I had a student the other day, belligerent and mouthy. I think he thought he was being funny but it was all I could do to practice good customer service skills and not pull his intestines through his nostrils. The first time I met him was the first week I started and he sat in my office taunting me, “Man, you type slow.” “Are you sure you know what you’re doing? I don’t want nobody who doesn’t know what they’re doing? Can I have someone else?” “Hey lady, why do you work here? You aren’t very good at this.”
Halfway through the appointment I decided to do things the Athena way. I’d been sweating bullets and stressing and on the verge of tears for twenty minutes when finally I picked up my stapler and said gently, “I’m having a really difficult time focusing when you talk. So, if you don’t be quiet, I’m going to staple your mouth shut.”
His eyes popped wide open he sat in shock for a minute and then burst out laughing. To his credit he was quite for all of three minutes while I worked then began getting mouthy again and as I typed with one hand I reached across the desk and lightly stroked the stapler in a semi-threatening manner. He was quiet again for a few minutes, before opening the door and telling my boss that he felt unsafe with the door closed.
“I’m sorry, are you afraid of my stapler?” I asked.
“No! I’m afraid of you, you’re crazy.”
“It’s the popular theory.” I said, but he missed my Firefly reference. “Will you feel better if I put the stapler in the drawer?” I asked like I would talk to a child afraid of the dark.
He nodded. I wanted to crack his shitty smile with my boot heel. But instead I nodded like I would to a child with an imaginary boo-boo and put the stapler in the drawer. However, now the door to my office was open so when he started getting mouthy again, the other people on my floor could hear him and were getting upset on my behalf. After another ten minutes or so of verbal abuse I met his eyes, made lasting eye contact and opened the desk drawer with a menacing smile. He wisely shut his mouth.
When he left the other FAA’s poured into my office to ask if I was okay, and talk about what a little punk he was. I thought that was the end of it and I wouldn’t see him again, but alas, he came back yesterday.
It started right off the bat with ornery banter. I really think it’s just the way he is and that he has no idea that he’s not really funny. When he walked in I set the trusty stapler on the desk in plain view and began his paperwork. “Why are you still here? You were never any good at this. Why didn’t they give my file to someone else?” “You look tired.” “Have you thought about a different career? You know you could always go back to school, it’s not too late.”
He nodded toward my cardboard cutout of Legolas, which I’d brought in this week to cheer me up. “Is that your boyfriend? You like little blonde boys?”
I was typing and answered without thinking. “When I’m working 60 hour weeks I don’t have time for a social life so I bring it to work.”
“OOhhhh,” he said as thought he finally made sense of something. “You’re bitchy because you’re not getting laid! Now I get it!” He was so proud of himself and grinned from ear to ear.
So I thought for a second, I could take the Pirate approach and throw myself over the desk and staple his lips to the floor then plant my dull pencil in his ear canal with a hearty “YARGH!”. –or- I could take the Ninja approach and silently do away with him when no one was looking, roll his body up in the rug and dispose of him in the dumpster and no one would be the wiser. –or- respond.
“Tragically, it is true.” I said and continued typing.
“I have some friends from Mexico who need citizenship… I could hook you up with one of those guys…”
Despite it all, I couldn’t help but laugh. Once I got over the irritation of him and allowed myself to understand – even slightly appreciate his not-funny-brand of humor, I managed to finish the appointment and not kill him or myself. But again, as soon as he left, everyone came to check on me. Most people were furious on my behalf or congratulated me on my growth curve and tell me how they would have been able to do it, which was an extra boost to my sense of, “I can do this thing.”
I was later told in gentle and certain terms, “You are not allowed to threaten students. Not even with staples. You just can’t go around doing that.”
I nodded and smiled and filed that information under, “Blah, Blah, Blah.”
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