Why, Oh Why?

I have just returned from one class of Shougakko.
Just one class.
Forty-five minutes of my week only.
Not even one hour.

And last week`s class was the same.
Just one forty-five monute class with a clatter of young spritely 3-nenseis who had to spend one whole minute with their finger to their lips in an attempt to calm themselves down before we started class because they were that excited to see their ALT.
And we had fun. Lots of it.

Now, that understood, what I can`t emphasise enough is the extend of the dread I feel before I go. Every week it`s the same. If I were the subject of a reality tv programme "Big Gaijin" or the like, at six fifty every Tuesday morning the background tune would be Nirvana`s "Rape me!" My mind whirrs with the possibilities of how to get out of going, my imagination pumping ideas at a rate of a thousand to a second, my capacitity for self-destruction startling. I suppose you could say that it`s my most creative of mornings.

Today I awoke with the added bonus of the arrival of Mother Nature`s monthly prize for being a fertile woman. I was one despondant soul as I shitsureishimasu-ed the shougakko.
My greeting was weak. The kids looked back at me blankly in a kind of we-were-in-the-crowd-when-Milli-Vanilli`s-tape-stopped type look.
Apparently, they`d seen Aine-sensei live before, and these kids were NOT excited by the second album (year).
Let`s GAME! I scream, Let`s FUCKING GAME....LET`S PLAY A STUPID BASTARD OF A GAME....
We need music.
Where`s the shagging cd i thought I brought of happy joyful smiley shiney wonderful odes to bad lyrics and cheese?
It`s not in your bag Aine-sensei.
This`ll have to do.
Hot Potato to my Alansis Morisette`s Jagged little Pill tape.
Their tenyear old hearts were giving me the finger
Game?
LAME!

and I`m pressing the PLAY button.

Pass the fecking box! Pass it. Go on, GIVE it to your fucking friend.

It was a slow start and they were unconvinced to begin with but soon itt seemed as though they were empathising with this angry Canadian. Maybe her emotional purging, prompted by a bitter relationship, was what they needed to hear on a Tuesday afternoon. Maybe they had been dumped the night before. Perhaps the line "You scan the credits for your name and wonder why it`s not there", was mindful of the bastard record executive who fucked them over on the "head, shoulders, knees and toes" 2004 remix.
They were hearing her vengeful wrath, outright rage and disgust, and it was incredible. It was as if they were encouraging her to vent further with each vehemuous plunge forth of the box of assorted colour cards.
Just maybe their inside fear of, one day, having to face a mean karaoke machine, which does little to coat a tonedeaf voice, was thrust forward, exposed....but .....then consoled by young Morrisette`s courage to sing, despite not really being very good at it.
Whatever it was....it got them.
And they played.

And I reincarnated as a fun teacher, floating high on a wave of contentment, an earlier mean cramping stomach a mere distant memory.

"It`s like rai-e-ain on your Ha-na-mi,
It`s the express-train price for a local journ-nee,
It`s the good rice you that just don`t like,
It`s like meeting the JTE of your dreams and then meeting their ALT, Mike. "