"MS. JONES!!!" Ms. Harris shouted, causing me to snap my head up from my desk.
"What?" I reply, irritated.
"No sleeping in my classroom!" she exclaimed, "This isn't an air bnb. Keep your eyes open." Everyone then started chuckling as they continued their test. Thankfully I was already done with mine or the embarrassment would've hindered my focus.
"I know, sorry," I answered back sarcastically. Time goes by and I'm bored out of my mind. The constant ticking of the clock annoying the fuck out of me, the fact that there were people who haven't even turned a page of their test made me lose some faith in humanity, the silence that filled the classroom driving me up the wall, etc. I'm sure I was one more second away from losing my composure and punching someone, then my prayers were answered as the bell rang.
Everyone packs up to leave as Ms. Harris says her farewells. She then spots me preparing to leave and says.
"Ms. Jones, I need to have a word with you. And seeing as you walk home, you've got nothing to debate." What could you possibly want? I have work to do, fettuccini to destroy, and a bean to flick. And you're depriving me of that because I needed to catch a few Z's? What the fuck? I make my way to her desk as everyone steps out.
"Take a seat," Ms. Harris said. I then pull a chair from a nearby desk and sit.
"Now," she began, "I'm sure you're aware of why I called you here."
"Because you need someone to be present just in case your dementia acts up?" I joke.
"That's not funny," she responded.
"To you," I retort.
"Well," she continued, "While this attitude is a contributor, this is your seventh time falling asleep in my class. What's going on?"
"What?" I answer, "You scared that it's a constant reminder of your future next year?"
"You know," she says, folding her arms, "You keep making these old jokes and I'm just three years older than you are. At least make your jokes make sense."
"I'm not even gonna explain that to you, granny," I replied.
"Ok, look," she says with genuine concern, "Maybe something's going on in your life, maybe it's hormones, maybe it's just raggin' on the new teacher, or it's just that you think you can get away with it just because this is your last few weeks here. But that shouldn't be reflected on me. If we're gonna spend this time together, there needs to be at least some cooperation. So I'm begging you, please just cooperate with me and tell me what's going on."
"Until I see a master's degree in psychology, I don't have to tell you anything." She then pulls out her drawer and gets out her plaque, "Well, damn" I say, surprised.
"Language," she responds, crossing her legs and putting her pencil to the first page, "Now, spill."
"I don't see a notepad or pen," I said. She reached into that same drawer and pulled both out, "Oh my God!" I exclaim.
"Ok, what about a place to lay? What? You got an inflatable bed in there?" And of course, she reaches into her drawer and pulls out an inflatable sofa.
"Ok, what the fuck?!" I shout in confusion.
