Bleh...

Here's the scene:
1. A trash bin full of crumpled up, disgusting tissues.
2. A coffee table equipped with a glass of water, a cup of tea, a trashy novel, cold medicine, and a box of tissues that is rapidly diminishing.
3. A couch that has been turned into a permanent command center, complete with pillows, a comforter, and easy access to both the remote control and the phone.
4. A red-nosed, pajama wearing, sniffling, totally pissed-off girl with pillow-hair who has decided she hates small children. Actually, not ALL small children. Her brothers' kids are totally adorable and perfect in every way. But OTHER people's children...and one child in particular, should never be within 100 yards of her.

I'm starring in this pathetic scene, because of a tutoring job and a kid named Johnson. We've all seen how well I do in office jobs, and the college bookstore gig was only temporary, so I became an English tutor. This job made so much sense to me, that I waltzed into my interview like a champ, brandishing my English major diploma and my teaching credential. I got the job immediately, and my new boss even wanted to make copies of my diploma and credential to frame on the wall in the office. Neato! I was promised several hours a week tutoring high school students in English, and maybe a few weekend hours doing SAT preparation. This all sounded perfect, and I was genuinely looking forward to working with students again.
The problem with all of this is that the high school students never showed up. Instead, hordes of elementary aged children started filing into the office. They came in packs of two or three at a time, all with little-person-sized backpacks, and all without a pencil it seemed. There were first graders, second graders, third, fourth and fifth graders, and I was responsible for keeping ALL of them in their seats and busy. I looked at my boss with what I was sure he would recognize as desperation and panic, and asked him where the high school students were. He told me they didn't have any high school students yet, so I should just take care of the little kids. "Tell them to start their homework", he suggested. Then, in a gesture I would remember later with seething anger, a gesture that eventually gave me the courage to tell him to "shove it", he pointed a finger at the room with the little kids and motioned for me to go. At the time, I was so overwhelmed with panic and nausea that I merely walked in the direction his finger was pointing. When I turned into the room, the kids were crawling under the desks, poking each other with rulers, and practicing ninja kicks in the aisle. They all returned to their seats when they saw me and tried to look innocent, except for Johnson. Johnson continued with the ninja kicks until I said his name several times in my most serious tone. Once they were all sitting, I asked them to take out their homework. All at once, the kids started talking and shaking their heads. It appeared that 90 percent of them didn't have ANY homework at all. I remembered from our staff meeting that we're supposed to give the students some practice material if they’re done with their homework. That seemed easy enough for one student, but now I needed at least 10 copies of practice material, all in different grade levels. I had to leave the room again to get the materials, so I asked the students to write 3 sentences about what they did in school that day until I got back.
I made copies furiously and got back to the room to find that only one student was in his seat writing his sentences. The rest were back to ninja kicks and poking. Once again, everyone sat down except for Johnson. Johnson swore he was thirsty, and wouldn't sit down until he had finished his cup of water by the cooler. He did little alternating mini kicks while drinking, and hummed a little tune simultaneously. The kicks and the song seemed to go together. This might have been cute, but Johnson kept getting up to repeat the routine every 5 minutes when my back was turned, and would sometimes fill the water cup again when I wasn't looking. I finally banned water, kicking and standing all together. Everyone had to stay in their seats at ALL times no matter the circumstances. I got everyone started on some work, and for a moment things seemed to be under control.
Then Johnson leaned back in his chair and hit the kid behind him with his pencil. This was the quiet kid that was always working and always under control, so I was especially annoyed that Johnson had chosen him to pick on. I scolded Johnson and made him apologize. Then I told him to get to work. He said he didn't understand and needed help. I told him I would help him as long as he didn't hit anyone or leave his seat. He nodded in agreement, so I crouched down to help him. He was supposed to be looking for nouns in a sentence, so I leaned closer to point at a word and ask him if he thought it was a person, place or thing. Suddenly, and without any warning AT ALL, Johnson sneezed a horrible, open-mouthed, wet and far-reaching sneeze. Something actually came out of his mouth (or nose?) and splatted directly on the paper next to the noun I had been pointing out.
It was that moment, right there, that I remembered why my teaching credential qualified me to teach high school students only. High school students have their own brand of issues, but they would never sneeze in my face, and they’re too cool for ninja kicks (at least in public).
I knew I couldn’t really blame Johnson, because he's just a little kid. And he did look pretty upset when he saw that his paper had been soiled. He seemed just as baffled as I was about the severity and suddenness of his sneeze. I gave him a tissue and looked desperately around the room for some hand sanitizer or Lysol disinfectant. No luck.
There was no time to linger on this issue either, because Johnson had a new burst of energy, perhaps as a result of the sneeze being released, and was back to wreaking havoc on the entire room and everyone in it. Two other students had also decided they were done sitting in their seats and started to crawl around on the floor. As soon as I got one student back in his chair and working, another would pop up behind me and start a new “game”. It was at this moment that my boss walked in and suggested that all the students should be sitting in their seats, just in case a parent were to walk in.
“We want it to look like they're working,” he said. Between clenched teeth, I said, “Yes, it would be lovely if they stayed in their seats, wouldn’t it?” He gave me a look that suggested he didn’t understand my tone, so I tried again. “Listen, I can handle 150 high school students, but I can’t do this.” He smiled at me as if I were making a joke and walked away. I was not laughing. I was going to have to be even more clear, and very soon.

The rest of the day continued in the same fashion, with varying degrees of crappiness.
But later, I walked into my boss’s office and started doing some pointing and gesturing of my own. I pointed at my diploma and my credential on the wall first, and explained that I am trained and highly qualified in fact, to teach English language and literature to young adults. I emphasized (with gestures) that I am NOT qualified to teach little kids or baby-sit large groups of them. Then I pointed at the room where the little kids were and told him I would not be working in that room anymore, because I’m not good at it and I don’t enjoy it. I told him to call me if he gets any high school students who need help with their English homework.
He said, with a sigh, “I guess I’ll just have to get someone else to work those hours for you then.” His tone suggested that I was supposed to feel sorry for him.
I said, with a smile, “Yes, you will.” Then I left.

That was last week. It would be nice to leave the past in the past, but here I sit this week, still cursing the name Johnson and the tutoring agency as a whole, because I’m miserably sick. Every time I sneeze, I think about Johnson’s projectile phlegm and shudder. I know it’s wrong to curse the name of a small child, but when you’re sick, you always need someone or something to blame, and I figure my curses don’t carry much weight anyway. I’m sure Johnson is at recess right now, practicing his ninja kicks and maybe punching someone. Meanwhile, I’m here sniffling and complaining from my couch-command post.
I think I may be wearing good-job repellant. I should look into that…