Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Hits The Motivational Speaker Circuit


Tap. Tap. Tap.

Can you all hear me in the back? I am pleased to be the keynote speaker at The Greater Hillmomba One-Room Schoolhouse Association Symposium. I'd like to thank you for the delicious feed last night, and the gift swag y'all saw fit to chuck my way. I can't say that I've ever seen such a detailed corncob pipe. And the whittling sticks are something I'd never buy for myself. The preserves look scrumptious--I can't wait to dip into them and find out what flavor.

As your association begins the long-awaited journey into the present century, I've got some valuable advice to impart on behalf of bloated, overgrown school districts throughout the land. The topic of my speech tonight is Common Sense in Copying.

As your patrons multiply like bunnies, filling your facilities to the brim with their young, you will see a need for additional copy machines to crank out consumables for readin', writin', and 'rithmetic. No need to be hasty. Lease agreements are made to not be broken. Might as well limp along on your wheezing copy beast until it gives up the ghost. There's no shame in having a single copy machine for the entire high school faculty. It fosters camaraderie. Nothing brings a tight-knit group closer than commiserating over a copier.

Likewise, nothing answers the question, "Where's the beef?" like a tumultuous tiff over copy time. That single copier will allow colleagues to air their grievances in the court of public opinion. Once the dirty laundry is a-flappin' in the breeze for all to see, the matter will be resolved quickly.

Take, for instance, a dedicated educator who chooses to copy 1500 front-and-back handouts during the school day, by merely pushing "print" from her classroom computer. Quite the genius is she, true Mensa material, for she does not waste her plan time by standing at the ready to fill up the copier with paper as it runs out, nor does she need to unjam said copier when it overheats and crinkles copies to clog its innards like those of a newbie at a cheese-eating contest. Her plan time can be better utilized with her feet up on her desk, reading Google News and eating Starburst Fruit Chews.

Pity the poor plan period teacher who unwittingly stumbles upon the first twenty of the 1500 copies after running only four of her own, right after putting 1000 sheets of paper into the bottomless beast. In an effort to forge diplomacy where none has existed before, she puts in a phone call to the 1500er. "Can you, perhaps, delay this onslaught until the beginning of third hour, when it is of no consequence to me? Because I am trying to make copies on my planning period, and I see 420 on the copy counter, and, well, I thought you might be able to wait until your own planning period." Au contraire, the 1500er cannot reveal the true amount of copies that will be forthcoming, and cannot delay.

In a pinch, your office secretary's sacred copier can be commandeered to do double duty. But don't think for an instant that playing Mrs. Nice Guy and letting other plan period teachers go ahead of you for shorter runs will endear you to them. They will see YOU as the villain because you got there first. Not the 1500er. Take it with a grain of salt, and consult your doctor to adjust your hypertension meds.

The fist-shaking and trash-talking will soon be forgotten as your faculty buries the hatchet by telling threatening tales of past instances of betrayal, and the resulting consequences. Good will restored, your faculty will pull together as one to tame the ever-vengeful copy beast.

In closing, I would like to congratulate The Greater Hillmomba One-Room Schoolhouse Association on taking one small step for education, but one giant leap for faculty relations.

Thank you. Thank you! No need to stand. I applaud you. Thank you.


Kathy's Klothesline said...

How do you really feel?

Sioux said...

In the district I used to work for, there was one copier, and one copier Queen. She treated that machine like it was her personal duplicator, and she was mean as a snake.

She would spread her papers on top of the copier and the counter in the office, and as she cut and pasted (literally) and dabbed on white-out at the counter, the copier was hers...all hers. If you dared to ask, "Alicia, can I use the copier while you're getting your stuff ready?" she'd slice your face to shreds with a single look. I still shudder at the memories...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Just fine, now. I love an anonymous blog. The feelings flow freely out my fingertips.

Well, I certainly hope you were not in line for a new face behind that monkey victim. And how does that waiting list for new faces work, anyway? First come, first served? Or tissue matches? Or cold, hard cash?