Feast or famine. Flood or drought. There is no predicting the winds of adolescence.
Only yesterday, I had to chain my textbooks to the desk like a pen on a bank counter. And today, they were abandoned like extra kittens on a rural road.
Pardon me if I am not my loquacious self tonight. I am still reeling from the shock I experienced this afternoon. Get the smelling salts! I feel faint.
After all these years of learning the ropes and righting the ship, today I felt like the U.S.S. Minnow. Right now I am burying my feet in the sand, soon to be followed by my head, here on Hillbilly Mom Island. I don't know if I will ever show my face again in civilization. For today, I suffered the ultimate insult. I was addressed as
"HEY BUD! WHAT'S UP?"
My face blazes red as flowing lava on a Kilauea slope at dusk at the mere thought of this affront. Like Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II should not be touched...neither should Mrs. Hillbilly Mom be addressed as HEY BUD.
Seriously. A kid left his book inside his desk. I am not a book harvester, nor do I store them for the long winter ahead. I am a booklender. I lend. You keep. Until I want them back. My classroom is not a storage facility. Nor do I make like UPS and deliver to your door. I do, however, note the book number on that paper orphan, and call the authorities. In this case, the teacher you have that hour, and request your presence so you can be reunited with your textbook. I am certain that your teacher informed you of the reason for your invitation. So there is no reason to make a grand entrance and say (SHUDDER) to Mrs. Hillbilly Mom,
"HEY BUD! WHAT'S UP?'
From there it went a little something like this:
"Are you talking to ME?"
"Um. No. I was asking the class."
"There is your book. Go get it and get out. Don't leave it again." To which the Book Abandoner strutted across the front of the room and began molesting his desk, reaching his hand inside like he was an animal husbandryman checking a heifer for pregnancy.
"What are you doing? Your book is right there, where I told you it was. Don't you know how to listen, BUD?"
Upon the exit of the BA, I returned to handing papers back to my class. "Sorry if you found that act amusing. I, myself, did not."
Let the record show that this group was not a receptive audience to that clown. It's the A and B group, with only one C, the lowest grade, on that roster.
You can rest assured that BA BUD will be escorted to my classroom during his 22-minute lunch hour the next time he leaves his book. Let's see how that act goes over with an audience of one.