Study Hall

The Real Teacher

​When you have a choice to pick two classes of your liking, but can't, you go straight to Study Hall. A class with a name that makes no sense, and has mostly no relationship to what students will actually do during the class period. Though it is not a class where students learn, a teacher is required to attend and supervise each period of Study Hall there is.
​Ms. Rosewood, the Study Hall monitor for the eighth period class, is a middle aged woman, with gray hair starting to take over her natural hair color, glasses bigger than Pennsylvania, and a personality that could offend anyone. She wears red and black half inch heels, a skirt that drops down to her knees, and a business jacket that shows people she is serious, but sometimes hates her job.
​While the students walked into the classroom, Ms. Rosewood was nowhere to be seen. The students started sitting down in randomly placed desks and chatted until the teacher would finally arrive. "Where do you think our teacher is?" Asked Monica, a sophomore with golden brown hair tied up in a bun.
​"I don't know!" Responded her friend Chelsey, also a sophomore, but with red hair.
​"Should we be in here? I hear that students should not be in the classroom without the teacher being present in there first."
​"Girl, will you calm down? It is the first week of high school and you are already jumping off the walls! Most of the student body attending this class are already in here, so you think when the teacher actually arrives they are really going to care? If I had learned one thing from my aunt, who is indeed in jail right now for robbing a TGI-Fridays, it's to take risks."
​"I guess you're right, on the part where I shouldn't freak out, but the example about taking risks I would rethink. Why rob a TGI-Fridays in the first place?"
​"Because she's a lazy bitch who doesn't have a car to own."
​"Why doesn't she have a car?"
​"Girl, she ain't got no money!"
​"Well then she should go get money to actually buy a car with!"
​"Why do you think she robbed the restaurant in the first place?"
​Monica turned back around the start doodling in her notebook, and Chelsey started texting on her phone.
​While waiting for the teacher, the students heard a faint noise coming down the hallway getting louder and louder each step it took. While one student stuck their head out the doorway to see what was going on, they saw Ms. Rosewood stepping down the hallway yelling into a megaphone. "Move your asses you little brats! I'm a teacher trying to make a difference! I'm 56 right now, and when I finally arrive to my class I'll be 82. Get to class! Your teachers are probably already disappointed that they have you in the first place, but when you come in late... I wouldn't be surprised if you got hit with a dictionary on your way in!"
​Ms. Rosewood finally made it to the class that she was supposed to be present in... Which was Study Hall. "Sorry everyone for being late. The hallways were very backed up and filled with somewhat of annoying students. The halls were like my husband's and my first time: lost, confused, and then never happening again."
​"Excuse me, you're our teacher?" One of the students in the front asked.
​"Yep, I'm Ms. Rosewood. Please call me that and nothing else. No "Rosy the Wood". No "Old Woman Rosewood". And definitely, and I mean definitely do not call me: "Rosy the Old Rosewood". If you do call me any of these, I will drive my car through these windows, hit you with said car, and then drive my car back to its parking spot with not a worry insight. Do I make myself clear?"
​Everyone shook their heads with agreement.
​"Ok, perfect." Ms. Rosewood started off with. "Now, required by school rules, damnit, I have to read to you what you should and shouldn't be doing in this class. This paper looks and seems really long, but if you don't talk, take out your phones, or piss me off, this should go fairly quick. A thing my soon to be ex-husband said to me on our wedding night."
​While reading down the list, Britney, the student who thinks she's everything and the best thing that ever happened to this school and the sophomore class, said under her breathe: "I could technically leave if I wanted to. This is so boring, and this teacher isn't helping at all with the problem." Though she said it under her breathe, Ms. Rosewood still could hear her.
​"What the hell did you just say big mouth?"
​No one answered.
​"Don't think I didn't hear that. I might be 56, but my hearing is as good as a bat; which is pretty ironic because a baseball bat to the head is what improved it. Now the person who said those words better grow a pair and announce themselves or I'll embarrassingly confront them in front of the whole freakin' class!"
