Go Back to School

You never thought that you'd have to resort to using your teacher's certification, an option of last resort. You shrug your shoulders in the definitive answer that considering your bank account, now is not the time to be worrying about what job you have; you are just very glad you have the job.

The dean explains the various rules of conduct, and she seems happy to accomodate you in whatever respects you need her for. The disappointment is barely apparent when all you ask for is to be shown to the two locations you'll need most, your office, and your classroom.

You feel as if your first day went off without a hitch. They had given you a light load for your first day, just the two lectures, and your students didn't seem to notice your nervousness. The larger proportion of female students to male in both classes was surprising at first, but their stubborness had combined well with their intelligence to get them here. The male students in contrast were lazy, probably smart, just unmotivated. You got the vibe that they felt this class was meant to pass them just because of their gender. They'd get some surprises later.

Sitting down in your leather swivel chair, a chair that you wish you had at home, you glance down at the paper work that has accrued on the desk. The office's previous occupant had left in the middle of the term, and various assignments were still in need of grading. Resigning yourself to a few more hours of afterschool occupancy, you only feel glad that at least the chair was sturdy and comfortable.

Pulling out your red pen, you barely finish going over the first paper when you hear a knock on your door. Unable to see through the tinted glass, you get up to open the door.

Who is it? Is it the dean? A student from class? A fellow teacher coming to 'help settle you in'? Or perhaps someone else?