The Beast: A Guest Post

Guest writer, Landon Isabell, better known to you as "Monty," has written a post about his part in my Beastly saga. Although he was SO unaware of SO MUCH at the time, his perspective is an important part of the series. Enjoy, and please leave comments for him! I'm very proud of the writing skills I hope I contributed to!


I’d walked into her classroom every day of my freshman year taking a deep breath and feeling like I could relax. After going through six classes that comprised a schedule one might call hell for a freshman, I always felt like I could come into Mrs. Lastname’s class and take it easy while still learning something pertinent.

She was strict but kind; she taught a much more rigorous course than the alternative, Mrs. Idiocy. Some would ask, “Why in the world would you take the harder teacher?!”. However, I never regretted my decision to take her class. I actually thanked God every day that I had [taken it], even a month into the school year. All along I knew that the alternative would result in an easy A, but also quite the gap in my English education. Mrs. Lastname’s class prepared me in a way that no alternative could have, and I still use tools that she taught me.

Going through a single day at Hell High School was enough to make a kid want to go home and fret -- and that’s exactly what I did. Was it because of my teachers? Partially. But mostly, even my freshman year, my stress was due to the evil workings of The Beast. The PRINCIPAL of my high school. If It were reading this today (God knows, It probably is), It would chuckle. It would love that It made me unhappy; It would smile! It may do a little dance around a fire with Its Spawn not far behind. I don’t know what kind of rituals The Beast practices, but I know It makes it Its prerogative to make the lives of good people miserable.
One of those good people was Mrs. Lastname. She taught Shakespeare without missing a beat; every student understood Romeo and Juliet. She drilled grammar into our noggins until we could quote every participle form of every irregular verb diligently. But for some strange, strange reason, The Beast took delight in making Mrs. Lastname miserable. I’ve learned much more extensively over the years just how awful It really was to my favorite teacher, but I knew enough just my freshman year to get worked up and write a letter to the school board.

Now, here’s where I find this saga to be so ironic, and truthfully, quite sad. I wrote the letter that is now included in The Beast: Part 13, not yet knowing 95 percent of what actually occurred. A couple of my buddies had ridden to a sports event with The Beast at some point during the heat of the mass chaos Mrs. Lastname was experiencing, and The Beast (being the unprofessional, above-the-law albatross that It is) shared some confidential information with said buddies. She told them, “Mrs. Lastname is a worthless teacher and you should be so glad that I didn’t allow you two to take her class. But don’t worry, she won’t be around next year to mess anything up.”

Now, any respectable human being should see the shame and illegality of the aforementioned statement. It was not only unprofessional, tasteless, and immature, but it was downright unnecessary. Why did It need to tell these 15-year-old boys how It felt about Mrs. Lastname? What was Its prerogative? I’ll never know. What’s more frightening, however, is that upon examining this statement, one should be angered by more than the mere fact that It said such things to students of the high school which It ruled, that It shared privileged information.... But this statement proves that It actually had the gall to hand-pick Its favorite students (friends of Its Spawn), and insist that they not take Mrs. Lastname as a teacher the summer before they even entered high school. It undermined the staff, over-abused Its power (yet again), and set those students up to believe for the rest of their high school careers that they were “special” and “taken-care-of.” It’s disgusting.

This is the first piece of information that I had upon writing the letter. The second, was also a trivial piece of information in the grand scheme of things, come to find out. I was simply told by a friend that she had substantial evidence that Mrs. Lastname had been forced to resign and that the entire situation was against her will. Period. I had already heard enough at this premature point, and proceeded to type out what I was determined to use not only put The Beast to sleep, to put It in Its place, but to save Mrs. Lastname at the same time. She didn’t deserve it, and come to find out she suffered so much more. It simply wasn’t fair.

The day finally came for me to read my letter before the board, and I was quite nervous. After all, I’d still three years of high school to endure before I was out of there. But I'll never regret my decision. It was the most liberating experience, seeing those 70ish signatures embody into a group of supporters as I walked in to read my statement. It was the most amazing feeling to experience that support. Support for me became support for Mrs. Lastname, and vice versa. It was SO worth it.
 
