Teacher Heaven?

As many of you know, I moved to Las Vegas to take a new teaching post at a middle school where I was bamboozled into teaching 8th grade English, yearbook, newspaper and, evidently, putting together the parent monthly newsletter. You can imagine that I'm absolutely swamped with work--especially since my most recent teaching background is with 12th grade.

So, (and my teacher friends will comletely understand these next few points) imagine my absolute delight when I got the run down on my new job:

There is NO limit on copies! Unlimited paper supply! No copy code!
The walls are made of a soft material that allows me to staple directly into them! I have spent countless dollars on tape, glue, rubber cement, double sided tape, stickies, and 3M adhesives.
I have almost COMPLETE AUTONOMY in terms of what I teach and how I teach it. I can choose my books, my own writing assignments, my own projects; there are no scripted programs, district mandated pacing charts...
The school is huge and there is a beautiful outdoor courtyard that connects all the wings.
I do not have to walk kids to the bathroom, the lunchroom, their next class... and
I will be given a $200 Visa check card to purchase any materials I need for my classroom.

Teacher heaven, right?

Well, I thought so too...until I opened my classroom door and was confronted with 40 student desks. 40. 40 desks means there will be 40 breathing, talking, bodies that are perpeutally needy and the didjas. I need to go to the bathroom, my mom needs you to call her, I need to see my counselor, I need an extra day, I need, I need, I need. Didja check my paper? Didja give homework? Didja collect that already? Didja, didja, didja...

I stressed. I had a panic attack and felt my throat tighten, my stomach churn, my breathing quicken and my palms glisten. 40?! As I tried to assuage my fears, I said to myself: maybe the custodian just dumped the extra desks in here. So, I went to the office to inquire about who would be moving the extra desks and when he or she would be moving them.

The office laughed. THAT was when I was told that there is absolutely no limit on class size in Las Vegas.
I was hoodwinked. Bamboozled. Led astray. The wool was pulled over my eyes. I was blinded my all the lights, the dazzle, the bling-bling of being able to staple directly into the wall.

40.

*M*

FYI--the picture has absolutely nothing to do with this post. I just like it.