You know what I love about Fridays? I love the fact that you can just put in some random video and fuck off, and no one thinks you’re failing to do your job, because the kids are more burned out than you are at this point in the week. Also, because now I can finally eat my cinnamon roll in peace, even though it’s fucking cold by now, because this is class time and no one’s going to bother me even if I don’t shut the door to my office.
I also really love that I can still watch the kids without having to hear the TV.
Not that there’s anything wrong with the programs, of course, if they were all that inaccurate I obviously wouldn’t play them, and the kids love them, yay, learning, whatever. I just don’t need any more science edutainment specials on where powers come from ever again, and also it’s really hard to quell the ‘yes but’ feeling which tends to only confuse the kids.
Here’s a thing you should never ever do with your history of extranormal studies degree: teach children. Any of them. Yes, I’m including university students (from a lot of my professors’ reactions, maybe especially them).
Actually, here’s what you should never do: teach children.
Like, right now, I can see Caffeine flicker every twenty seconds or so, and it is so obvious he’s randomly running around the building, probably bothering people. I hope I don’t get any complaints. No, wait, I hope one of the speedsters catches him and scolds him in superspeed. That. I can’t even reprimand him, because he’s not missing any of the video. He might even be paying attention.
Enigma Machine looks like he’s paying attention, because he’s sitting up straight and vaguely pointed forward, but he’s unaware of the fact that he’s borrowing agency property right now, and whatever he uses the suit for – he’s having a terrible time getting used to the regulation ones; I have no idea what his techie friend built for him – I can see on my computer. He’s playing some sort of MMO. I would venture it’s in beta, because a lot of the areas just sort of end, and the animations are all wonky. The lag might or might not be our fault. I’m actually kind of impressed he got the facial movement and blink controls down that quick. If only he could learn to walk around.
Jailbait’s literally asleep. I wonder how many times she’s seen this video.
Gatling is probably half-watching, but he’s also shooting what looks like flechettes at the wall. I mean, whatever, at least target practice is productive. And he refuses to do it when I tell him to do it, so I guess he may as well do it now, when I told him to do something else that I don’t even know if it benefits him, I mean, maybe he’s seen it in school, maybe he’s seen it at home, I don’t know what his life is like. Well, technically I have access to that information, but it’s not like I’m going to bother looking it up. Anyway, he’s not shooting or even throwing anything at his fellow students, so I’m not going to intervene. There’s a repair budget.
Psybeam’s pretending to take notes, mostly doodling in his notepad. I don’t think he’s used to his teachers having a bird’s eye view of what he writes down.
FiendPuncher is, by all accounts, watching the movie. I mean, I don’t know, it’s possible she’s never seen it before, it’s a couple years before her time (probably) and she’s still pretty young so I doubt it’s come up in school. She seems like the type to research on her own, though. Well. No one’s watched every series out there, have they? Or else she’s got some sort of unaccounted for power, like she’s having music beamed straight to her brain, or she’s an astral projector and she’s off playing lacrosse in the middle of a park somewhere, happily ignoring our existence. Or she’s high. Or planning.
Damn it, FiendPuncher, tell me what the hell you’re up to.
“Cheating,” Sensei Domino says, leaning against the wall just inside the door and goddamnit I could’ve sworn – I check the clock again. Fuck.
I mean, not that it’s not his office, too. Sort of.
I am so lucky Lisa has, like, I don’t know, extra classes or something, god, I’m a bad mentor, I should pay more attention to the poor intern. It’s not like I have that many.
“Who’s cheating?” I ask.
Sensei Domino just raises an eyebrow at me.
I wave a hand. “They’re tired, I’m tired, I’m giving everyone a break.”
“You’ve made them watch seven videos on the same subject,” he says.
“Yeah, well,” I say, “it’s their powers. They should learn more about them.”
“Uh-huh. And how much did you learn from videos like that?” he asks. “By the time you hit high school, really?”
“I’m pretty sure most of them go to public school,” I say.
Sensei Domino shakes his head. “I didn’t even go to high school, and they’d already stopped teaching me anything by that point.”
“You what?” I say.
He gives me a look. “You’ve read my file.”
“Did it mention this? I don’t remember it mentioning this,” I say, but lo and behold, yes, there it is, couched in terms like ‘specialty training’ and ‘independent study’. I try not to stare at him.
“I’ve got a GED, bruh,” he says, with like this condescending grin, honestly, what is his problem.
“Look, whatever,” I say, “they’re being brats today.”
He looks out the window, where the kids are mostly doing nothing. “Okay.”
“I don’t want to get into it,” I tell him, “but honestly once they started in on war-whooping I just couldn’t deal with them anymore.”
“You just left?” Sensei Domino asks me.
“The administration tends to frown on me screaming ‘you can all go to hell you racist little shits’ more than once in a row,” I tell him.
“Oh, well, as long as it’s only once,” he says.
“I might’ve told them to fuck off, actually,” I add.
He laughs at me. “So I take it I’m correcting forms the whole session today? Nothing fun.”
“Nothing fun,” I agree. “Also, if you could do that thing where you kind of frown and then look like you’re about to say something but you don’t, that would be great.”
“I do not do that,” he says.
“You do,” I say, “you do it every time they’re just off enough you want to correct it, but not off enough you want to hurt their self-esteem.”
“What,” he says, “no.”
“I can tell,” I add, “because when you do it to me, you always end up ultimately telling me how I fucked up, but them you just kind of, I don’t know, shrug it off.”
“Do they notice?” he asks.
“Hell yes,” I say, “they think you secretly hate them all and wonder what the fuck kind of profound mysterious sayings you’re holding back. Also, what powers you have.”
“I don’t have powers,” he says. “You did tell them I don’t have powers, didn’t you?”
“A, they wouldn’t believe me,” I say, “and B, no, of course not, where’s the fun in that?”