Life is sweet! Mrs. Not-A-Cook, two doors down from my Newmentia classroom, is throwing in the towel in a year and five-eighths, just like Mrs. Hillbilly Mom! While it's nice to have a partner in eventual escape, I hope I don't hurt my back carrying her. Just this morning, she says to me, "Mrs. Hillbilly Mom," she says, "we really ought to have a countdown."
"You mean, like marks on the wall? Or Xs on a calendar?"
"No, I mean like a number of days left that we can see each day."
"Oh, you mean like my best ol' ex-teaching buddy Mabel texts me every morning, even though it means standing out on her deck and holding her iPhone as high in the sky as she can reach so she can get a signal."
"Yeah. How many days are we contracted for? Isn't it 181?"
"I don't think it's that much. I think it's 174."
"I thought that was for the kids."
"I don't know! Now it's time for the bell. Mabel has that all figured out! It's on my phone right now. But I DO know that as of Friday, we will only have one year and five-eighths to go."
"Five-eighths?"
"Yeah! Are you not good with fractions?"
Uh huh. It's nice to have someone to count down with, but she's already wearing me out. Luckily lunch time put the bounce back in my step. The starch in my sails. The ball in my court. Yep. The subject of the Semi-Weekly Meeting of the Newmentia Lunch Time Think Tank was...RETIREMENT!
Those young whippersnappers were lamenting how many years they had left.
"I don't think I can make it after only 25 years. The money isn't enough. I'll have to go until 30."
"I'm out at 25. I'll get some other kind of job on the side."
"I don't mind the kids. It's all these hoops we have to jump through. It's ridiculous. That's all we have time for."
"Don't worry. That'll all change again in five years. It always does."
"I will be really old. Because I started later in life. The rule of 80 will get me out when I'm 59."
"I'm gonna keep on doin' what I'm doin'"
"It wouldn't be so bad if I could do something different."
"You mean like librarian? That doesn't seem too hard. All you have to do is keep track of your stuff."
"I don't know if I would like that."
"Yeah. You're a people person. So probably not. But I'm an anti-people person. So I would love it."
"Good luck with that. Our librarian isn't retiring yet."
"Why would she? It's the perfect job."
"I can go at 25 in only 9 years. But I think I'll have to wait until 14."
So long, farewell, auf wiedersehen, goodbye. Adieu, adieu, to you and you and you-ooo. Goodbye. Goodbye. GoodBYYYYYYYE....
Yeah. I didn't even rub it in that I only have one and five-eighths years to go.
4 comments:
You DID rub it in. I'm smarting all over. And don't say you didn't mean to, because you did.
I know how you can make it allll better. In a year and 5/8ths from now, you can volunteer in my classroom.
Yeah. That's the ticket.
Sioux,
When it rains, it pours. I hope you don't have any slug DNA.
Let the record show that "volunteering" is nothing more than unpaid work. You can't fool Mrs. Hillbilly Mom.
Just think, you could own your own business! I know a campground that is tentatively for sale! I bet He who would sweeten the deal and leave all the "collectables" in the Fred Sanford Emporium for Hick to amuse himself and you could teach swimmers to read the rules ......
Really, I could not do that to you!
Kathy,
No dice. That would be the perfect retirement vehicle for Farmer H. He could shoot the bull with people all day, have an ever-changing audience for his stories, and putter around like the handyman that he is. He's on his own, though. I don't need the aggravation.
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