Friday, February 14, 2014

The February Doldrums Rear Their Bloody Head

Oh, dear. It's the February doldrums. Never mind that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has had 18 snow days to keep her sane. And has another six sick days to assuage her every illness, or lose those six days to the great sucking vacuum of unused teacher sick days, sick days that go POOF like a thought bubble dream in a Tom and Jerry cartoon.

I love my job. But every year, in the middle of February, I only like it. Platonically. If My Job and I went on a date, we would go to the school play, pay for our tickets separately, sit next to each other making sure our legs and arms didn't touch, perhaps stop off for a McDonald's cheeseburger, dutch, and drive me home, where My Job would sit behind the wheel rather than going around to open my door, and I would walk to the porch and wave, unaccompanied, and unkissed.

You can't blame the students. They are kids. Kids who were today under the influence of a fast-moving arctic clipper, with rain that they hoped would turn to snow, on this Friday, the day before the full moon. Kids who had lost their gruntle. Disgruntled kids who were unhappy with life itself, but in particular the particulars of the P R O M, and the proper procedures for disinfecting classroom furniture adorned with a smidgen of dried body fluid of the red variety. Oh, the two issues were completely unrelated, separated by grade assignment, four hours, and maturity level.


Here are the perceived problems with the P R O M:

It's so stupid that we get invitations. Duh! I bought a ticket. I KNOW I'm going to P R O M! That's the dumbest thing I ever heard of. I don't want a stupid invitation.

I can't believe they won't let my friend go. Just because she's 21. She only turns 21 four days before P R O M. I don't know why they can't make an exception. Just because the rules say you can't be over 21. I'm so sure if I was 21, I'd want to get drunk with a bunch of high-schoolers. But they say if they make an exception for her, then they have to make an exception for So&So. That's dumb. So&So had a lot of discipline problems when he went here. He shouldn't be allowed to come because of that. And because he's over 21.

Why can't you wear what you want to P R O M? I think you should be able to wear jeans if you want. Seriously. You pay all that money for a ticket, and then you can't wear what you're comfortable in? That's stupid.

You can't wear jeans to P R O M! A guy can wear a pair of dress slacks. But not jeans.

Isn't the whole purpose of P R O M to dress up and go out to dance?

I don't know why people even go to P R O M. I think a bunch of us should just dress up and drive around town and do crazy things.

That's what you do AFTER P R O M.

I think the principal should have to go to P R O M. That's just stupid. It's HIS school.

Why should he have to go? It's not even AT school.

That's just because A, B, and C are in charge of P R O M. I don't even know where that place is we're having it. I think it's kind of small. It's the upstairs of someplace.

Well, he should be there. What if there's a problem? Can A, B, and C break up a fight? I don't think so.

We're having bouncers.


I don't know. But they're going to be at the door to make sure you have a ticket. And if you leave, you can't get back in.

They'd better be able to break up a fight. Just in case there is one.


The body fluid kids were acting their usual selves. Again, can't blame kids. Kids will be kids. But in February, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's patience grows short. She does not suffer drama kings and queens gladly. Nor does she look fondly upon loud mouths blaring during one of today's 27 announcements from the big loudspeaker in the ceiling, blaring so loudly that even the very loud loudspeaker could not be heard. Nor does Mrs. Hillbilly Mom approve of a student talking to a staff member in the hallway, click click clicking the latches on Mrs. HM's door, latches that have been know to cause the entire deadbolt mechanism to fall out of the door due to click click clicking.

Why does this room always stink so freakin' much? Every time I walk in here, this room stinks.

Welcome. Hello to you too.

Hey! There's BLOOD on that desk! There's BLOOD on that desk!

Yuck! We're all going to get AIDS!

Look! There's BLOOD!

EEK! We're getting AIDS!

Hey! Hey! There's BLOOD on that desk! And you better do something about it!

Is it on your desk?


We're going to get AIDS! We're getting AIDS!

Is in on YOUR desk?


Then I suggest that you two close your mouths, and quit acting like this is kindergarten, and maybe I can figure out where it is. The proper thing to do would be for the person who has blood on his desk to come tell me there's blood on the desk, so I could say, 'Sit somewhere else,' and get the custodian to come in with the special cleaner used to clean up blood.

I have blood on my desk.

Sit somewhere else. There. Was that so hard? Now, nobody is touching the blood. I'll get it cleaned up when class is over. You act like I should run over there and spit on it and polish it with my elbow. It's dry. It's a tiny smudge. Stay away from it and you'll be fine.

Yes, it's the February doldrums, with a fast-moving storm and an imminent full moon. My Job and I are not breaking up. We're solid. We will work through our problems and be back to normal in no time. Around the beginning of April.


Sioux said...

There are days I threaten to legally separate...days I plot to slip 'em some arsenic...days I fantasize about just heading to Vegas for a quickie divorce.

But most days, I'm in love...

Hillbilly Mom said...

A strong union, not easily torn asunder. Though actually, My Job and I separated for six years, then reunited.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I suppose a mass sedation would be frowned upon .......

Hillbilly Mom said...

Yes. Even here in Missouri.