It Wasn't Really On The Menu

This has been a real crap sandwich of a day. In fact, if today was an actual crap sandwich, it would be one of those party sub football-field-long crap sandwiches. This crap sandwich could feed the entire population of Rhode Island, with citizens who don't like crap sandwiches giving their portion to beefy bodybuilders who need extra protein.

Such a crap sandwich. The two sides, the bread, if you will, or as I call them, the drive to and from work fighting to avoid freaking idiots, were chock full of the fiber some call tailgaters. The sky was dark as night, because, well, it was still night, the sun not yet having risen, and having no intention of rising, due to heavy downpours throughout the morning.

I returned end-of-quarter benchmark tests, noting that the goal of classroom instruction is for students to learn new information, not forget old information. The 1st quarter test should yield a higher score than the pre-test. Hahahahaha! Mrs. Hillbilly Mom plans, the universe laughs. Not only has Mrs. Hillbilly Mom failed to teach a few students any new concepts, but her classroom is apparently a giant sucking black hole which slurps information from teenage noggins like Augustus Gloop slurping calories from Willy Wonka's chocolate river.

Here's a new technique mastered by today's youth. Instead of coloring in the tiny circle beside the answer that contains the letter a, b, c, or d...or even circling the words of the selected answer...the cutting-edge style is to draw a line through the answer. That's right. Draw a line through the answer. Like it's a found word in a word-find puzzle. And make sure to draw that pencil line as faintly as possible.

The longer you stay, the longer you stay. If you need to grade papers or make parent contacts for 90 minutes after school, you can be sure that a folk who is being paid to stay, whether through career ladder direct student contact hours, or $20 per hour through 21st Century Grant, will track you down and need something from you for a student who has been scheduled for the last week to be there that day.

Pity the poor fool who plans to eat chicken wings left over from Sunday's shopping spree for her supper. Who plans on it all the live-long day. Who specifically tells her husband five items he can make himself before bowling Monday night, should he choose to eat at home instead of in the alley, and pointedly decrees that "I'm saving those chicken wings for me tomorrow night." Who arrives home Tuesday around 6:00, to find the bucket housing a trio of chicken wings. THREE. Three chicken wings. I don't know about you, but three chicken wings does not a meal make for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.

Upon interrogating the bowler, who had declared that he was having the leftover spaghetti Monday night, the fate of the chicken wings is revealed. "I must have ate them. I didn't want to fool with the spaghetti."

"Oh. You were too lazy to warm up the spaghetti."

"No. I just didn't want to mess with it."

"Do you know how to warm up spaghetti?"

"Well yes."

"Then you were too lazy to warm up the spaghetti."

"Whatever. I'm always doing something wrong."

"Exactly."

I'm going to wrap a big crap sandwich in foil, and tell him not to touch it. That it's my lunch for the rest of the week. Heh heh. There's more than one way to dispose of a crap sandwich.