Wednesday, August 29, 2012

Placing Blame 101: Wherein Mrs. Hillbilly Mom Makes A Fool Of Herself Once Again In The Eyes Of The Universe

Tuesday morning I arrived at school all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, having enjoyed a full six hours of sleep. I set about my business of logging in seventy-eleven times to access all of the top-secret files that we teachers must work with each day. Shortly before first bell, I noticed something on the floor by my spare rolly chair. The one just across my desk, by the back table.

It was a dead scorpion.

That's a slightly unusual sight in my room, though the building has had a sudden upsurge in them lately. So I wanted a picture to share. My phone was already turned off. I am a stickler for rules. I knew there was no time to power it up again and get that photo. I vowed that I would get one on my 2nd hour plan time. In the meantime, I had to keep kids away from that area. The purpose of their banishment was twofold. To keep them from trying to sit in the forbidden rolly chair and inadvertently destroying my photo op. And to keep them from screaming hysterically, "There's a scorpion! Do something!"

I was busy working 2nd hour. At the end, I got out my phone and turned it on. I snapped a pic. Or so I thought. My camera malfunctioned. No time for a reboot and pictures. I rebooted, then turned off the sound and stashed the phone in my top desk drawer just as the bell rang. I decided I could get that picture right before lunch.

My 3rd hour class kindly informed me, despite shushing from two or three individuals, that my assignment was missing sections two and four. That's because I was forsaken by Kyocera, who got all re-setty and stuff when I backed out of the printing commands to add stapling to his repertoire. I told them I would remedy the situation forthwith. There are only seven in that class. No bad blood amongst them. Carers and sharers one and all. They were already working with partners. So I dashed two doors down to the copy room, only to find that somebody had just remotely printed a set of fifty eighty-page handouts. Stapled. I hurried a few more doors to the office. Ran my fourteen copies. Scurried back. No harm, no foul. Those cherubs were working away.

When the bell rang to go to lunch, I grabbed my phone out of the drawer. Hurried to the back table and my dead scorpion. Ding-dang-dong it all! My scorpion had been disturbed. Wait until I get my larynx on those little devils! I bet they were snooping around back there by my control center, looking for answers. Probably getting ready to have races in my spare rolly chair, to boot. I oughta...But wait! Time was wasting. I needed that picture of the dead scorpion.

I practically stood on my head to get a decent shot. Then it dawned on me: I can move that scorpion out and take a picture more easily. Recreate the crime scene. I grabbed a scrap of paper from my desk. Leaned over. Scooted the scorpion...


That blasted scorpion had been playing possum for three hours and fifteen minutes! It could have stung me on my bare sock foot as I aired out my tootsies on my plan period. Not four feet away, it had been. And people think the rain forest is deadly. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's classroom is a close second.

I suppose I own a mental apology to my 3rd hour class.


Sioux said...

OMG! If I could change the size of this font, I would.

You can leave children unattended? You lucky duck. Twenty years ago, when teaching, I could run across the hall to the bathroom, when my bladder was about to burst. I could pee in 45 seconds.

Now, I just wear a pair of Depends. It's easier that way...

Hillbilly Mom said...

Within reason. I have the classroom closest to the office, teacher workroom, and bathrooms. Freshmen are never to be left unattended. Juniors, seven kids, all friends...up to two minutes in dire situations, few and far between.

Let's hope they don't stop manufacturing Depends. Then you would have to buy up all that you could find, and store them in a closet. You would have to determine which class was Dependsworthy.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

No screaming? I would have screamed. Not voluntarily, the scream would have just burst forward. Like scorpions can hear .... or can they?

Hillbilly Mom said...

I recoiled. All my energy went into backing away from that crazy possum-playing scorpion. Forget the scream. He curled up his tail while my hand was nearby, scooping at him with a scrap of paper.

I don't know if scorpions can hear. I'm on the outs with my BFF Google, so I refuse to look it up. But in place of that knowledge, I will share with you that butterflies taste with their feet.