text: At the entrance to my classroom were the high school Principal, Vice Principal, on-grounds Police Officer, and a couple of people that I didn't know. I am not positive because of all the confusion, but there was a man that I am sure was introduced as an FBI agent. They needed to speak to me. The rear door had swung open, and the Principal nodded at me and motioned with his hand to, "get back here now". All of the kids were murmuring loudly but were still seated when the door opened, and they saw ***the group*** standing there with serious looks on their faces. Then, it became so quiet that you could literally *hear a pin drop*. The class looked at them, looked back at me, and back again at them. They were squirming in their seats. A couple of them pointed to the open cupboard at the back of the room as if to say "right there". Before I could make my way to the back, I heard one of ***the group*** say, "where is it, where's the **SHOTGUN**?!" It wasn't a shotgun; it was a **sawed-off shotgun**! I had not checked all of the storage cupboards yet. The class was frozen. There were more than a few dropped jaws. At that moment, I remembered the story about a substitute teacher whose tie was loose and flopping around, so he took the class stapler and proceeded to staple the tie to his body from top to bottom. But what his class did not know, was that he had a brace around his broken ribs from an accident and was stapling his tie to the cast. His high school class was so freaked out that they never, ever were unruly again. I figured that with this "*shotgun*" incident, I might get a reputation of someone that won't take any nonsense in the classroom. Teaching may have just become easier; that is if I got a short jail sentence. So, how did this all come about? I had five classes and four lab assistants. Usually, a lab assistant would: grade makeup work, organize and return old work, record scores on the computer, at times tutor a student or two, clean my desk, organize desk drawers, take messages to the office, sweep floors, paint walls, wash my car, and any sort of helpful project they could find. They were usually A or B students that had more credits than they needed and needed no more classes but could not go home early. They were self-starters. So, I got lots of nice efficient help. But, then there was **Hector**. Hector just needed a place to "hang" and stay out of trouble. I was asked by his counselor to take him because he could not handle more than a few classes a day, yet was not allowed to go home early. Hector was a good kid but a bit hyperactive. I would give him a few easy responsibilities which he still managed to often mess up. He would wander around touching everything, looking over students' shoulders, and opening every cupboard and drawer. This was only my first week in this classroom. It was just vacated and was better than my old room--little did I know! Hector had been with me a couple of days when he made his way to the back of the room. I was up front lecturing about solving quadratic equations when Hector reached into a large bottom drawer and pulled out this sawed-off shotgun; raising it with one hand over his head, called out, "what's this?". With a bit of panic in my voice, I said, "put it down now, **carefully**." Hector wasn't dumb. He had to know it was a gun. He could have just left it in the drawer and walked up to me and whispered in my ear; But oh no, he had to announce it to the world. He did though, put it down carefully as I dialed the front office quickly telling them of the situation. The stunned class stayed at their desks. He put it back and immediately took out a pair of nunchucks as I hurried back there. As he stood beside me, I looked in and saw a military type knife, some of those stars that Ninjas throw, rope, a handgun, a gas mask, a bazooka, 2 Sherman tanks, and an aircraft carrier; maybe not the last three! But, I was feeling a bit of stress. I told Hector to go back up front, and the class to stay in their seats. Just as I got back to the phone to see how much longer it would be before someone could come to the room, ***the group*** appeared. Only 5-10 minutes had passed. The kids in the rooms across the hall were all standing at the windows. The weapons were collected then and there. A few minutes later I was interviewed outside by the FBI agent. I shouldn't have, but I felt guilty. He was glaring at me. I wouldn't have been surprised to see him pull out handcuffs. Did I need a lawyer? I was sweating! Then he smiled and told me that the principal had just called the previous teacher and now knew the reason behind the secret cache. It appeared that the former teacher in my new room had taught **law**, and these were his props for any time he had **open house**. He was still cleaning out this room and hadn't gotten to that drawer yet. I was exonerated. The Earth had begun to rotate again. I will see my family tonight. But just to keep Hector on his toes, I grabbed him and jokingly said, "remember, you're the one who's fingerprints are on the gun, not mine! If I go *down*, I'm taking you with me!". When I smiled, he knew I was kidding. See, Hector was smart; he just reacts before he thinks. I told the class how the weapons got there. No way was I going to discuss quadratic equations for the rest of the day. Each class that came in wanted to hear the story. The whole school had heard the story; this included cafeteria workers and maintenance workers, as well as every other teacher in the school district, the PTA, the mayor, all of Southern California, and Washington D.C. All I got for weeks, were these smirks from anyone that passed me in the halls. I imagine the FBI now knows everything about me from the day I was born. I wonder what happened to Hector! He did make life interesting **WHEN THE FBI CAME**.