Passin Time at West Side High, Page 2
TJ Seitz
annoys the Hell out of him that I keep such tabs on him. Though, the extra effort does not seem to thwart him from causing or getting into trouble.
Deep down, I think that he actually enjoys the attention. He sometimes calls me his ‘official biographer’ because I take so many notes.
Kwinton fifteen, fat and (in his own words) BLACK! I recently learned from several of his peers that the ninth grader was initiated into the South Side Woo Gang over the summer.
Mr. Jones is five foot ten, almost three hundred pounds and has a mouth that runs like a whippoorwill’s ass. The hyperactive kid just doesn’t know when to shut up. Everything he says and does is aggravating or offensive to just about everyone, including me.
Two-Tun’s mind is always racing. It also has no filter for his thoughts. The boy is easily distracted and can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time.
He talks to himself out loud and does not realize it. He will tell you a play by play description of his morning bowel movement if prompted. He has a very hard time keeping still.
When sitting at a desk he hums, clacks his teeth, smacks his lips, wiggles around in his seat, taps his feet, or pinches people sitting next to him. Those behaviors are very distracting for his teachers and classmates.
Kwinton really needs a prescription for Ritalin. Unfortunately, he’s a Jehovah’s Witnesses (or more accurately his guardians are) and his family has refused my recommendations several times. They believe that the potential side effects of the medication outweigh the benefits for someone with his condition and that he will eventually outgrow his awkward behaviors during the next few years.
The irritating adolescent currently lives with his great-grandmother and a disabled aunt on Gregory Street, near Mount Hope Avenue, in Rochester, New York. His father left him there six or seven years ago and never came back. Kwinton’s mother passed away from kidney disease when he was just two. Jones however, prefers perpetuating the myth that his mom died in childbirth from the shock of producing such an annoying child.
A large navy blue JanSport backpack is Kwinton’s lifeline beyond the chain-link fence that surrounds his home. It’s filled daily with popular candy, snacks and energy drinks that he consumes himself and sells to others for a dollar. He pays for the mobile food stash with his Aunt Tess’ New York State Common Benefit Identification Card, which he uses several times a month, at the nearby S & A Food Mart.
I imagine that his fellow gang brothers don’t really like him either. Rumor has it that they only tolerate him because of his special talent of pissing people off and the packs of Austin Toasty Crackers with Peanut Butter he keeps stocked in his bag.
At some point I overheard Mr. Jones bragging loudly in the hall outside my office about his new position. He said that Weston Majors, the current person in charge of the Woo posse, gave Kwinton his street name (Two-Tun) and associated responsibilities, which are, “Ta keep da niggas fightin’ each udders at school.”
I laughed to myself after hearing him. I’m not really sure what exactly changed for Kwinton. The kids have been calling him Two-Tun since he broke a playground slide in fifth grade and he was already a renowned instigator at school.
The First Day of School
The ambitious asshole quickly got to work on the first day of classes at West Side High School. It took me several days but I got a good idea what he was up to after compiling the student gossip and stories exchanged by his teachers in the faculty break room.
Kwinton had nothing registered on his schedule for first period so he just roamed the building and insulted and punched random people until he found an open computer lab. The hooligan troublemaker then logged on to an unattended workstation using a hacked administrator account and watched violent, pornographic music videos, singing along with them as the mood stuck him.
I reported the incident to the Information Services Help Desk about a week later after several offended girls mentioned his activities to me. They quickly disabled the breeched account after verifying its existence.
I wonder how long it will take for Kwinton to discover that his unrestricted access to the internet has been retracted.
During second period Spanish the rotund reprobate stole someone’s crutches. Two-Tun then spent the next forty-seven minutes pestering his peers and poking holes in ceiling tiles before tossing both props out an open window.
I assume that Mr. Jones did not like any of the teachers listed on his schedule for the following three periods. Instead of attending class he probably went looking for a spot where he could simply plop his portly haunch down to eat something.