Sure, I was nervous. What if The Beast found out? What if It went on to target me next? Oh, and did It ever. Until my junior year, at the end of which I would finally leave Hell High School for a “normal” high school experience, It turned to me in every way possible. It went to great lengths -- and succeeded -- in fudging my GPA so that Its Spawn could be valedictorian instead of me. And in that aspect, It sure won. Whoopie, Its Spawn has a nice lookin’ GPA from Podunk Hell High School, but absent from the bubble of HHS will likely never make it as anything more than a pretty face and an empty mind.But what do I have? I have a 3.989 GPA and a diploma from an ACCREDITED high school that just-so-happens to be the largest, most prestigious public high school in the state of Missouri.
 
Best of all? I’m out. And Mrs. Lastname is out. And The Beast is still there. Though It's no longer in full power, It has procured Itself a nice support group of superintendents, board members, and other Hell High School staff so that It may continue Its shenanigans in peace and without resistance. It's yet to be stopped, sure. But meh, Hell High School deserves her. In the mean time, we who escaped are living our lives without misery, stress, or constant ridicule. And I’d venture to say that we’re quite happy.

The Beast: Part 8

After the meeting about Suzie and Will, I knew I had to be alert and on my toes. I had to be watching every move I made, I had to think outside myself, and find every possible way to thwart conflict before it happened, and even then I knew I was fighting a losing battle.

I muddled through, counting the days until Christmas break. It seemed I had a new conflict almost daily. Things were heating up with Ms. Idiocy, and I was already pulling my own weight and hers. Every time Mr. English came to my door, I knew he had some kind of report from "the other side."

"Hey," he said, his face red.

"What's up?" I asked.

"Did The Beast e-mail you about English III?"

"Hmm I don't know, I'll check," I told him. I opened my e-mail to find a new message from The Beast. It said: "I am aware that English III students are watching High Noon. How does that tie into the GLEs [grade-level expectations] and what exactly are they learning?" I read it aloud. I was confused. Our lesson plans were checked weekly (or they were supposed to be) so why was this an issue now that the unit was basically over?

"Yeah, I got it too," he said, "and I've got plenty to show It."

I don't want to get into the specifics, because it's too much history/English, but we had just read The Crucible, and were learning about the witch trials and the parallelism with the Black Listing and MacCarthyism (at which time The Crucible was written). High Noon is another important piece in relationship to the black listing and other things going on at the time, and the students were comparing the characters from the play and the movie. The details don't matter, I just wanted to point out that we were doing this as a learning tool. I mean, High Noon isn't exactly what the kids are raving for as far as movies go, anyway.

Mr. English sent all the GLE information and literature, with an in-depth explanation of how this ties into what the students were learning. I'm 99.9999999% sure it was WAY over The Beast's head (It's not much in the English department), and it surrendered.

It then told Mr. English that was directed more toward me, because I'm "not the best teacher," and It wanted to make sure there was a reason behind it. I rolled my eyes and kept at it, unsure what exactly I could be doing differently since I hadn't even made those lesson plans.

Just before Thanksgiving Mr. Assistant came to visit with me. He wanted to know how I was doing, and he voiced some concerns he had. Then he dropped his bomb: "I'm just worried about you. The Beast says you're really struggling as a teacher," he confessed.

"I don't know what It expects from me," I confided. "My test scores are good, my kids are grasping the concepts, I've had few behavioral problems, and I'm keeping them busy. What more should I be doing?" I asked. If The Beast were that tough on everyone, I would have understood, but there was a clear double-standard. I heard all kinds of stories about other teachers, about free-days (something those kids NEVER enjoyed in my class that year), and movies so far from instruction it was ridiculous.

"I don't know, are you doing everything It asks, and taking suggestions?" He asked. I assured him that I was, and that I had even asked The Beast just a few days before how my performance was (since I'd heard such awful things about myself).

