Your cheating heart

no. not Patsy.

The finals I gave the rocks: business english, class 1&2. rocks hardened by years of despise to study, by online gaming, by raging hormones and junkfood.

the students had to sit on two classrooms , a depressing late wednsday for everyone.

oh, indeed distinctly I remember,

it was a dusty, bleak December,

And the faculty offered me no member,

to stand watch upon the chore,

quote the teacher:NEVER MORE.

so two classes and no one to help me invigilate.

at the last moment , my supervisor, tells me she could get one, but only for half an hour. great. cheers.

so i hand the rocks their sheets, explain, then run to the adjacent room, do the same.

when i get back, i see a young student, who isn't one of my pile, standing outside, looking in, fingering his phone intently.

a curious student? not in this world. i ask him to kindly leave, as i already suspected foul play.

the young gentlman pretended that he did not understand english.

another approach, then was required.

i closed the door and set about finding the beneficiary of his assistance.

it took less then a minute for my eagle eyes to catch the guy, who was sitting in the back and holding something under the desk.

i approached with caution, taking care to not disturb his serious work. sure enough, against the shadows of the desk and the blackness of his jacket, there was the unmistakable glow of an electronic device.

I quickly sprung my ambush, and confiscated the communication apparatus.

“but teacher” protested the young pimply teen, “I was just talking to a friend. ” and he showed me his chat log, which was truly not in english.

i kept the device, and moved the young man to the front row, , where i could keep an eye on him. Hammer, his chosen English name was Hammer, incidently. honestly , i was surprised that he could say that much as an excuse, he used to alternate between napping and texting during lessons . but this is collage and you must do crazy stuff to remember fondly years later. if only it was sex parties and booze all night. but no. i am sure he only got games on his mind.

so Hammer, as in the stormgod’s tool, sat grudgingly in the fore, and i hastened to the other classroom to see if there are any casualties yet.

surprisingly , they were working on the composition, and there was an eerie quiet. class two had a better group dynamic, i guess.

i walk back to the fighting “ones”, wondering if I will get a question about the exam. will there be problems with section 2? could they see the tricky question in section5?

the only question i got, though, shortly after returning, was from good old Hammer. and it was ” teacher, may I go to the W.C?” no 'bathroom', 'restroom', 'lavatorie' or even 'toilet', in this guy’s vocabulary.

i can not refuse a question of such importance, though i recalled that the young man suspiciously standing before outside my classroom, was still waiting in the hall.

Hammer left , and i resumed my watchful work.

after making another round in class two, pointing out the tricky question, which i feared they will all trip over, i returned to class one. it was then that i recalled that young Hammer was not back from his visit at the acronym.

fearing for his soul, i went to the water closet, finding the suspicious Mr. X standing at the entrence , talking to soneone who was hidden from my sight.

Mr. X noticed me and his expression turned to sheer terror. it is true I am ugly beyond words, but it was evident that something was afoot.

i took another step, seeing young Hammer, holding out the exam sheet.

it gets tragic at this point. Hammer noticed me as well, and jerked back, running into the stalls to hide...

or so he had hoped. sadly, the flooring of the men’s restroom was slippery with filthy liquid, of which sort you can easily imagine.

and so, in his haste, young Hammer slipped on the drippings of the urinals and plunged into the depth of the floor. he rose up, his clothes awash . and so was the exam sheet.

i said nothing, just returned to the classroom. this future giant of industry did enough for himself. he came humiliated and dripping to the classroom, where i did not accept his questionair. he had to do the exam again, and i did not have to do anything in way of punishment, for him to bomb.

such is the truth of life. stupid crime does not pay. and that is why i will do my best to never teach collage english again!