It was a Monday morning, and I was sharing the room with another teacher. It was technically his class at the time, so I was sitting at my desk grading papers. Well, the bell rang and all of the students got up and left with the exception of one. He was lying face down on his desk with his arms limp at his side.
The other teacher walked over and began shaking him, "Billy, get up." Billy, wake up!" At this point I became alarmed and my instincts kicked in. I stood up at my desk and said:
"Oh hell no! Oh hell no! Wake the hell up Billy! Don't you die in here! Go outside and die by the front office, but don't you die your ass in here! That's too much damn paperwork!"
Something I said must have made his soul jump back into his body, cause the little bastard woke up. Turns out he was high on a combination of sleeping pills, Robitussin marijuana, and Xanax (this wasn't the little red schoolhouse, this was an alternative school for teens).
I warned all of my other classes that if they felt the need to OD and half-die, they need to take that shit outside. I don't need the coroner and investigators and police officers and news outlets all in my face asking me about how you managed to die on my watch.
Now do you see why I got out of teaching???