The Curious Incident Of The Hag In The Afternoon

I was shocked last week by an incident after lunch. It is SO uncommon in Hillmomba and Newmentia that it momentarily caught me off guard.

For the most part, Newmentia is one long hallowed hall of learning. People do not show up at the door, pop in, soak up valuable learning time, or otherwise disrupt the educational process. The Pledge of Allegiance is spoken en masse every Monday morning, just after first bell. Crucial announcements concerning sports practices and after-school activities sound over the P.A. system five minutes before final bell. When a student's presence is requested in the office, a discrete phone call comes from the secretary to the classroom where the student is located. Learning. Loose students do not roam the halls. You can open a classroom door to look out when class is in session, and observe a tiled and concrete-blocked wasteland, bereft of even a tumbleweed.

So it was with shock that I was jolted out of my phospholipid bilayer reverie, into which I had fallen while giving a group on-line quiz to my biology class. The EOC is coming up in two weeks, you know. And I'm all about preparing them in a way they will retain knowledge. Pencil and paper book-learnin'? Not so much. A lively argument between two opposing factions as to whether the answer is B or C? Yeah. Vitriol is a prime motivator.

Into our hotly-contested cell membrane argument came two seniors. I do not teach seniors. The reason these older women appeared in my class of contentious juniors was soon revealed. "Can I borrow Stylist to fix may hair?"

"No. We are reviewing for the EOC test."

"You mean you won't let her fix my hair for senior pictures?"

"No. She needs to be here."

"You want me to get my picture with my hair like this?"

"You can do what you want to your hair. But Stylist is staying in class."

"I can't believe you won't let her fix my hair."

"Believe it. We're in the middle of a lesson. You need to leave."

Hairy Mop-Fur rounded up her little sidekick, whose job appeared to be Supportive Eye-Roller. And who apparently was no good at fixing hair. They left in a huff. Like I was the hag, for refusing such a polite request.

Good riddance to bad interrupters. That's what Mrs. Hillbilly Mom always says. Though she's had nary a reason to use it for nigh on twelve years now. Well...maybe that one time, when a kid showed up wanting his earphones from a buddy under my care and control, which are forbidden fruit, so the joke was on him.

Handbaskets, people! We are all on our way to Not-Heaven in handbaskets. With messy hair.