​Still, no one confessed to the words spoken. Britney sat in her desk hoping someone else would be blamed for her actions, but still kind of knew she would face the consequences. "Fine, I guess I'll point out the person who said this sheet and I were boring, but just know, you chose this, and to play hard ball."
​Ms. Rosewood walked up and down the aisle. Scanning each student, and looking at them intensely. She finally got next to Britney's desk and starred at here. "It was you." Ms. Rosewood announced.
​"What?" Britney said, acting like she was surprised she was being blamed.
​"Don't give me that crap. It was you, and don't you dare even lie, because if you do, then I'll throw this clipboard at your overly cosmetic face! Confess to your actions you little rich skank!"
​"Fine, it was me. This class is becoming so boring. An hour, sitting in a class doing nothing? It's almost better than Geometry, but only by like two points. I could technically go home, but my parents don't want me to, and I lost the key to the house when I went to the beach with my boyfriend."
​Ms. Rosewood walked up to the front of the room and stared at the class. "Well guess what kid, you think I want to be here too? You think I have a choice of being here or not? You think I can just leave this classroom, jump into my 1992 Honda SUV, and drive away; smoking in the killing tobacco from a cigarette, listening to the same song on the radio over and over again until I want to rip my damn ears off? Well suck my left tit baby because I can't, because unlike my soon to be ex-husband, I'm gonna stay and not go anywhere else, because I need the money. Now sit your ass down and shut that mouth of yours that has too much makeup applied to it."
​Britney sat down confused, but also defeated.
​"Ok, now that that is all cleared up and sorted out, let's go back to reading the rules of this class. The sheet says: 'The students in this class shall do work from other classes, and work silently too. Talking is allowed, but only on a low volu...'." Ms. Rosewood stopped because she was being interrupted by talking. She looked up from the chart and over her glasses to see two junior boys talking back to each other. She took the megaphone she brought to class and started talking through it. "Hey, the boys back there who have mostly no future. Stop talking about how many girls you two have dated and then cheated on with their friends, and then cheated on them with more of their friends. Let me let you in on a little secret... Those girls you allegedly "cheated on", when we all know you never did and are lying to yourselves, have probably cheated on you way into the relationship before you even kissed one another for the first time. Now I know that this may be boring and not the most fun thing to do right now, but if I have to sit through a whole damn teacher's meeting with Principal Nutmeg, then you sure have to sit through this whole stupid and crappy evaluation sheet. Now shut your shit mouths before I take these math textbooks and shove them down your throats. Hey, if you're talking shit, then what's the difference between having a subject that is shit being shoved down your throats?"
​The boys stopped talking to each other and listened to Ms. Rosewood for the rest of the class period.
​Before Ms. Rosewood could continue reading again, the announcement speaker went off. "Hello school!" The speaker yelled. "Welcome to your first week back in school! I'm your principal, Principal Nutmeg, and I know we will just have a great school year together! Sorry I am making this announcement at the end of the week, new school year paperwork is a lot to go through and organize! Just wanted to say 'Welcome', and 'Have a great school year'! Have a great rest of the day everyone!"
​The speaker went off.
​"You know," Ms. Rosewood started. "Her name is pretty ironic if you ask me." Monica raised her hand. "Yes, the girl with the golden brown hair."
​"Why is it ironic?"
​"Because, her name is 'Nutmeg'. Nutmeg is what you put in stuff you bake, and let me tell you something, she sure has gotten baked before, if you know what I mean." Ms. Rosewood ended that comment with a wink and a smirk with a chuckle attached to it.
​"Oh... ok." Monica quietly said while slowly leaning back in her desk chair.
​"Now can I finally finish this sheet please? This is taking longer than me giving birth. You push and push for five hours, and what comes out? A disappointment. A kid who grows up to then steal from you and run off and never be heard from again. Well jokes on that hoe, because I got them chipped when they were first born. You can run but you can't hide, bitch."
