it leaves me standing here with nothing else to say
Christopias and the Giant Orange
Our renovation at the school is almost done and we are moving back into our classrooms. Everything is covered in dirt, grime, and filth. It is taking no small amount of turpentine, Windex, and Goo Gone to get everything up to code. We have to supply our own chemicals so my classroom smells like an orange. I am hungry all day.
I have been on top of things; all of the desks in my room were free of the stickers, gum, and other souvenirs of the past occupants. I was sad to do it. I realized that I would miss two of the students who graduated last year; one of them is still questionable. I liked him; I did not like being his teacher. He was a fun kid, a real character, but not a character in my script for my class. It felt wrong to scrape them out of my life with a razor blade and then scrub their doodles away the citrus goodness of Goo Gone.
I diligently relieved all the furniture that is not fixed to the floor of dirt. I then went home to come back later and do the permanent fixtures. The other teachers were huddled, complaining about having to do this but if there are three rules I have learned in teaching: if I complain all the time at work then people will think I am negative and not want to be around me, if you want something done (not to even mention done right) you have to do it yourself, and Diary Land is the outlet for my angst, you enjoy reading about it, I enjoy the writing and attention.
I did not mind cleaning my classroom up. It is a good way to get mentally prepared for the school year ahead of me but what I did mind were the two teachers trading furniture with me after I had cleaned it, so they would not have to. I do not ask for anything from them, I try to get along with everyone, and not be a pain. I have been slowly, but surely, switching my stuff back. If this keeps up I will have to resort to guerrilla warfare. You do not want to get in a pissing contest with me; I may not be firing the big gun, but I can aim and rarely miss.
Assassination Attempt on Christopias
Tonight I went back to my classroom to find a giant box on my desk. At first, I was annoyed; that is just my default setting. I went over and realized it was not more work for me. It was one of my favorite things: fancy Adidas shoes. Three pair to be exact, one pair is black suede for teaching, one pair is black soccer shoes, one pair is blue, aqua, and white shoes for when I am big pimping.
I went over and grabbed the door to shut it, the building is old, and scary sounding at night. As I am a giant wimp, I lock myself in my room when I am in there alone at night. This is ridiculous because I feel perfectly fine twenty yards away in my apartment in the same building.
In closing the door, I dislodged the clock from the wall sending it tumbling right on to my noggin, where it scraped my ear on it is trajectory towards my saddled feet. I really wish it had happened to anyone else so I could have laughed about it.
The glass on the clock shattered, and scattered all over the newly laid and waxed floor. Luckily, the janitor was not there to be pissed about his work being ruined and unluckily he was not there to do the new work I had created it for him.
This is how poor Lutheran schools and their teachers are, I dug the battery (which had become dislodged) from the pile of glass because we could still use it. There is no need to waste.
I had to hunt around the creepy building in the dark to find a broom and dustpan. I found one and then realized that the teachers who took my things also took my trashcan. Who steals the trashcan? Then I realized, this was all an assassination attempt by the other teachers. They know that if a guerrilla war starts, they will loose. They know I am Republican and have an in with Oliver North (cultural reference flies over the heads of everyone under thirty) and he will give me weapons as long as I wear my, �Kill a Commie for your Mommy,� shirt (which, honestly Erin, I know you have it and I want it back).
This is not over yet.
Click here to see the Assassin Clock
�Click My cleavage for Creepatron!�
