The Baby Bird

I have always thought that Subbing (or TOCing for the politically correct) is like leading a wolf pack. Immediately upon arrival in the classroom you must set yourself up as the alpha, because if you don't you will be the omega, and that is not a place to be.
One of my last sub days last year was given to me over e-mail. The teacher said I could have the day, but to be careful of her grade 7 class, it was, in her words, an "energetic group". The day arrived in full late-spring splendor. Blue skies, fluffy clouds, and just the first hint of warmth in the sun. The classroom was another story. I am always weary of a classroom with carpet, it's like a carpeted bathroom, you can't see the untold horrors, but you know they are there. This class had a red pile carpet that was a relic of the seventies, and a smell that belied its age. The room was musty and the desks were far apart. The room was on the ground floor, and had a row of high windows along one side like the kind in a basement apartment. I opened one to air the place out, and sat down to look over my day.
My job, apart from attendance, was to administer a Science test. Tests are usually no-brainers, students know that they are supposed to be quiet, even when they are done, and The substitute doesn't really need to know what has been taught. The teacher had left a note saying that I was not to be afraid to send any students who were misbehaving to the office.
Soon the students filed in, and began to look me over. For the most part, one day in school is very much like the other; it is largely based on routine. When a teacher is away, he or she doesn't usually tell students in advance, so when I show up, a new face, students are generally interested. I will meet them at the door, say hello, and try to establish dominance early.
At the start of the first block, I handed out the tests, asked if anyone had any questions (no one did, and no one ever does) and told the class to begin. Within seconds a student, who I shall call Peter, raised his hand and without waiting announced in a loud voice that he did not know what to do. Peter was a student who had the biggest afro I had ever seen. He also could not sit still, and had a glassy, unfocussed look to his eyes, not in a druggy sort of way, just in a fifteendifferentthoughtsallatonceandlotsofsugarycerealforbreakfast sort of way. I calmly told him that I had just explained that the class was having a test, and he was to do the best he could. Peter said that he would try, and I returned to my perch at the front of the class. Not two minutes later Peter started shooting Paul.
Paul had pulled the imaginary two-finger gun, a classic little boy staple, and had opened fire on Peter, who was sitting clear across the other side of the room. I want to reiterate that these were completely imaginary. Nevertheless Peter returned fire with a barrage of his own, complete with sound effects and realistic dodging techniques. Needless to say, by this point I had lost my alpha status big-time. The class erupted in giggles, tests forgotten. I kicked Peter and Paul up to the office with their tests, and managed, with some difficulty to wrestle the class back into a close approximation of test-like silence.
That was when we noticed the cry of the bird, "Cheep.........Cheep..........Cheep".

Part Two Tomorrow