​"Can you please go back to reading the sheet please?" A young junior girl yelled from the back of the room.
​"Well fine, but after looking at this sheet, I have to agree with 'Brains Banged Out Britney' over here. This sheet is boring. The overall thing about this class is if you don't piss me off, then I won't piss you off. Got it?"
​The whole classroom shook their heads in response.
​"Now go do work, or go on your phone, or listen to music, or whatever. Just don't bother me. I have to fill out this sheet explaining why I got pulled over by the police last weekend. Apparently yelling: 'I'll cut your balls off with a butcher's knife you cheating bastard!' out of a car window to your ex-boyfriend is against the law because you are disturbing the peace, which is bullshit!"
​The whole class just stared at her for half a second but then when back to what they were doing.
​
The class was somewhat quiet for about five minutes until someone's phone started to ring. "Oh my lord, who's damn phone is that with the annoying ringtone?!?" Ms. Rosewood asked and shrieked.
​"Oh sorry Ms. Rosewood. It's this hoe ass girl who tried to steal my man." This girl named Stacy apologized.
​"Why is my sister calling you?"
​"What?" Stacy replied.
​"Never mind. Just tell that skank to take her dumbass ass to her car, and cry about how she'll never get your man because she's a hoe."
​"Ok Ms. Rosewood, I'll just decline the call then..."
​"Suit yourself."
​
Again, the class got quiet, until someone yelled out, "Damnit! Why is math so hard? When am I going to use this shit anytime in life?"
​"What did I just hear?!?" Ms. Rosewood asked.
​"Someone ranting about math." Chelsey told her.
​"You mean bullshit?"
​"No, math."
​"Honey, math has been, and always will be, bullshit. It's like when you work at Walmart. You can quit and tell people you quit hundreds of thousands of times, but you will still be remembered as that person who sadly had to sink as low as to get a job at Walmart."
​A kid named Mark stood up and said, "I'm the one ranting about that damn bullshit! When are we going to use this stuff anyways? I don't think if I'm going to be a guitar player, I need to know what the square root of a triangle is!"
​"What is your name young man?" Ms. Rosewood asked while standing up. Letting her black and red heels hit the ground and make a clanking noise.
​"Mark. Mark Klean."
​"Well Mark, I'm going to tell you something." Ms. Rosewood pointed to him. "You are mostly correct. When I was in school, which was a while back, I asked myself the same thing. Low and behold, I became a Study Hall teacher, but I still don't need that stuff. No teacher's really gonna teach you about the real things in life, because it seems like if they do, then they might get fired. If I write an essay about a book I really don't care about, is that going to help me in the medical career? If I find out if water gets warmer if I leave a light on over it, will that help me in the music career? You need to learn how to do taxes, which I can't show you because I don't do mine. You should learn how to balance a check book, which still, I can't teach you because I don't use a checkbook. A checkbook: another thing to carry around with me? I don't think so. And other things too. Teachers in this school aren't teaching you the core lessons of life, due to them not wanting to risk their jobs. Well since we are not really going to do stuff during this class period, I have made the decision right here, right now, that I will teach you most of the core lessons of life."
Mark sat back down. "I am the real teacher! I am the teacher that will teach you lessons of life that might actually help you in the future. Now you can either listen up and learn, or work on other things, because frankly, I don't give a damn, but you will learn something that you won't learn in any other class here."
"But that's not what you're supposed to do in Study Hall." A junior named Ken hollered from the back of the room. "The sheet doesn't state that."
"Honey, during this whole class period, when did I start GIVING A SHIT ABOUT WHAT THE SHEET SAID! I will take that sheet and burn it right here with the lighter I have in my purse right in front of you all!" Ms. Rosewood answered.
"Ok...?" Ken quietly answered with; showing the facial expression that he was a little scared and worried.
"What will we learn about first?" Monica asked.
