Last lesson of the day and, up until then, everything had been going okay. Nothing perfect, but then what is?
So, in trundles my class. They are a bright class with one or two individuals standing out as very bright and hardworking. Unfortunately, some of the group believe in people-power; their power against mine.
I have no power. I am merely a supply and that is a lower order of the lowest caste known to educational institutes. Regardless of that, I am a good teacher. I am a good teacher. I am a good teacher. I keep saying this not to reassure myself, but as a way of invoking a powerful spell that will act as a magical cloak of protection. More than anything else, I am a decent human-being who treats everyone equally, unless they impress me deeply and I have a little more time for them. As I said, I am a human-being after all.
As one little group in my class turned up some seven minutes late after making plain their determination to try to undermine me, I did the teacher thing and moved this tiny group of rebels into different classrooms to work. In the meantime, I got along with the business of teaching the rest, the ones who did not wish for my appearance in the circus of life and death as a rather lively aperitif for the lions and tigers.
At the end of the lesson, a pastoral lead asked if I could spare a few minutes with her and the miscreants in order to bring about a restorative resolution. I agreed, but had little faith in a equitable outcome.
What followed were two minutes of me saying what I expected and three minutes of the two girls saying what was wrong with me. They apparently worked better when they were talking and were not forced to listen to the teacher trying to teach.