My Own Personal Relief Effort
September 16th, 2005 by Adam
Working Special Ed. is challenging and exciting—but so is escaping from a hurricane…
Fuck FEMA. Fuck 24/7 television news coverage. Fuck the middle aged-man in his too-small Cub Scout Troop leader shirt and neckerchief who gives me disapproving looks every morning for not dropping money into his ‘Hurricane Katrina Relief Fund’ bucket. I’m not giving a god damn nickel to that relief fund—EVER. Since Tuesday I’ve been helping out in my own ‘special’ way, which is helluva lot more difficult than writing a check, or giving a nation-wide television address to assure everyone that since my vacation is finally over, I can get around to helping too!
I got a new retard.
I’m not talking about your run-of-the-mill retard with a couple physical quirks and a large learning disability. I’m talking about a Satan-spawned hellion from the Louisiana bayou, recently displaced and relocated to San Diego thanks to God and the Federal Government’s hatred of the poor. All I can say is— this child is a beast who’s internal switch is set to ‘on’, and apparently she has no other settings. From the second she arrives at school until the second she leaves my day is a non-stop carnival of screams, kicks, temper tantrums and wanton destruction, and thanks to the wonderful phrase ‘least restrictive environment’ I can’t strap her little ass to a chair, insert my trusty ear plugs and wait out 3:30pm. Not that her habit of spitting all over her hands and then rubbing them on everything isn’t just darling, but I think you understand.
To make matters worse, she drives the other children crazy. Okay, crazier. She steals toys, shoves liberally, screams at them in a language no one else on this planet speaks, and sets about disrupting the room in every way imaginable. I know some of you will say ‘that poor thing must be so scared and confused… she’s gone through so much’ but fuck that. I guarantee you she hasn’t even noticed the change in scenery, except for the plethora of shiny new things to destroy.
But here’s the best part: I don’t know what’s wrong with her!!! She came with no paperwork (being that it’s currently under 12 feet of water) and mom seems to be of absolutely no help. So, already understaffed, we have an extra child that requires constant attention and we are in no way equipped to deal with her. To top it all off, the never-ending parade of Program Specialists, Psychologists, Speech Therapists, Autism Specialists, District Administrators, OT’s and PT’s ensures that we get absolutely nothing done each day.
Thank fucking Christ I quit in nine weeks because that first day when the volume was deafening, kids were running amok, and random adults were stepping on our toes to gawk at the newest sideshow attraction, the same thought crossed all of our minds. “They don’t pay me enough to deal with this shit.” But the truth is: if I was just in it for the money I would have sold out and started doing porn a long time ago.
Though I’m not retard-crazy I can’t be totally sane because in spite of everything, I do enjoy my job– but I’m ready as shit for quitting time!!! 263 hours, but who’s counting? Until then, bring on the retards! Or better yet, send a few to Crawford, Texas and let that fucking redneck take a spit-covered finger in the eye…. you know, for America!
Doin’ my part,
Adam