Along the way to nowhere in particular Kwinton casually walked into an Algebra class. He recognized a few faces in the back row from his hood, flashed both middle fingers at them and smiled when they ignored him.
He then undid his trousers, turned towards the young blond haired math teacher, pulled out his penis and asked for a blowjob in in front of all her students. Miss Linise was not the least bit fazed and kept her cool, despite all the laughter. She quickly ushered Two-Tun into the hallway and shut the door behind him before the fly on his pants was fully zipped. The instructor immediately picked up on her lecture right where she left off before the interruption.
A student from her class that period came to me at the end of the day to talk and unintentionally tattled on Mr. Jones.
When I followed up a few days later with Carolyn Linise about any interaction she may have had with Kwinton during the week she told me what happened and ended her account by stating that emasculated Jones banged hard on the window to her room a few times after being removed. He also called her a “PRUDE WHITE DYKE,” and kicked the locked door but lost interest when the alarm on his IPhone went off.
A report was not filed because Carol figured that it would not be worth the effort. Kwinton would just play dumb, pretend he was unsure where he was supposed to be that period and merely on his way to see his guidance counselor.
He’d then deny saying or doing anything bad and claim that he was just ‘saggin,’ like every other young male in the school and that his pants fell down. All he was doing was adjusting his slacks, not being disrespectful.
The incident would be transformed into a ‘her word against his’ situation and in the end Mr. Jones would get off with a warning about not keeping his pants properly pulled up.
Kwinton is supposed to go to the nurse’s office to have his blood sugar tested before eating lunch. He has a standing appointment there every morning, but only shows up when he wants some hand sanitizer or is avoiding a test.
Two-Tun never made it to the school health care unit. Instead he chose to listen to music in a stairwell, eat a few Twinkies and a Monster Meat Stick Slim Jim, and drink a sixteen once can of Red Bull. I spotted him there on my way to a classroom but chose to ignore him because I was running late.
He proudly informed me later at lunch that he hawked nine dollars of concessions from his portable cache to passing peers during his fifteen minute respite.
When Mr. Reynolds, a sentry, spotted the teen sitting on the floor and told him, “Put the ear buds away and get to class,” Jones told the guy to “Fuck off,” then threatened to stab him. The guard just ignored the response, repeated that Kwinton needed to get to class, turned around and walked the other way.
Bob Reynolds bumped into me a few minutes later in the library and let me know that my ‘problem child’ Kwinton was up to his usual games in the nearby stairwell. Two-Tun was long gone by the time I went looking for him.
Jones is a well-known pain-in-the ass to Security. This is his second year as a freshman at West Side. Very few school sentries choose to deal with him unless there’s an actual safety issue or Administration is involved.
Sixth period is Two-Tun’s favorite time of the day: lunch. While attempting to cut into a serving line, the rambunctious youth pinched the buttocks of an older girl standing next
to him and started a rumor about a popular Woo enemy.
Kwinton is so oblivious. I saw the whole thing from my post inside the cafeteria. A riot was almost incited by his shenanigans, but an armed police officer assigned to the school walked into the cafeteria right when the tension began to rise, so everyone calmed down.
Unfortunately, none of Kwinton’s morning escapades were ever conveyed to a principal because no one had the time or the energy to submit the required paperwork. School district bureaucracy was almost as bad or unpredictable as Jones’ behavior.
The Atmosphere
The chaotic environment at West Side is outside anyone’s control. It’s shaped and sustained by a number of things that are not necessarily the fault of any one person.
School district and building procedures often conflict with each other, not necessarily in theory (on paper), but in practice (when applied). No one knows how to properly document or communicate important information. Organizational policies and processes are always changing, making it very difficult to clearly state and convey them to staff, students or parents.
Personal safety is frequently on everyone’s minds. It’s difficult to predict when a student will chose to get physically aggressive.