"It said I was doing fine, and that if It had any concerns It would let me know, but that nothing was out of place," I paraphrased. It had been in my room numerous times, but I'd not had any written feedback.

"Hmm," he said, seeming perplexed. "That's odd. It sure doesn't give that impression to me. Maybe I could talk to It, and you and I could work together. Since we get along so well and communicate, maybe I could be the one to evaluate you and give feedback." I felt a wave of relief.

About a week later he approached me again.

"It's a no-go on what we talked about," he said, defeated. And he offered little explanation except that The Beast was HIGHLY against it. I wanted to scream and fall to the floor crying. Every time there was one single shard of hope, it was ripped from me, and I didn't know what more to do.

I just kept going. I didn't think. I planned more than I could teach. I pushed those kids to do more, move faster, try harder. I worked them from bell to bell. And I didn't hug them. Not a one. Everything I loved about teaching was lost, but I was determined to "do better."

A few days before Christmas, The Beast held a meeting. "Finals will be over on Tuesday," It told us, "and the kids are going to be a mess, but I think it is VERY important that we maintain structure those last two days." It then went on to explain what It had in store for the teachers on the last day.

We were going to do a "gift grab." Instead of buying all the staff an equally important NICE gift (as had been done in years past), The Beast decided to buy ONE! AMAZING! GIFT! (I think it was a laptop, though I don't really remember now), a few decent gifts (twenty dollar gift cards), and a crap-ton of crappy gifts. The Beast would give everyone a gift that morning, and throughout the day you were to go to other teachers' rooms and force them to trade with you. There were also clues given throughout the day via intercom as to where the ONE! AMAZING! GIFT! was located.

I was feeling anything but festive, so I wasn't too worried about it. I already had a movie day planned for my classes. They hadn't had the luxury of a movie all year (save the English III and High Noon), so I thought they deserved it.

I had one class in particular that all got a C or better on the final, which was AMAZING! and they had come a long way behavior-wise. I thought it might be a nice reward for them to be allowed drinks and food during that last class period.

LORD forbid I do ANYTHING without written approval, though.

So I e-mailed The Beast:

My 5th hour class all got a C or better on the final, and have come leaps and bounds as far as behavior is concerned. I was hoping I could allow them to have soda and snacks during their movie day on Thursday. Would that be ok?

I got the following reply, which was addressed to ALL staff:
I know it becomes difficult to find things for students to do after they have had their final in your class. However, I want all of you to realize this is an important week and we need to have as much structure as possible. After all, we have missed far too many minutes of instructional time this year. This would be a great time to give enrichment activities and perhaps even just take some time to get to know your students. Please keep your students in class all week. I dont' mind if you show movies that are PG or PG-13 rated. I would like you to shy away from food and drink in the classroom. Thank you for your cooperation!

I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was, when I found out Ms. Fatbelly was having food parties all day in her classes, and so was Ms. Idiocy among others. I, however, followed the rules and did as I had been told, so not to get any more marks of misbehavior, and ended up looking like the lying bitch when my kids wanted to know why the other classes got to have a party and they couldn't. I told the truth, that we'd been instructed not to, and lost the respect of some of my students because it looked like a cop-out to them.

As they sat quietly watching their movie, the chaos grew more and more with each passing hour. The Beast, with its Beastly voice was shouting out clues about every thirty minutes. If we'd tried to have class that day it would have been to no avail. Suddenly students were being sent out to scope out the packages on behalf of teachers who couldn't leave their rooms, but wanted the loot. Special "private" clues were being given to the Cronies.

My little package sat quietly outside my door free for the taking with a note attached: Please do not disturb.

I wanted no part of the craziness.

When my seventh hour class came in they were wound up.

"Come on, Mrs. Lastname! Quit being such a SCROOGE!" they taunted. It was all I could do not to burst into tears and tell them it was no use. That I wanted them to have a party, and I wanted a nice gift from my employer, but that I knew I was worthless to the district, that I was a rotten teacher without hope of improvement, and that I would never fit in no matter what hoops I jumped through.

