Last week I talked about the viciousness of some teenage girls who are denied their ways. In that piece I talked about the flood of females to the restroom. Their constant verbal assaults and tirades exhausted me. The next day, I found myself in Round-2 with more out-of-control females.

Each day I spend the first lunch period from 11:30-12:00 at the door of the boys’ restroom. My job is to make sure all males sign in before going into the facility. That sounds absurd to most people; however, the fact is that smoking has been stopped during these lunch periods proves the importance of such sentry duty.

On the day after I was accosted by female students during the faculty-student basketball game, I was sitting at my post. My mood was sour, and I wanted as little to do with students as possible. Usually, I work the crossword puzzle and word jumble in the daily paper. The noise level often reaches one equivalent to a rock concert. Part of the reason is that too many students are crammed into the small space. The other reason is that too many students lack enough self-control to keep from screaming at friends who are across the room.

My attention was drawn to a table filled with girls. They were unusually loud, and one side seemed to be in heated conversation with the other. At the table behind them, a boy yelled toward in an effort to stir things up. I looked at him and gave him the “cold teacher stare.” He calmed down for the moment, but in only a short period, he was encouraging the girls to fight, and he yelled loudly enough to be heard throughout the cafeteria. I stood and walked toward him to instruct him to be quiet.

At the same moment that I reached this boy’s seat, two of the girls stood at their seats across from each other. Great! These girls were squaring off for combat, and I was the only staff member close. I walked to the girl on my side of the table and told her to stop. She however, was leaning across the table as if she were lunging for her opponent. I grabbed this girl around the waist to restrain her, but by then she was in full attack mode.

The next couple of minutes turned into a tug of war with this teen. She wouldn’t settle down, and her squirming caused my arms to move from her waist all the way up to her head. By the time other staff members arrived, my arms were around this child’s neck, but I wasn’t about to let go. If she were freed, the fight would be on.

Another teacher detained this girl and I let go. She then spun around and began cursing me and telling me, “You have no right to touch me. You can’t hold me around the neck like that!” At the moment my adrenaline was pumping, and I was perturbed, to say the least. I let her know that I had the right to do what was necessary to break up a fight, and that her attempts to escape me were the cause for my arms to be around her head. She continued the tirade as I walked away. Of course, four hundred students were watching by now, and catcalls rained down as I walked through the commons area.

I was thoroughly disgusted. This was the second consecutive day that I had been in altercations with female students. On both occasions, I’d tried to enforce rules of the school, but they meant nothing to these disruptive children. They wanted what they wanted and cared nothing for what was appropriate. In the office I wrote my report, and then I spoke to the assistant principal. I let him know that I had grown too old to break up fights, and I just didn’t much care for having my name, lineage, and species type call into question. On days such as these, retirement seems to be a paradise. I am certain that at home my dog Snoop won’t defy me to the point that he curses me or actually attacks. If he did so, I’d punt him across the house. Retirement, like that popular bubble bath of a few years ago, will “take me away.” At least I won’t have referee a main event in the ring.
It's finally finished! After moving in this house in 1978, we've wanted a porch for sitting. It only took about 30 years, but now we have it. Of course, some painting has to be done this summer when the wood cures, but that won't keep us from sitting on it now as we rock the hours away, wave to neighbors, and watch like a couple of dogs as cars move down the street. Come for a visit, but don't be surprised if you have to take care of yourself. Amy and I might be too comfortable to move!

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