Chris was one of those good-looking, charismatic young men who knew he was attractive. He lived for the girls noticing him and how drop-dead gorgeous he was. He played basketball and was proud of his performance on (and off) the court.
Chris was definitely very good-looking. But he was also too cocky about it. Nothing is more Unattractive than a man who knows he’s attractive and acts as if he’s God’s gift to the women on the world.
He drove me crazy. I tried to like him. I really did. But at every turn, he did something that demonstrated that he expected even his instructors, especially me, to give him grades he hadn’t earned just because he was so good-looking. He’d flirt with me just as he did with the female students in the class. I admit it. I flirted right back. Why not? I never said or did anything that was inappropriate. Besides, it kept the mood light-hearted and fun within the classroom.
And don’t forget that I was doing my best to try to like him. If I could have liked him just because we did some harmless flirting back and forth, he would have been my favorite student.
But Chris expected me to let him slide as far as grades were concerned just because he’d smiled at me or paid me some extra-special attention.
He truly was Full. Of. It.
Most of the rest of his classmates just took him in stride and didn’t pay him too terribly much attention. They’d tell me how he wouldn’t do certain group assignments or participate in them until the last possible second, always making up some excuse about how basketball practice had kept him too busy to help before that point.
And he never really did anything, really, to help his group. I’d hear about how he’d show up and say he was ready to help, but then he’d text on his phone the whole time and then ask when everyone was leaving what they wanted him to do.
I decided quickly to let him hang himself as far as his grades were concerned. He knew what he needed to do in order to pass the class. He didn’t need his classmates or me to give him a push to do his work. The only person who could do it was Chris.
There was a day, though, when I couldn’t help losing control—getting angry—with Chris to a point where there was no longer an option, for me, as to whether or not I would take care of him. I knew something had to be done.
Chris had an oral presentation with several others. The object was to do something fun related to the story we were currently reading. Their group came up with the fun project for the class to complete; I participated with whatever activity the group came up with, so I sat out in the “audience” with the rest of the class.
Chris and the rest of his group were at the front of the room, telling the class about the activity for their presentation. Whenever Chris wasn’t the one talking to the class, that boy had the unmitigated nerve to text someone while he was supposed to be participating in a group oral presentation—for a class grade!
I looked at the girl sitting beside me and raised my eyebrow. She knew what I was talking about; she shrugged her shoulder and spread her hands, laughing and saying, “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one texting him.”
I watched the group at the front of the room for a few minutes longer. Chris wasn’t doing much talking, but he was doing an awful lot of texting. I stared straight at him until he finally looked up at me and saw me looking at him and his phone. He put it away in his pocket.
Class went on. The group continued their presentation.
A little while later, I looked back at Chris. Guess what?
Yeah, he was texting.
I propped my elbow up on the desk and held my hand out to him. He did something to his phone and then he laid it in my hand.
The group continued with their presentation.
I checked the phone. Chris had turned it off before giving it to me. Surprisingly, I was able to figure out how to turn it on. Almost immediately, it vibrated in my hand. I opened the phone and read the text message, “Hey babe. Whatcha doin’?”
Really?! Some chick texts a guy during class and that’s the best she’s got?!
I quickly texted her back, “Why r u texting Chris during class?”
“Why r u talking in the 3rd person?”
“bc this is Chris’ teacher.”
“Oh, Im so sorry! I didn’t know he had class right now.”
While I was texting with this strange young lady, I noticed out of the corner of my eye that Chris was no longer even pretending to participate in his group’s presentation; he was focused solely on me, trying to see what I was texting.
Needless to say, anger was a very nice word for what I was.
After class, Chris wanted his cell phone back. He honestly expected me just to give it back to him without there being a little talk between the two of us. It was actually quite comical.
“If you want your cell phone back, Chris, I need to speak with you in my office.”
“Now? I can’t right now, Mrs. Walsky. I have ball practice. I’m going to be late as it is.”
“Then your cell phone will be locked in my office until you are able to meet with me,” I said as I got up, got my things together, and walked out of the room.
Chris followed me down the hall. “Mrs. Walsky, come on,” he flashed me that smile that made most of the girls go weak in the knees. “I didn’t mean to be rude. Let me have my phone back. I promise I won’t ever text during class again.”
“Yeah, right,” I snorted as I continued to my office without breaking stride.
“I mean it. Come on, I have to have it.”
“If you have to have it, take a few minutes and meet with me privately in my office.”
“Mrs. Walsky, Coach is going to kill me for being late.”
“That’s not my problem, nor is it my fault, so don’t blame me for your actions. If you really and truly need your phone back right away, you can take five more minutes to speak with me and take the consequences Coach dishes out. Of course, if you’re more afraid of what Coach will do if you’re late than what failing my class will do to your average, I’m sure our little talk can wait.”
By this point, we’d arrived at my office. I unlocked my office door and left Chris standing in the hallway. I could practically feel him debating which was the lesser of the two evils.
It wasn’t long before he came in and sat down.
I closed the door.
Without a word, by this point I was too angry for words, I shoved that cell phone down his throat. By the time he got over his shock and surprise that I would do such a thing, it was too late for him.
I have to say that he was another one I thoroughly enjoyed watching the life-blood drain out of.