Sweet Gummi Mary!
Everybody wants a piece of our pie!
Not my pie. Heh, heh. Like
I could make a pie by warming things in the oven or heating them in the
microwave. Nope. Not Hick’s pie. My grandma used to make him blackberry cobbler
if I picked the blackberries from our field ahead of the berry-snatchers who
made it their business to drive up a private gravel road every year, traipse
onto our property, and fill their buckets and gullets with the fruit of Hick’s
labors. It got to the point where he quit mowing around those brambles. Let
them eat cake! Or, rather, let them get all itchy and tick-y while robbing us
fruit-blind.
No, I’m not even talking
about the pie the Jeffersons got a piece of when they moved on up to that
deluxe apartment in the sky-y-y. Not pie on the lunch tray. Students are not
allowed pie anymore, unless it has whole wheat crust, no sugar, and limited
salt. As if anybody would want to eat such a pie, even if they got it for free.
No sirree, Bob! What I’m talking about is
the educational pie.
Just before my lunch
period at 10:53 a.m., a lunch period which was pieless, I might add, consisting
of triangle sections of some quesadilla-looking thing that was supposed to be a
taco, broccoli, canned fruit salad, and milk, an announcement blared over the
ceiling speakers. “Teachers. During your lunch period, be sure to stop by the
teacher workroom and see the three representatives with the Blues hockey team
about opportunities they have to offer.”
Huh. Like my lunch 22
minutes is too long to keep me occupied actually eating my pieless lunch. Blues
representatives in the teacher workroom meant something else besides
opportunity to me. It meant three extra people to hear me peeing, three extra
people to sit around the table in that limited space and block my path to the
in-school suspension assignment box, and three more people to see my butt as I
bent over to pick up reams of paper, rip them open, and deposit them in the
bottom (heh, heh, I said bottom) drawers of the Kyocera.
A few fellow faculty went
to visit. Apparently those guys had some good deals on buy-one/get-one tickets
to Blues games, except you can’t pick the dates, and you have to pay $50 for
your first two tickets. Like teachers carry that kind of money around with them, this being exactly six days away from payday. The #1 son LOVES the Blues, but with him being an RA
this year, and away at college with only a few weekends off during the
semester, I don’t think it would be feasible for us right now. How much money,
really, do the Blues think they can make by selling tickets to teachers door to
door?
I’m waiting for the next
announcement. That the Fuller Brush salesman is here.
2 comments:
Next thing you know, they will be selling Krispy Kreme doughnuts--teachers' lounge to teachers' lounge...
Sioux,
Well, good luck to them, because one of our clubs does that as a fundraiser twice a year.
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