A/N: For those of you who are still in school I have a message: Your teachers are human beings too. Treat them with respect, because frankly they are some of the few people out there who truly give a damn about you and they have a really hard time of it.

Drabble. Also known as me venting my emotions. Had a bad day.

Why did I ever decide that this was a good idea? What bit of incomprehensible stupidity ever prompted me to become a teacher?

There was a time, long ago, when a teacher was treated with respect, from both parents and students, and the community in general. When being willing to pass on your knowledge to the younger generations was something that people thought highly of. Now it seemed like every time he turned around there was someone telling him through either their language or their actions that he was worse than scum.

Mr. Lancer wasn't an entirely unreasonable man, he was aware that he was far from being a perfect teacher. But really, did he deserve this?

He took a deep breath, watching the realm of chaos that was his classroom with a detached sense of horror. He'd already asked the class to stop (he'd lost track of how many times), he knew from previous experience that yelling would only give them more fuel, and many of the more subtle methods teachers employed had already failed.

Vaguely he considered walking out and never coming back. It's not like they would notice until sometime tomorrow. Of course, when the class realized they caused him to break down it'd probably be something to celebrate.

Well, that was unfair, it was only a few students who would celebrate while the rest remained quiet, too fearful of their more imposing classmates' judgement to say what they were really thinking.

He really did need to get the class started. It was already twenty minutes into the period and the class hadn't even settled, let alone learned anything. Not that many of the students cared enough to want to learn.

Maybe if I took the major problem students outside the door for a chat one by one . . . But no, that would only cause him frustration when he inevitably received nothing but sarcastic responses from children who thought he had nothing to offer them. Children was what they were too, some of them at least. Spoiled children at that.

And that didn't even begin to factor in the angry phone calls from parents who seemed to think that their children should be allowed to run free to do as they will.

"Er... Mr. Lancer, are you okay?"

Lancer was broken out of his stupor by a concerned looking Samantha Manson and her two closest friends.

"Why do I bother?" he asked, neither expecting nor wanting an answer.

"Uh . . ." Sam exchanged glances with Danny and Tucker, seeking help.

"Never mind, Ms. Manson. Thank you for your concern. Please go back to your seats."

At least he could say that there were some students who actually gave a damn. Even if one of them was a known troublemaker. That didn't help with the ones he really wanted to throttle (who he 'owed' an education to, regardless of their attitudes), but it was something to grasp onto.

Taking another deep breath Mr. Lancer got himself back to the exhausting business of classroom management.

There were students in the room who actually wanted to learn.