Howard
Created | Updated Jul 17, 2008
Here I am trying to explain the intricacies of electroplating one metal on another and there’s Howard. He’s using an enormous pair of scissors with orange plastic handles to attack the zip of his pencil case. "Howard" - what kind of parent names their son Howard in this day and age and expects him not to be a trouble maker? Howard - six foot, sixty kilograms of lanky awkwardness and attitude.
I’m going on about positive ions attracted to the negative electrode. I wish Howard would put the bloody scissors down and pay some attention.
I stop.
I walk over to Howard. "Surely you have a pen in this other section of your pencil case." I up-end the lot onto his desk - pens, pencil-shavings, coloured textas and about 13 million copper staples. I select a pen and hand it too him. "It doesn’t work. That’s why I’m trying to get this part open!"
I walk away, back to the front of the room. Why couldn’t I just ignore it? Why did I have to stir him up?
"Well are you gonna put all this stuff back?"
I ignore him.
"Well are you?"
"No" I say.
He painstakingly shovels the lot back into its container while I wait. He looks up, attentive, focused, pissed-off.
Howard is quiet for the rest of the lesson. He writes everything with a red pen.
I hate Friday period six and it seems to hate me right back.
