting HM to tell her to get them down, but HM didn't take the bait, asked if they could listen to their MP3s. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom said, "Yes. Everybody except for S-D."
This took us five minutes into 2nd hour, at which point a hulking, curly-haired fellow barged in and said that Coach needed Puddy for the rest of the hour. HM turned from entering the attendance, and stated that she was not letting anybody in or out of her class, and that she had better find out that Coach had, indeed, requested the presence of Puddy when she checked with him later in the day. With that, Curly-Burly began his retreat, mumbling, "Maybe I'd better go see exactly what he wanted with him."
Before the door even swang shut, in came a little gal with her hand out for donations for a baby gift and wedding gift. Not for the same faculty member. Mrs. HM forked over $10 to be divided evenly, because she was feeling exceptionally generous what with it being the last half-day of school, and maybe just a bit because that little gal was writing down teacher's names and how much they gave on the side of the envelope.
There was just enough time to catch a quick breath when a classroom invasion of sorts occurred. A student from Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's last year's class barged right in uninvited. In answer to the question, "What brings you in here?" the lad that a crony had previously referred to as a home-schooled freak, or HSF for short, plopped down on a backwards chair and said, "I'm staying in here to watch your movie." Unfortunately, it took five commands to get him out, the ejection not forthcoming until Mrs. HM asked, "Whose class are you out of?" HSF craftily replied that he was out of no class, really, because he hadn't been to a class all day. With that, he looked around at the freshman ignoring him, and uttered, "You guys have really turned her mean."
Just before the bell, The Showerer, the kid who asked to go change his sweaty shirt early in the year, and came back 30 minutes later, all wet, whispering (but not quietly enough) that he had taken a shower in the locker room, asked if he could go take a shower. While Mrs. HM does appreciate a direct approach, the answer was still NO.
Thankfully 3rd Hour arrived, a class of only four students, surely an easy class for Mrs. HM to manage, you would think, on the last half-day of school, with a class-premiere showing of Daddy Day Camp, a flick filled with broad slapstick humor which is like mother's milk to these no-frills, only the minimum necessary to get by students. The only girl in the class, a compliant little thing who follows the rules and encourages the others to follow suit, asked to get a drink. No skin off Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's nose. The drinking fountain is five feet from her door. "Sure." But today was the last half-day of school at Newmentia, more like a wilding night in urban areas. When Drinky didn't return after 10 minutes, Mrs. HM looked left and right down the hall and saw many a stray, but no Drinky. So she did what any normal teacher would do, and left the three boys watching Daddy Day Camp, and took a bathroom break. When she returned, Drinky was back in her seat. Mrs. HM was not up to the task of interrogating Drinky. It had already been a long half-day.
After lunch, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom locked her door to discourage intruders. Sure enough, two chicks came a-knockin', but Mrs. HM was not unlockin'. She told them through the glass to move along. Then Travelin' Tattoo Teacher almost broke her wrist trying to get in, so Mrs. HM opened the door a crack, just enough to deny that a found text was hers, as the number on it was 54, and hers start at 100 and go up, but TTT said the other teacher also denied responsibility, so upon looking at the wad of assignments hanging out (DUH) it was discovered that the book belonged to a sophomore, which is neither fish nor fowl to Mrs. HM, who only instructs freshmen and juniors.
Right before the announcement to dash madly out of the building, two of last year's students tried to get in. Mrs. HM gaily waved at them, but stood her ground, leading one to rub fake tears like a mime, and the other to shake her fist at the door glass.
And so ended the last half-day of school for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.