It happened only yesterday, when Mrs. Hillbilly Mom was scanning the halls for ne'er-do-wells between classes. Even though this year the ne'er-do-wells are doing their ne'er-well business inside her classroom as she is stationed outside. Mrs. HM needs a neck that swivels like an owl's to keep track of that crowd. But she's been doing it. Successfully. No neck injury in 23 days. Okay. I made that up. But it's been a while since my neck was my major complaint.
I walked back into the classroom, to the back wall, where I grabbed give-back papers. No sooner had I started to the front corner to pass them out (because Mrs. HM is one organized ol' gal) alphabetically across the rows than my phone rang. You remember my phone, don't you? The one on the back table in my command center, in the corner opposite the door? So I hoofed it back there toot-sweet, only to have it stop ringing as I plopped my ample butt onto my rolly chair in order to reach it without doing a twisty-bendy thing with my back.
Let the record show that my rolly chair is as cantankerous as a rodeo bronc with a cocklebur jammed up underneath his hang-on strap. He was made for carpet, and has made no bones about his displeasure sitting on industrial tile for these last five years, supporting Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. In general, he will not roll forward as I try to scoot toward my laptop to peer at the screen with my squinty eyes and bad glasses. He will, however, glide back as I'm sitting there minding my own business, moving only the muscle in my forehead that raises my left eyebrow to give a student the stinkeye. No matter how I spin that chair, I can't get his plastic-fendered wheels to line up so they will glide forward, hold in place, and take a bit of pushin' to go backwards.
I sat down and turned my rolly chair on his pedestal to face the phone so I could pick up the receiver and call the office to
Now I have an eggy knot that is sure to turn purple, courtesy of Rolly and my against-its-will thinned blood.
Is the whahhhmbulance here yet?