165. English classes are fun

 'Oh no! I'm sorry! I'm one photocopy short!'

The English language assistant is with me today, giving the whole curriculum a bit of an exciting and exotic twist.

I laugh. 

'I always make an extra 2 copies.' I say, adding. 'Just in case one of the students pukes on it.'

She laughs of course. She's got a good sense of humour. I knew that before I made that ghastly comment. So I told her the story and I thought it would be a good story for you too, beloved readers. The first story of my second year of blogging!

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Once upon a time there was a school where teenagers were properly behaved and very polite and hard-working. The end of the year was approaching with its promises of holidays back to far away homelands. I, as a highly conscientious teacher, had plans for my fifth year class: a thorough end of year schedule with a rigid regiment of tests to close up the year. 

So at 7:45 on the Tuesday before last I proudly carried my wad of papers from the copier room to the classroom. It was an impressive pile of test papers, multiple sheets held in place with a staple. And I hadn't even jammed the machine.

I got to the class and let the kids in. They sat down, with reasonable spaces between them (cheating-proof, not Covid!) and made it all sound super important. I am good at that. 

Once they were all settled I sat at my desk, admiring the amazing scene of 25 teenagers bent over my test papers, chewing their pencils in concentration. Or where they? One usually very shy student put her hand up. I was incredulous. Was this the introverted girl who was putting her hand up? I tuned into super-strict mode and added a frown for good measure. After all this was an important exam.

I was expecting this girl to just go red in the face and shake her head or something, then mumble inaudible excuses and that would be it. No one would even notice. 

'Yes.'

But the girl did speak. Her diction was odd and the words she said were not making sense. I couldn't compare to her normal way of speaking as she never spoke in class. Her English was not that good and that coud explain the gibberish. Yet I stared at her as this was definitely odd behaviour. I thought I could hear the faintest of giggles from the others, and that some looks were being exchanged.

Quickly my gaze moved away from the shy girl towards the class. Everyone immediately went back to their papers and the class went quiet again. The shy girl seemed to continue with her work. 

Soon the class was interrupted by an other raised hand. This was beginning to really annoy me and I felt I was going to get angry for real and quit the pretending. 

'Yes.'

'I'm sorry but I'm not feeling very well. Could I leave the classroom please?'

Unbelievable! Not well, two weeks from the long summer break. Was she trying it on? What was all this! A conspiracy? A mutiny? But she did look a bit pale and you never know. So I nodded and she got up from her seat. She took one step, then a second. She definitely was not feeling very well and I was just beginning to wonder if I should get her accompanied when I noticed she lost her balance a little and ... OH MY GOODNESS ... vomited all over the classroom floor!!!!!!

I stared as for a split second I thought this was a nightmare. Yet this was real and so I started to shout at her:

'GO! QUICK! LEAVE THE ROOM! PLEEEEEEASE!'

As I was shouting all this I retreated into the opposite corner of the room. She zig-zagged, vomiting all along, all the way to the door.

I pointed at the kid closest to the door.

"QUICK! GO GET THE CLEANERS!'

He got up, happy to be released from the test from hell and ran out. An other boy got up and said.

'Can I go to Miss? He doesn't know where the cleaners' office is.'

'Yes. Yes. Good idea. Go.'

The class who was in hysterics by now, rolling around in laughter and the test was completely forgotten.

'YOU get back to work! Enough nonsense!'

And they all got back to work pinching their noses and giggling into paper tissues.

I thought I finally had everyone back under control when suddenly the shy girl raised her hand. Please do not faint, I said to myself. Just be the teacher. Stay calm.

'I am not feeling very ...'

I did dont even let her finish her sentence. I rudely interrupted her and shouted at her.

'GO! QUICK! LEAVE THE ROOM! PLEEEEEEASE!'

'AND PLEASE SOMEONE TAKE THESE GIRLS TO THE NURSE!'

This time it worked. She vomited outside below the classroom windows. I was past even counting how many kids had followed the girl out of the classroom. I tried my best to put on the business-as-usual nothing's-the-matter attitude and we carried on, entertained by the cleaners and the kids on a mission coming and going in and out of the classroom.

They finished the test - or pretended to - I never found out how much they had remembered from that year's work. The smell and the sight just merged into one and so into the bin went the wad of papers. I said a quick Sorry-Planet-Earth prayer and left. 

A little investigating told me what I had been suspecting: the severe vomiting had been caused by too much Vodka in the Evian bottles the girls had drunk on the school-bus that morning (i.e. around 6:30 AM). A kind of end-of-term breakfast. 

But I did not stop here. The hyper-conscientious teacher I am quickly recovered from the ordeal and thought about informing the parents. 

'I'm really sorry to have to tell you that your daughter ... 

I explained, carefully choosing my words. Then stopped.

'Thank you for telling me. I'm glad you did but ... can we discuss this later? ... It's just that you've woken me up, it's 3:00 AM here in Sydney.'

Later the girls came to say sorry with a letter of excuses.

The one whose dad was in Australia had been staying at the other's while her parents were away looking for accommodation as they were due to move there in the summer. I often wondered if the friend was invited back and if the parents stayed in friendly terms after that. And also if they ever cursed the teacher who had wrecked the friendship between the two families ...