Barbie Teacher and the Princess Bitch Fiasco

People occasionally make the mistake of believing that I’m kind. Their confusion is understandable. I am That Girl that gives a complete stranger 10 bucks because he lost his wallet; That Girl that will sleep on her floor so that the other repulsively drunk people have somewhere comfortable to crash; That Girl that shows Random New Guy around Busan in spite of being atrociously ill, because it’s his birthday and she can’t imagine letting somebody down like that. You know, That Girl. The one that grates from time to time because she’s always in your face in search of being needed, but you can’t bring yourself to get rid of because you never quite know when you might need 10 bucks and a place to crash. I’m also That Girl that chirps out idiots while in line at McDonalds, that doesn’t hesitate to tell creeps not to creep, and skips out on your birthday party at midnight because the beach party up town sounded like a better idea. Really, I’m a bit of an asshole. Today’s offense involves referring to children as Princess Bitches. In this particular case, it’s true, but given my current occupation I would do well to show some restraint and simply refer to them brats. Sadly, the word brat just isn’t doing it for me. Princess Bitch it is.

My first class of the work week begins whenever it is that the Princess Bitches decide to roll in. The Princess Bitches are sisters, ages 6 and 7. Every Monday they storm into the classroom, leaving the door open behind them, and break into conversation about me in their native tongue. They intermittently break from their conversation so that they can look at me and giggle. After about a minute of this, they get their workbooks out of their bags and toss the in front of me, giggling. Their conversation, still clearly about me, continues as I mark their notebooks. Upon the return of their notebooks, the Princess Bitches then take another couple of minutes to take out their student books and pencils. Once they’ve finally done so, I begin the lesson. If I’m lucky, the lesson carries on for about ten minutes before either Princess Bitch the Younger decides its nap time or Princess Bitch the Older decides that it’s a good time to slap The Younger. At this point the Princess Bitches are finished learning for the day and begin requesting games. When I advise them that we won’t play any games until the lesson is over one of them cries, the other pouts, and I count down the seconds until class is over.

While I always expect the worst from these two, today the Princess Bitches caught me by surprise by seriously upping their game. Class was going smoothly for once, largely because the girls knew that we only had about 15 minutes of material to cover and then it was Game Time. I was pleasantly surprised to find that it appeared we’d actually make it to Game Time for the first time in a month. Naïve, Barbie Teacher. Very naïve. I failed to realize that it was only a matter of time before one of them managed to get their Game Time privileges revoked. With only one more minute of good behaviour required, The Younger decided that there was no time like the present chuck her student book at me. Needless to say, I called the game right then and there and told them that I hoped they were as excited as I was to practice dialogue for the next 20 minutes. The Princess Bitches responded by putting on their backpacks and leaving. Normally I’m thrilled to see them go, but there was a serious flaw in their actions: class didn’t end for another 20 minutes. There was no way that this would fly with The Boss Man.
One may read this and think that the issue here lies with the one who created the Princess Bitch moniker rather than the Princess Bitches themselves. This person would be wrong. I’ll be the first to admit that I have absolutely no training whatsoever which would make me a qualified educator. While I’ve learned a lot in my 8 months here, there are still many flaws in my style. I’m not too proud to accept the responsibility when I’ve failed as a teacher. If it wasn’t for the fact that the Princess Bitches treat their two Korean teachers in exactly the same manner, I’d put the onus squarely on me. The only difference between the experience of my coworkers and mine is that my coworkers have the misfortune of being able to understand the Princess Bitches when they bicker in their native tongue. Apparently they spend a good deal of time complaining to whoever their teacher is that day that they don’t like them one bit and prefer whoever it is that isn’t teaching that day. Then they throw their books, hit each other, and ask if it’s time to play a game yet. I suppose it’s possible that all three of us are horrible teachers, but consider it more likely that poor rearing has resulted in a complete lack of discipline. When in doubt, blame Mommy and Daddy.

After debating the merits of chasing after the girls once they left the classroom, I decided to take matters to The Boss Man. Had I gotten angry and scolded the girls, they probably would have giggled at me and ran away anyways. If they chose to stick around rather than run away, they probably would have made faces at me and scolded me in Korean, like The Younger did last week when she waved her finger in my face and said: “bad, teacher! Bad!” Getting angry with them is a waste of energy, but I had to do something. As much as I find these children vile, they’re still children who I consider myself responsible for during our 45 minutes of scheduled time together. The thought of them wandering outside and playing in traffic wasn’t going to sit well on my conscience.

This wasn’t the first that The Boss Man had heard of the Princess Bitches, and he didn’t seem terribly surprised to find that they’d been acting up. A wild goose chase later and we eventually found them about a block up the street hanging outside of the elementary school. As The Boss Man summoned them back to class they complained to him that I hadn’t played any games with them that day. I explained to him that I was about to play a game when The Younger decided it was throw-the-book-at-Barbie-Teacher time, and that I refused to reward bad behaviour. The Boss Man looked rather embarrassed and quickly put The Younger in her place. At this point The Younger decided that she no longer wanted a game, a lesson, or anything to do with me. The Boss Man apologized and advised me that we’d call class for the day and that he’d speak to their mother and the other teachers about this. I thanked him profusely for his help and refrained from pointing out that I was pretty sure their mother wouldn’t be terribly impressed to get a copy of the memo that her children have been poorly raised.

The Princess Bitches probably returned home that night in tears and blamed the entire fiasco on the big bad foreign teacher. Tomorrow, when it happens again, they’ll blame Rambo Teacher and after that, Anna Teacher. It will be clear at this point that everybody at Barbie Hagwon is ganging up on the Princess Bitches, who will be rewarded with cake for the hardships that they have to endure. Next week, when they return to Barbie Teacher’s class, they’ll be as terrible as ever. Sometimes, all you can do is smile and not care.