The Union doesn’t support teachers hurt breaking up student fights. Shouting for help in the hall
Deep down, I think that he actually enjoys the attention. He sometimes calls me his ‘official biographer’ because I take so many notes.
Kwinton fifteen, fat and (in his own words) BLACK! I recently learned from several of his peers that the ninth grader was initiated into the South Side Woo Gang over the summer.
Mr. Jones is five foot ten, almost three hundred pounds and has a mouth that runs like a whippoorwill’s ass. The hyperactive kid just doesn’t know when to shut up. Everything he says and does is aggravating or offensive to just about everyone, including me.
Two-Tun’s mind is always racing. It also has no filter for his thoughts. The boy is easily distracted and can’t focus on anything for more than a few minutes at a time.
He talks to himself out loud and does not realize it. He will tell you a play by play description of his morning bowel movement if prompted. He has a very hard time keeping still.
When sitting at a desk he hums, clacks his teeth, smacks his lips, wiggles around in his seat, taps his feet, or pinches people sitting next to him. Those behaviors are very distracting for his teachers and classmates.
Kwinton really needs a prescription for Ritalin. Unfortunately, he’s a Jehovah’s Witnesses (or more accurately his guardians are) and his family has refused my recommendations several times. They believe that the potential side effects of the medication outweigh the benefits for someone with his condition and that he will eventually outgrow his awkward behaviors during the next few years.
The irritating adolescent currently lives with his great-grandmother and a disabled aunt on Gregory Street, near Mount Hope Avenue, in Rochester, New York. His father left him there six or seven years ago and never came back. Kwinton’s mother passed away from kidney disease when he was just two. Jones however, prefers perpetuating the myth that his mom died in childbirth from the shock of producing such an annoying child.
A large navy blue JanSport backpack is Kwinton’s lifeline beyond the chain-link fence that surrounds his home. It’s filled daily with popular candy, snacks and energy drinks that he consumes himself and sells to others for a dollar. He pays for the mobile food stash with his Aunt Tess’ New York State Common Benefit Identification Card, which he uses several times a month, at the nearby S & A Food Mart.
I imagine that his fellow gang brothers don’t really like him either. Rumor has it that they only tolerate him because of his special talent of pissing people off and the packs of Austin Toasty Crackers with Peanut Butter he keeps stocked in his bag.
At some point I overheard Mr. Jones bragging loudly in the hall outside my office about his new position. He said that Weston Majors, the current person in charge of the Woo posse, gave Kwinton his street name (Two-Tun) and associated responsibilities, which are, “Ta keep da niggas fightin’ each udders at school.”
I laughed to myself after hearing him. I’m not really sure what exactly changed for Kwinton. The kids have been calling him Two-Tun since he broke a playground slide in fifth grade and he was already a renowned instigator at school.
The First Day of School
The ambitious asshole quickly got to work on the first day of classes at West Side High School. It took me several days but I got a good idea what he was up to after compiling the student gossip and stories exchanged by his teachers in the faculty break room.
Kwinton had nothing registered on his schedule for first period so he just roamed the building and insulted and punched random people until he found an open computer lab. The hooligan troublemaker then logged on to an unattended workstation using a hacked administrator account and watched violent, pornographic music videos, singing along with them as the mood stuck him.
I reported the incident to the Information Services Help Desk about a week later after several offended girls mentioned his activities to me. They quickly disabled the breeched account after verifying its existence.
I wonder how long it will take for Kwinton to discover that his unrestricted access to the internet has been retracted.
During second period Spanish the rotund reprobate stole someone’s crutches. Two-Tun then spent the next forty-seven minutes pestering his peers and poking holes in ceiling tiles before tossing both props out an open window.
I assume that Mr. Jones did not like any of the teachers listed on his schedule for the following three periods. Instead of attending class he probably went looking for a spot where he could simply plop his portly haunch down to eat something.
