He was hugely respected by the students and despised by the teachers. He held the record for the most detentions in a row after getting one hundred and thirty five for setting Mr Branstons wig alight during a chemistry class in year eight. He had dark messy hair and light brown eyes, which seemed to stare right through you as he spoke. He stood tall on the stage watching over the students as they entered the hall. First to arrive were the year seven and eight pupils looking warily around to make sure that the meeting wasn't an ambush by the older students, then quickly scuttling into a corner near the stage.
Its time to come clean, face the facts and admit the truth - students are scared of grammar. From the days of crayons and nap time straight through high school they always hope and pray that a random fire drill, a.k.a. a gift from God, will disrupt the dreaded grammar lessons and exercises. As the semesters continue to pass by students become elated as grammar turns into nothing more than a minute beep on the radar screen that is the weekly lesson plan. However, nearly every student walks into English class dealing with the fear that he will be called on to explain even the simplest rules of possession or number.
When I was in school, the students ran the school by spreading fear into the teachers' hearts. They would torture the teachers they didn't like by putting laxatives in their coffee or water in their gas tank. There was one student who didn't turn in an assignment all year but had good grades on tests, so he was passing. At the end of the year he turned in all of his assignments to the principal to show the teacher's failure to grade homework and, in this way, get her fired. Actions like these escalated to the point that we went through eight English teachers in a semester.
Chapter five Cleaning Duty My dad pushed open the bathroom door, and the smell of rotting sewage hit me. I covered my mouth. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” Flies were buzzing around inside, and a strand of toilet paper dangled over the seat. “Everything you need is in that shed across the road. There’s a hand pump over there.
I was called a not-so-nice name by one of my students, followed by his strange comment: "We know who your favorites in this class are." Another student from across the room overturned his chair and, breath coming fast, managed to get out the words "Don't get on her, man. And don't you never mess with the crown! Don't mess with my blood, man!" Then they were at each other's throats and I was between them, not knowing what had happened.
Great Teachers, Bad Students "I have a student in my second hour class who is an idiot ." Students probably have never heard their teachers complaining about them in the halls. In contrast, a person could roam Jefferson and hear conversations about how terrible teachers are from every corner of the school. "I got an F- on the final but it's only because Mr. Doe* is a crappy teacher." This a common attitude among students who fair poorly on a test.
Sitting in the air-conditioned office, I clenched and unclenched my fists hoping to cover up how badly my hands shook. Butterflies created a hurricane within my stomach as I tried to hold down the cafeteria food that I had chugged right before the meeting. “There’s simply nothing I can do for you. You need to leave my course, I can’t help someone like you,” the professor said, glancing up from my exam, making me jump nervously. Those were the words that would stain my freshman year of college.
After my parents died in the hunter attack he was never the same. He and the pack slut, my sister Melissa, started to call me names and treating me like their punching bag. His son and the rest of the pack soon followed, wanting to keep him happy. I opened my locker, taking out my ridiculously heavy school books. I forced the locker door closed hearing the hinges screech, due to the abundance of rust.
Elleana Rodriguez kept getting her role as his best friend confused with that of his mom's. He pulled a marker from his shirt pocket then scribbled on the back of the note: I ♥ u L, t... ... middle of paper ... ..."Sir, this morning Mrs. Picker called me late and I really wasn't. Can you do something about that? "You were seated in the class, and she called you late?" "Well, sort of, I stepped through the door right before the bell."
As the day begins your agenda is long. Showing up late is an easy way to annoy your teacher and it is even worse when you walk in the door and distract your entire class during important lessons. You must be a distraction and you must be very tardy. This is achieved by running in the classroom at least thirty minutes late screaming "oh my gosh, you would never guess what just happened" or any other exclamation followed by something to get the other students to listen to you. After getting the entire classes attention sit on a desk and create an entire posse to sit around you attentively.