Help! I Need Somebody...

So I have this autistic boy. Nice kid, but nothing like I've ever dealt with before. He talks really loudly and is always making noises that distract others. He never does anything I ask kids to do; I assumed he couldn't handle regular work. But he's not incapable. He's got smarts. So today I got his pull-out schedule, and saw that he'd really only be out of my class on a regular basis for about an hour a day. What? Nice kid aside, I had been hoping to share the pleasure of his company with someone else for a larger portion of the day. I stared in disbelief at this schedule, but it didn't magically change. My next move was to email Mrs. Special Education teacher. Mrs. Special Ed Teacher is a nice enough gal, but she got her teaching start through Teach For America, a program that puts college kids who didn't major in education into education positions, thus taking away teaching positions from college graduates who actually obtained an education degree. Teaching unions are against this program. She's also in Mr. Principal's "In" group, so I'm suspicious of her. Other than that she seems ok. She's young, not yet 30, newly married, and a fit soccer player. "Really? Is this a joke?" I inquired via email, as professionally as I could. But yes, it was true. "Then who will support me with Bobby?" I continued to press. Well, Mrs. Special Education Teacher said, we can get together and talk about how to modify lessons for Bobby. Ok, I said. We decided to meet after school. Fast forward to after school. I was in my room, expecting Mrs. Special Education Teacher to show up at any moment to show me how to modify math lessons for Bobby. I was busy working on labeling student files so I could finally get organized. I was busily working, cutting 1" by 2" labels and writing student names on them, and fixing up my student file box so that I could finally file away the various math and reading beginning of the year assessments. My goal next week is to get the students working on their goals. The must each set a math, reading, and writing goal, and I need to get started on that. From time to time I glanced up at the clock, wondering where Mrs. Special Ed Teacher was. I had pulled out math things and had them laying on Bobby's desk, waiting to hear how I was to modify things for Bobby. Finally, about an hour after school got out, my phone rings. It's Mrs. Special Ed Teacher. "Were we still getting together?" she inquired. "Yes," I replied. "I've just been here working, waiting for you to come over." She seemed sort of surprised that I expected her to come to my room instead of me coming to her room. But ok, she said, I'll be over right away, because I want to go over to The Rock to help celebrate Ms. Para Educator's bithday. She hung up, and I couldn't help but fume. Of course you will come to my classrooom, I thought. I'm clear across the campus from you. I'm the one who has all the math stuff here in my room. There is no way I'm carting all the math books all the way over in my tennis-elbow arms, when it's much easier for you to get your little toned, soccer-player butt over here. But I didn't say that.