So here I am, stuck in the caretaker's broom cupboard, hiding from Mr McDonald, an enraged beast responsible for spawning one of my most challenging pupils. In old money, for you readers wondering what I mean by 'challenging', it means he's a naughty little shit who needs a good kick up the backside - metaphorically speaking, of course. Mr McDonald has marched down to the school in order to protect his wife's honour, you see, by pummeling and defenestrating the remnants of my over-sized body.
Fifteen minutes ago I was on the phone to Mrs McDonald (I know what you're thinking: how come they're married? That's a novelty! And you'd be right: it is a novelty. Parents being married is certainly a rarity in my school and, as you'll find out, they, as a single case study, dispel the assertion that married couples produce well adjusted children).
Anyway, I was in the process of describing her son's appalling behaviour earlier in the day. 'He spent the entire lesson talking and making odd grunting noises, Mrs McDonald,' I said. 'When asked to go outside he simply refused, and then proceeded to throw a bin and all its contents across the room, almost hitting me.'
After a brief pause, Mrs McDonald, a short, rotund woman with three chins, replied - I'm sure, by the sound of her voice, with a mouthful of crisps -, 'He's never done that in anyone else's class. You must've provoked 'im. What did you say?'
Well, after the day I've had, and knowing that her beloved little angel has indeed done similar things in other classes across the school, this was like a red rag to an extremely irritable bull. 'Oh! I am sorry, Mrs McDonald. It must of course be my fault; I never considered that; how silly of me. What can I do to make it up to him?' I responded, perhaps injudiciously, in the most sarcastic tone I could muster.
Needless to say, she didn't take it well. Actually, she took it quite badly and, alas, her genial hubby didn't take it very well either. She started to cry and called out to him, 'D'you know what 'e's just said to me, Tel? E's being well outta order!'
Tel - sorry, I meant Mr McDonald - then shouted out, 'Yeah! Tell 'im it is 'is fuckin' fault and I'm comin' down to 'ave it out!' The conversation ended there. She hung up and here I am shaking with adrenaline, now awaiting the genial Mr McDonald's appearance.
There's a knock on the cupboard door and in shuffles our IT technician. 'He's here,' she says, 'shouting and screaming at Debbie. Jackie's nowhere to be seen - as usual - and nor are the rest of leadership.' To those of you unfamiliar with this blog, Jackie's our head teacher; she's taken avoidance and shirking to a whole new level. Mr McDonald's done this before you see, but, hilariously, he's still permitted to access the Academy premises, even though he's been prohibited from entering local authority controlled buildings, courtesy of his unique style of communication. 'I'll come back when the coast's clear,' she continues. 'Just stay here and don't move!'
Several minutes later she returns. 'He's gone, but don't go home just yet, he could still be hanging around.' Is this what they call rewarding?!