It's progress report day. Where's my panic room?

So there I am--standing outside my classroom between periods like a good teacher, when I am visited by a student. This kid comes up and says, "I need to talk to you about my grade."

"Why?" I asked.

"I need to know why I have a 50 in your class!" he barked.

I responded, "Well, you had a schedule change one week into the year and for that week you were only present for one day. Most likely you'll need to talk to your current teacher."

"This is ridiculous," he roared as he obliterated his progress report. And as my heart rate doubled, the student kicked the wall and stormed off, leaving a trail of anger confetti.

Frightened, I decided to go to the counseling office. I had figured that they could call him down and speak to him, in hopes of calming him down. If ever a student needed a counselor, this guy did. When I got down there and met with the counselor she responded, "Oh yeah, I sent him up there. He was really upset about his grade and I told him to take it up with you. But he's always angry. Isn't that right Ms. Fiduciary?"

The secretary answered, "Oh yes. Why just yesterday he tried to put his fist through that window."

The best that I can describe of what happened next was an awkward pause where my mouth was agape and I stared back and forth between the counselor and the secretary.

Ms. Fiduciary broke the silence with, "It was scary."

I'm sure it was.

How many teachers can actually say that they were almost killed by a counselor? The only thing that could have made it worse was that if they told the kid to go see me, but he would have to take this baseball bat as a hall pass because they were all out of regular hall passes.

At least I don't have a home address that they could have given him.