Some days, I bemoan progress. Well, that's most days. But some days, I moan louder than others.
Can you even fathom how annoying it is to work in a hall of cameras? In a hall of mirrors, I would have to look at myself. But I'd get over the nausea pretty quickly. In a hall of cameras, other people have to look at me. I hear what you're shouting at your monitor: "Here, now, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! Whatever made you think its all about YOU? Those cameras are there for safety. For surveillance. To make sure nobody carts off a truckload of that delicious cafeteria food, so delicious that you and your colleagues would sooner ingest five-week-old generic tortilla chips than pay for a tray lunch. Stop being such a self-centered dingleberry. Just because cameras are aimed at your every move does not mean that an actual person is watching you every minute of every day."
And to that, I say, "Mind your own beeswax, people, and let me rant about the current bee in my bonnet."
From the moment I pull T-Hoe onto the Newmentia parking lot, I am fettered. Not footloose. Not fancy free. Fettered. Constrained. I have to watch my Ps and Qs. Which stands for Pints and Quarts, for those of you who like to get your learn on while reading a blog post. Not that I partake of said Ps and Qs. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a teetotaller. Because alcohol (and firearms) (and tobacco) are prohibited on school property. And the cameras would totally catch such substance faux pas in a hot hillbilly minute.
My issue is of a more delicate nature. A peccadillo of sartorial proportions.
There is nowhere to pick the underwear out of your butt crack without being observed.
"But Mrs. Hillbilly Mom," you say. "Cameras are not permitted in the classroom. Surely, upon arrival, you could pick your linen behind closed door." Au contraire. I have road-facing windows. The buses drop off outside those windows. Visitors and parents park out front. No thank you. I do not wish to be the lead story on the evening news.
Nor do I wish to run to the faculty women's restroom every time I need to wrestle my undergarments back from my cheeky buttocks.
Commando is not an option.
4 comments:
Hmmm....Hide behind a door in the road facing room?
Only teachers have to deal with this kind of stuff because there is someone UP YOUR BUTT (besides your underwear) all day long.
MommyNeeds,
No can do. My door faces the windows, and opens out into the hall. My cabinets also face the windows. No other doors available in my room.
And, to further complicate this delicate conundrum, when I get out of T-Hoe in the back parking lot, my back-end (of T-Hoe) is facing the road. And there's always some dude parked down in front of me checking some kind of monitor in a wooden box. I'm thinking we're all part of some crazy experiment on lead dust exposure, because Newmentia's land abuts tailings from the old lead mines.
Okay if commando is not an option, how about a nice thong????
Sorry! Not much help--just thinking about the little milky white guy who has to watch the video checking out the butt crack pickers...thanks for the huge laugh! Not at you--at the poor guys who are watching! LOL
How about a long jacket or sweater? Poncho? Blanket under which you could duck? Behind the flag in the corner???? Under your desk...
labbie,
You know, as well as I, that THONGS are to worn on the FEET.
My flag is stapled to the bulletin board. Surely you don't think we can afford to squander our money on real flags for each classroom. We might as well serve actual nutritious food if we're going to be spending our patrons' tax money willy-nilly!
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