Mr. Guerra

            by Jonathan Guerra

 

            The best days of school are the ones spent with substitute teachers, wreaking havoc on their underpaid, under-benefited lives. Having a sub means a whole period of being loud, talking about what we did over the weekend, and just chilling, listening to our iPods.

            My friend Peter and I were so excited coming into class after lunch. Mr. Kulunk might be our substitute teacher.  We had specially requested our regular teacher to give us Mr. Kulunk as our sub because of his funny accent.  He was Russian, and had a crazy beard that made him look like Einstein. He loved to rap and dance to the CDs he had us burn for him, and he always got off topic. Mr. Kulunk was quite possibly the greatest sub ever. But even if we didn’t get him, it would probably be some young substitute that we could harass.

            Peter asked me if I remembered the Cat Lady. Of course I did—what a freak show!  She made us call her the Cat Lady because she loved cats; she had stickers of cats and buttons of cats and little plastic toys of cats that would meow if you turned them upside down. I hadn’t had her as a sub since grade school and if I had her now, I would probably have flashbacks of those nightmares of obese cats in thick glasses chasing me down the hallways of LeConte Elementary.

             We were glad that the Cat Lady had not shown up to teach the class. In fact, the sub had not arrived yet at all. We poked our heads out of the door and were disappointed to see Mr. Kulunk walking down the hallway in the opposite direction of our class.

            Fifteen minutes went by and we were still there in class. It was a miracle we had waited it out for this long. Someone said they heard somewhere that if the sub hasn’t shown up after 20 minutes we were allowed to leave. Everyone agreed that that sounded valid—it’s not like we were doing any work anyway. Someone else said that we should all go on a class field trip to Mel’s Diner and leave a note on the door so that the sub could meet us there. But no one really wanted to leave, they would be marked absent and then get a call home. I figured that if I did attendance we wouldn’t have to worry. I called out the first few names on the list.

            “Sarah?”

            “Here!”

            “Jeff?”

            “Here.”

            “George? George…? Well I guess he’s here.”

            I thought it would be nice for the attendance office to see that everyone had made it to class on time. We sat around for a few more minutes before I stood up and announced that I would be teaching the class today. I felt it was about time that I got up off my ass and did something productive in this class for once. I told everyone that my name was Mr. Guerra and that they all needed to go to their respective seats. I passed out the worksheet that was attached to the attendance sheet and I wrote my name on the whiteboard. Everyone said, “Hello, Mr. Guerra,” and continued talking.

            I began to write the notes of the previous day on the board, and then I started calling on people.

            “Excuse me, young sir? Could you tell me what the three economic factors are?”

            “Land, labor, and capital?”

            “Exactly right.”

            People began to return to their seats and raise their hands. I chose victims to define words and give examples. It was no different than when our teacher was there, except for the high school senior with disheveled hair standing in front of the class.

            Every thing was going so smoothly, when an old lady poked her head in through the door with a lost expression on her face. Everyone immediately quieted down. I stopped writing and turned from the board to look at her. She stumbled through the door and approached me. She was obviously the real substitute. She was average height with large curly gray hair, very traditional African clothing, and she carried a large paper bag stuffed with books. She had taught my class before and didn’t like me very much. I was just waiting for her to ask me to sit down and scold me for being out of my seat. Dang it! The one day I had put in effort and contributed to the class would go to waste and I would be dethroned.

            As she walked up to me and took me aside, I knew that my moment of glory would soon be over. But in a low voice she asked me almost apologetically, “Are you the replacement substitute?”

            I looked at her, and I looked at the class. Everyone was watching me. Dozens of responses raced to my head. If I said no, the class wouldn’t really do anything for the rest of the period, they would be told to put their headphones up, and we would probably have to take roll again. I had to make up my mind fast, because real substitute teachers don’t have long awkward silences.

            “Ye-es.”

            I said yes so unsure of myself that I knew she would see right through me.

            “Well, it looks like you’ve got everything under control. Are you sure you’ll be okay?”

            “Yea,” I said, stifling a laugh. I almost gave it away right there. “I already took attendance, and it looks like the teacher left a worksheet for them to do.”

            “Well, stop by the main office and fill out a time card. Don’t forget, otherwise you won’t get paid.”

            The substitute quickly gathered herself up and strolled out the door. As soon as the door shut, the whole class erupted into hysterical laughter.

            I was holding my sides, doubled over, when it hit me. What had I done? I had just lied to the real sub and got her to leave. As the class continued to laugh, I imagined the different ways they would punish me. I knew the whole process; I had gone through it before. My junior year I was suspended for having a lighter in class. My teacher had claimed that I was trying to light a bottle on fire to make a flamethrower. Who, me? Anyway, if I didn’t get a referral for impersonating a teacher, they would call me in for an on-campus suspension, or OCS, where they would have me wait at a desk to let the guilt soak in, to make me sweat, (they knew that I knew what I had done). Then I would be called in to the Dean’s office. This was the worst part, because the Dean would ask me what I thought an appropriate punishment would be for my crime, then shake her head and list off the different rules I had broken. I remember what she told me the last time I saw her, “A couple days in OCS? HA! You’re kidding yourself! What do you think having a lighter in class falls under?”

            “It wasn’t my lighter I told you, I was removing the safety for the guy sitting next to me.”

            “I know what you told me, but what does it fall under?”

            I looked at the sheet on the wall that listed all the various crimes and their punishments, none of which remotely reflected what I had done.

            “Arson?” I said, trying to be funny.

            “Yup. Now what does not giving your teacher the lighter fall under?”

            “Are you serious? I just put it on the desk next to me and said it wasn’t mine!”

            “I know what you told me, but what does it fall under?”

            “Defiance?” I said, not feeling very funny anymore.

            “Yes, so I’m giving you a three-day suspension, and I’m going easy on you because I like you. You’re funny.”

           

            Everyone in the class was still laughing. “I can’t believe you just did that!” one of the girls in my class blurted out, “That’s like something straight out of a movie.”

            “I can’t believe I did that either…Did I just do that?!”

            I was in shock. The whole class applauded and one girl told me I was a Boss for doing it. Everyone was congratulating me, which made me feel a lot better, better to the point where I stopped worrying. I was just enjoying being the center of attention. I loved it. Maybe that was why, in my junior year, I had felt it necessary to display my flame throwing skills in class.

            A kid raised his hand and asked me to clarify something on the worksheet I had passed out. I was glad I had studied the notes the night before. I answered his question as only a real teacher could, correctly, and leaving no loose ends for follow-up questions.

            I collected the handout that the class had done and then realized that I myself had not done it, so I passed it back out and told the class to just turn it in on Monday. I didn’t feel like doing any real work that day.

            I walked over to Bob to tell him to turn his Ipod off and start his work because the rest of the class had already finished. And out of the corner of my eye through the window of the door I saw a figure standing outside. The door handle turned and the teacher from the class right across the hallway walked in. I thought I might go into cardiac arrest. “Hey guys,” she said. I watched her move to the end of the classroom and survey the class. “Where’s the sub?”

            I hadn’t thought of what I was going to say if somebody walked in. Where was the sub? Oh, well, she left about forty five minutes ago. Yea, she thought I was the sub.

            I couldn’t tell her the truth. But I had to say something. I could say that the sub was out, maybe getting a drink of water. That’s believable, but what if she wanted to say something to the sub. I was at a loss for words. All day I knew exactly what to say, I knew how to handle the real sub, I knew the answers to the questions the class had on the work. But for some reason I froze, unable to come up with a lie. I just stood there looking at the teacher.

            “The sub didn’t show up” Sarah told the teacher, “We’ve just been chillin’.”

            “Wow, I’m impressed” the teacher said “I wouldn’t have expected all of you to stay this long. Wow. I wish my classes were as responsible as you”

            Just then the bell rang for class to get out. I had made it. I taught my first full class. We walked out and everybody said “Goodbye, Mr. Guerra” as they walked out. The next period I told all of my friends how I got the sub to leave. I couldn’t stop smiling.

            On Monday, our teacher was back.

            “How was the sub?” he asked

            “Oh the sub was great, I hope we have him next time.”