The Princess Bitch Problem: Solved?

The Princess Bitch Problem: Solved?

I begin every Monday afternoon by giving the Princess Bitches the benefit of the doubt and treating them like they’ve developed into respectable human beings within the past week. I’m always wrong. It usually takes about 30 seconds before all Hell breaks loose and I’ve lost my smile for the hour. Today, Hell broke loose in the form of wood bugs (woodlouse. Or something appearing as such. Entomology has never really been my thing).

The Bitches danced into the classroom, glaring briefly in my direction before putting on fake grins in the hopes that today might be the day their asshole behaviour earns them a game. They were wrong to hope for this. The plopped into their chairs and immediately broke into conversation in Korean. I was confused as to why they hadn’t bothered to take their books out and take aim at me yet, when I noticed that Bitch, The Younger (BTY) had brought a friend for show-and-tell. Sadly, nobody had informed me that today was show-and-tell, so BTY putting her bug-friend on the table and watching him squirm struck me as random. And obnoxious. I hate bugs. Of course, Bitch, The Older (BTO) didn’t want to be one upped, so she pulled out her bug for comparison.

I hate bugs. I especially hate bugs in the hands of horrible people who are liable to throw them at me when they don’t get their way later. This shit was not going to fly. After being complete ignored when asking The Bitches to put the bugs outside where they belong, I grabbed a tissue so that I could remove them myself. The Bitches either thought I was going to kill their bug friends, or didn’t want to part with their only friends in life, and absolutely lost it. Much screaming and yelling ensued. Finally, BTO put both of the bugs in her backpack, thinking that this was an acceptable solution. She was wrong. I asked her to remove her backpack from the classroom on account of total grossness. Not wanting to give up her title as the most spoiled seven year old ever, she pitched a fit, clutched her bag and curled into fetal position with it. None too amused, I flung open the door of the classroom and told her to get out. For once, she listened. BTY followed, because at some point in life somebody told her the merits of learning from the best (of the worst).

I read a few pages from my book before stepping outside to find out what The Bitches had gotten themselves in to. While I may think they’re horrible, horrible children who will grow up to be terrible, terrible people, I still consider myself responsible for them for 45 minutes per week and don’t wish to see them get hurt on my watch. The Bitches hadn’t gone far before finding The Boss Man, who was already in the loop as to what was going on. He sifted through their backpacks for their books and pencils so that they could return to my classrooms without being gross. I thanked him for his fulfilling his weekly obligation as mediator between The Bitches and Barbie Teacher, and led the girls back to class. I had a plan.

The Bitches had made it very clear in previous weeks with me and the other teachers that they have minimal interest in learning from us. Countless complaints to The Boss Man have led to countless calls home to their mother, which has resulted in no positive behavioural modification whatsoever; if anything, they’re acting worse. I’ll be the first person to admit when I screw up. Nobody loves riding The Train of Self Loathing more than I do. Sadly, in this case, I’m clearly not the cause of the problem; I simply can’t find reason to beat myself up over it. While I’ve done little in recent weeks to improve things, it’s unlikely that children who can’t muster up a modicum of respect for any other present elders are going to suddenly have a change of heart and think that it’s due time they start listening to Barbie Teacher. Hence, my solution is to give up on them.

When they returned to the classroom, without their bug friends, I opened their student books to the correct page and turned on the accompanying CD. Intermittently throughout the lesson I would change the track on the CD and check that they were still on the correct page. Once this was complete, I put some worksheets in front of them. All the while, I enjoyed listening to my MP3 player and reading a book. Sometimes one of them would look my way and say something in Korean, which was barely audible over my tunes, and I would grunt in response. Oddly, they actually seemed to work better when I completely ignored them. Perhaps being obnoxious is less fun when they don’t have an attentive audience.

I imagine that some people may find my behaviour terribly unprofessional. I’m not going to disagree. In fact, I’m open to suggestions as to what might suffice as a viable alternative to barely falling short of refusing to teach them. Just keep in mind that the other two teachers that deal with The Bitches have the same issue; the only difference is that I now refuse to waste my energy getting upset with them when I could use it during the hours of time after this class spent with students who actually want to learn.

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.