"Well," Ms. Rosewood started. "Since a fake ass hoe called Stacy, let's talk about that."
"Fake ass hoes?" Asked Chelsey.
"Kind-of. Let's talk about the signs of relationships. Where do I start? Oh yes. Right. Ok. You should know the rights and wrongs about a relationship. You should also know the signs of it too. The signs are very important to look out for, and should always be seen."
"Can you give us some examples?" Monica kindly asked.
"Ok. Well, when he takes you out to a Subway restaurant located in, and I mean in, the Walmart down the street for your first date, you should leave and say 'Hell no'! Did I? No. Should I have? You bet your ass I should of!"
"Can you go a little further?" Britney kind of annoyingly asked, but also used a hint of politeness in the statement.
"Fine. When he proposes to you at a McDonalds, you better say 'no', and get your ass out of there. Did I? No. Should I have? I should have started sprinting in my five dollar heels to the exit of that fast food restaurant."
"What about marriage?" Mark asked also.
"Marriage? Oh yes! Marriage. If you get married in his run-down, cheap ass apartment, with a minister who dressed like Elvis, then you better pack up and get a taxi back to where you came from. Did I? Sadly, no, and then that dumbass bastard cheated on me. Should I have? I should have jumped out one of the window before the minister dressed like Elvis said 'Do you'."
"Well, isn't this educational." Britney sarcastically stated with her head leaning on her right hand.
"Actually it is. It might not happen that way, but you will have a bad relationship, and when you do, you will know the signs, and you will know what the right thing to do is."

The bell rang and the period was over. The students started packing up and heading out. Ms. Rosewood grabbed her megaphone and started talking through it. "I hope you had a great first day of Study Hall." She murmured through the megaphone. "Tomorrow we will learn more things that could actually help you in life. I don't know what yet, but we will. Have a nice day, and don't do what my mother told me not to do also: 'Don't slap a bitch on your way there'."
Ms. Rosewood sat down in her desk chair and thought to herself, "This class is going to learn something this year. Other classes aren't teaching the important stuff to these students, and I will actually pull the definition out of the two words of this class period's name. They will study the rules of the halls of life. It won't be easy, and you know it won't be, but it will have its rewards in the end. Damnit, now I have to brave the halls of this school with students who only walk 2 MPH."
Ms. Rosewood packed her stuff up and started heading out. While going down the hall, she pulled out her megaphone and started yelling at the students. "Walk faster! My grandmother can walk faster than this, and she only has one leg! Don't stop and talk to your friend in the middle of the hallway, I COULD HAVE HURT MYSELF! I'll throw a desk at you if you do that again! Girl, you are wearing too much hairspray, I can smell it from here! I'm pretty sure if I lit a cigarette behind you, your whole head of hair would go up in flames! Like poof!"
Finally, she got to her car. She searched through her purse looking for her keys, but then remembered that she left them in the classroom. "Shit. I gotta go through that whole ordeal again. Damnit. Rosewood, remember mamma's saying, 'Don't slap a bitch on your way there'." Then she slowly and painful carried herself back to the classroom where her keys were.
She finally made it home after an hour of pain going through the halls and driving home. She just poured herself a cup of liquor, lit a cigarette, and then started thinking about tomorrow's lesson.
While she started to think and think, she couldn't come up with anything. She sat in her chair and thought. She got up and started pacing back and forth and thought. She lit another cigarette and thought. She poured another glass of liquor and thought. She couldn't think of anything. She just sat there with her eyes close thinking to herself, "What am I going to teach tomorrow? I ain't got no curriculum to reflect off of. It's a mystery everyday of what I'm going to teach!" She still sat there in her chair, but then it came to her. "I got it!" Ms. Rosewood yelled! She dumped everything out of her purse until she found her phone. "These kids will now learn another lesson about real life tomorrow!" Ms. Rosewood thought to herself. She dialed the phone, and it started to ring.
"Hello?" A voice on the other end said.