Instead I quietly shook my head, forcing a smile, and told them I just didn't get into such antics.

At the adult gathering after school, I opened my gift, which was a storage container. It wasn't the worst gift by far, and I know Christmas isn't the season of "receiving," but it was difficult to see one of the Cronies get a brand-new laptop as I sat there staring into the clear nothingness of my container, knowing the money for the faculty gifts was spent solely on one person.

However, my mood lifted as I left the building and I realized I was on break. CHRISTMAS BREAK! A full two weeks without persecution or retaliation of any kind. I was FREE!

For the week of Christmas I did really well. I immersed myself in all things Christmas, and did my best to be there for Chloe. She was sick, though, and I was having other family troubles as well, so it was a very difficult year.

When she was finally feeling better a few days before school was to start again, I took her to her baby-sitter so I could get out of the house.

"Have you lost weight?" she asked me when I came in her door.

"Oh Lord, no. If anything I've gained over break," I said with a laugh, thinking about how I'd eaten nothing but carbs and pumpkin pie for two weeks.

"Well you look really good," she told me. I was convinced it was the lack of stress. The only time Ms. Babysitter saw me was before and after work. For her to see me in my jeans and without worry or defeat probably made me look a lot better.

I had a nice day out, I'm sure, though I recall nothing of it now. I enjoyed my last weekend of freedom, and then Sunday came.

I became overwhelmed and felt suffocated. I couldn't bear the thought of having to go back. I lay awake, letting hot tears drip quietly from my eyes until there were none left.

When Monday morning came, I found more tears, and I wept until the moment I had to wake Chloe. I dressed her, put on my make-up, and dropped her with Ms. Babysitter. I headed back to job I'd come to hate, hoping to do nothing more than muddle through.

Toward the end of the day when I had English II one of the boys raised his hand (did I mention this class of 27 had 22 boys, while Ms. Idiocy had a class of 12?).

"Yes," I called.

"Uh. Have you lost weight?" he asked sincerely.

I chuckled. "No, but you're my new favorite student," I cooed at him.

"Yes you have," Arizona blurted, but in an almost whisper.

"What?" I asked her.

"Yes. You have. Lost weight," she argued.

I looked down at my shoes and noticed the cuffs of my dress pants gatherd around them, the legs hanging off me like a clown. The shirt, a button-up that I had put away when I was nursing because it..er...bulged, was loose around my chest, my arms, and my stomach. I looked like a hobo, and I hadn't even seen it.

I remembered Ms. Babysitter's words, and realized I HAD lost weight. A lot of weight. And the worst was still yet to come.

The Beast: ANOTHER Idiocy Detour

So it's obvious, by now, that I despised didn't exactly care for Ms. Idiocy. Having a degree in English, it's difficult to accept an English teacher "wannabe" who knows NOTHING about the subject. I mean think about it. I spent five years in school, was paying a ridiculous student loan off, and had labored over grammar books, analyzing literature and writing papers. And here comes Ms. Bank Teller doing the same job, for *almost* the same pay, and with NO qualifications.

I tried, however, to be as cooperative as possible and to help her as much as I could.

We had this PLC thing going on, and with it we were supposed to make classes EXACTLY equal. They didn't want students learning "better" from one teacher or another, so we were all to do the SAME thing, which makes sense, right? Right. Good plan, Stan.

The problems arose when Ms. Idiocy couldn't keep up with Ms. Fatbelly and myself. She shared classes with us, but not with Mr. English. The three of us girls shared English II, so we were all to work together on planning that. That basically turned to Ms. Fatbelly and me doing all the work. Ms. Idiocy didn't know what allegory was. She didn't understand points of view, she couldn't grasp parallelism.

By October she was merely copying whatever plans Ms. Fatbelly had made for English II and whatever plans I was making for English I and (obviously) contributing NOTHING to the planning meetings. Ms. Fatbelly and I commiserated many times about the workload we were carrying for three people, and how frustrating it was that we had to do our jobs and hers.