Along the way to nowhere in particular Kwinton casually walked into an Algebra class. He recognized a few faces in the back row from his hood, flashed both middle fingers at them and smiled when they ignored him.
He then undid his trousers, turned towards the young blond haired math teacher, pulled out his penis and asked for a blowjob in in front of all her students. Miss Linise was not the least bit fazed and kept her cool, despite all the laughter. She quickly ushered Two-Tun into the hallway and shut the door behind him before the fly on his pants was fully zipped. The instructor immediately picked up on her lecture right where she left off before the interruption.
A student from her class that period came to me at the end of the day to talk and unintentionally tattled on Mr. Jones.
When I followed up a few days later with Carolyn Linise about any interaction she may have had with Kwinton during the week she told me what happened and ended her account by stating that emasculated Jones banged hard on the window to her room a few times after being removed. He also called her a “PRUDE WHITE DYKE,” and kicked the locked door but lost interest when the alarm on his IPhone went off.
A report was not filed because Carol figured that it would not be worth the effort. Kwinton would just play dumb, pretend he was unsure where he was supposed to be that period and merely on his way to see his guidance counselor.
He’d then deny saying or doing anything bad and claim that he was just ‘saggin,’ like every other young male in the school and that his pants fell down. All he was doing was adjusting his slacks, not being disrespectful.
The incident would be transformed into a ‘her word against his’ situation and in the end Mr. Jones would get off with a warning about not keeping his pants properly pulled up.
Kwinton is supposed to go to the nurse’s office to have his blood sugar tested before eating lunch. He has a standing appointment there every morning, but only shows up when he wants some hand sanitizer or is avoiding a test.
Two-Tun never made it to the school health care unit. Instead he chose to listen to music in a stairwell, eat a few Twinkies and a Monster Meat Stick Slim Jim, and drink a sixteen once can of Red Bull. I spotted him there on my way to a classroom but chose to ignore him because I was running late.
He proudly informed me later at lunch that he hawked nine dollars of concessions from his portable cache to passing peers during his fifteen minute respite.
When Mr. Reynolds, a sentry, spotted the teen sitting on the floor and told him, “Put the ear buds away and get to class,” Jones told the guy to “Fuck off,” then threatened to stab him. The guard just ignored the response, repeated that Kwinton needed to get to class, turned around and walked the other way.
Bob Reynolds bumped into me a few minutes later in the library and let me know that my ‘problem child’ Kwinton was up to his usual games in the nearby stairwell. Two-Tun was long gone by the time I went looking for him.
Jones is a well-known pain-in-the ass to Security. This is his second year as a freshman at West Side. Very few school sentries choose to deal with him unless there’s an actual safety issue or Administration is involved.
Sixth period is Two-Tun’s favorite time of the day: lunch. While attempting to cut into a serving line, the rambunctious youth pinched the buttocks of an older girl standing next
to him and started a rumor about a popular Woo enemy.
Kwinton is so oblivious. I saw the whole thing from my post inside the cafeteria. A riot was almost incited by his shenanigans, but an armed police officer assigned to the school walked into the cafeteria right when the tension began to rise, so everyone calmed down.
Unfortunately, none of Kwinton’s morning escapades were ever conveyed to a principal because no one had the time or the energy to submit the required paperwork. School district bureaucracy was almost as bad or unpredictable as Jones’ behavior.
The Atmosphere
The chaotic environment at West Side is outside anyone’s control. It’s shaped and sustained by a number of things that are not necessarily the fault of any one person.
School district and building procedures often conflict with each other, not necessarily in theory (on paper), but in practice (when applied). No one knows how to properly document or communicate important information. Organizational policies and processes are always changing, making it very difficult to clearly state and convey them to staff, students or parents.
Personal safety is frequently on everyone’s minds. It’s difficult to predict when a student will chose to get physically aggressive.
The Union doesn’t support teachers hurt breaking up student fights. Shouting for help in the hall
