The Angry Inch

The next afternoon Christopher was pitching a fit the size of Canada for reasons unknown to most of the adults within a 30 mile radius (which was how far afield his screaming could be heard). He was standing in the middle of the classroom turning beet red and bellowing so hard he was spitting all over my desk, because of course I was the source of his discontent as it was in my job description to deny the children of all their worldly wants and desires just to make them miserable.

Unfortunately, the longer I sat there trying to decifer Christopher's ranting, the more incensed he became. Occasionally I could make out the words "bus" and "Senor Dog" but otherwise I was feeling a lot like a Deaf kid at a Journey concert. I just wasn't getting it. I stood up to come around the desk and try to talk him off his imaginary ledge but I'm guessing that was the wrong move because that was when he took a swing at me. Not that I was overly worried since he was a good two feet shorter than myself, but that meant that since he had ramped it up a notch, I would have to make sure there were other adults in the room just in case he got really out of control. One of the new girls, Brenda, was very sweet and always eager to help out in a crisis. The problem was, she was fresh off the boat from some country that caused her to speak in a very heavily accented form of broken English that often pissed the kids off even more because they couldn't understand her. Sure enough, the moment she entered the fray, Christopher lost it. He wheeled on her and, because she was exactly the same height, he caught her square across the bridge of her nose, then ran out of the classroom like his ass was on fire.

I stopped for a split second to make sure that Brenda wasn't bleeding. She muttered something that sounded like "I'm okay" but between the accent and the hands over her face I was really just taking a wild guess. I bolted down the hall to find that two male staffers had managed to corral Christopher into time out. He was backed against the wall and he had his thumbs hooked into the elastic waist band of his gym shorts and was sticking his tongue out at Brian and Dan. This could only mean one thing with Christopher: it was NAKED TIME.

"I'm gonna do it! I'm gonna strip!" He yelled, dancing around like Pinnocchio on acid. "And then I'm gonna pee on the floor!"

Christopher was our resident stripper. The moment he got into time out was the moment we all got to see the free show. It was his way of getting a reaction out of a good number of staff members, though with the rest of us it had just become his perverted version of a game.

Brian leaned a bulky shoulder on the wall of time out and shook his head. "Chris, we don't want you to strip. Come on buddy, keep your clothes on. There's a lady here."

Chris giggled. "Woo hoo! A lady! I'm gonna get even nakeder now!"

I raised my eyebrows at Brian. Nakeder. Nice.

"C'mon Chris. Keep your pants on. Brian smirked at Chris as he continued to wiggle his butt and tug on his shorts. "Nobody wants to see your angry inch."

"I'm gonna do it! I'm pulling my pants down! I'm gonna do it! And YOU CAN'T STOP ME!"

Brian sighed. Chris getting naked never ended well. It's quite difficult to wrestle with a sweaty, naked child who wants to kick you in the unmentionables. "Fine. Go ahead. But if you're going to get naked..."

Oh no.... where was Brian going with this? What the hell was he planning? I stared in horror as Brian's hands went to his own belt.

"If you're gonna get naked, so am I!" And with that, he started to undo his belt.

Christopher's jaw dropped and he screamed bloody murder, turning to face the wall. "No! No! Don't do it! No! I'll be good! I'll never strip again!"

I leaned over and banged my head against the cinderblock wall. Who would have guessed that threatening nudity would calm a kid down...

Later that day, in order to earn back some positive points, Christopher had to write an apology to Brenda for hitting her. He wrote:

Dear Brenda,

I'm sorry I hit you.

Love,

Senor Dog