We let Mr. English in on the problem, and he relayed the problems to The Beast.

In the meantime, we tried to work with her, but she always had an excuse for why things weren't working. What she really hated, was that I always had a response for her excuses.

"My sophomores REFUSE to do bellwork, or else they take all hour," she defended when we confronted her about (always) being behind.
"Then write them up for refusal to do work. You're the adult. They can't dictate your class, or you'll always be behind," I said unsympathetically. She is the one who took a job knowing she didn't know Jack Shit about English.

"My kids don't read if I assign it as homework. We HAVE to read everything in class."
"We can't do that," Ms. Fatbelly said.
"Are you reading the stories at home, or are you reading them with the kids in class?" I challenged. I knew what she was doing. She was reading everything in class because she didn't want to have to study it at home. That, however, is part of being an English teacher.

Finally The Beast called Mr. English, Ms. Fatbelly and me to a meeting in the lounge. It dismissed Ms. Idiocy when she tried to come in.

"Are you guys having a problem with Ms. Idiocy?" It challenged. Neither of us knew what to say. We didn't want to talk to The Beast about Its Golden Child. Mr. English finally spoke up.

"She doesn't know what she's doing. You can't just throw someone in an English classroom and expect them to be able to teach it. She needs to be studying or doing something to better prepare," he offered. Ms. Fztbelly folded like a lawn chair, saying she couldn't say anything because she was a new teacher as well, and she felt Ms. Idiocy was doing her best.

"She's not reading ahead. She's letting the kids run the class, and when she's not prepared, kids KNOW that," I offered. I didn't want to say too much. "I think she can do a good job if she'll just prepare a little better," I sucked up. The Beast was clearly unhappy.

Of course, Ms. Idiocy painted us as harsh and unhelpful. I wasn't sure what more to do with her. She was let off the hook on planning, and she didn't have to take on any units of her own.

I e-mailed her in November and gave her the rough outline for the rest of the year so she could stay on track. I encouraged her to come by my room every morning if she needed to to get on track for the day. I also told her that we were doing Romeo and Juliet when we came back from Christmas, and that it would be a good idea to read it, watch the movie, and be ready before school started in January.

We came back from Christmas break and she came in for lesson plans. She looked at my book. "Whoa. I didn't know we were doing Romeo and Juliet," she said. "There is no way I am ready for that," she confessed, looking at me stupidly.

"I don't know what to tell you," I told her. "I'm giving notes over Shakespeare today and tomorrow," I said, handing her a copy of my notes. That will give you a couple of days to get prepared.

I didn't hear anything else from her that week, though I did notice her in The Beast's office after school that day. I figured she was telling her what a mean bitch I was, but I didn't care. I had PROOF that we'd discussed doing Romeo and Juliet in January so I couldn't very well get in trouble for it.

The next week, Ms. Idiocy didn't come in for lesson plans. I was perplexed, but figured it wasn't my job to baby her any more than we already were.

In class that day a student raised her hand.

"Yes, ma'am?" I called.
"How come the other English class isn't doing Shakespeare?" she challenged.
"They are," I argued.
"No, they're not," she said firmly.
"They have to. With this PLC stuff we have to do the exact same thing EVERY day," I explained.
"Well, they're not doing it. They're doing grammar," she told me. I raised my eyebrows, not sure how to explain to her the fairness of them doing grammar. Freshmen HATE Shakespeare btw ;)

I went to Ms. Idiocy after school. "Are you not doing Romeo and Juliet?" I asked her point-blank.

"No. I talked to Beasty and It told me I didn't have to since I wasn't ready," she explained. I was furious. She HAD gone and whined about me, giving The Beast even more ammunition.

"OK. Well good luck, then," I said, letting her know I'd written her off and that she was on her own with her lesson plans. I knew I would suffer for this, and I knew she'd be painted as the perfect teacher.