Sweet Gummi Mary! The hallowed halls of Newmentia were exceptionally frigid this morning. And we were an hour later getting there!
My classroom was 65 degrees! That is not acceptable, even for the preservation of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's decomposing carcass. My hands did not warm up until after lunch, when I put them in my pockets and leaned over to sandwich them between layers of my blubber. I will be wearing a puffy coat all winter if this travesty of facility policy continues. I hope none of the students set up a wine display. Not with me only having a hundred dollar bill, and no newsstand to break it by buying gum, a Clark bar, a newspaper, and a Penthouse Forum.
I did make sure my thermostat was on HEAT. We're not supposed to touch them, you know. But I clicked it through from HEAT COLD OFF a couple of times. Then I hit the up arrow twice. We're supposedly able to increase the HOLD temperature by two degrees. Even though the standard setting in all rooms is 68. The system kicks down to a night program at 3:30, I think. And comes back to the day program at 7:30 a.m.
This is no way to run a business. Those kids don't have enough fat to burn for warmth, what with the paltry and barely palatable school lunches these days. Today they ate haystacks. No wonder many had a tummy ache this afternoon.
Oh, for the days of the old steam radiator in the classroom, right under those large, single-pane windows with the wooden dividers coated with flaking lead paint, when the only meal served was lunch, and milk was whole, white only.
We were a hardier lot.
3 comments:
And Dodgeball was played.
Yeah, those were the days...
Gloves. You need gloves. I was sealed in a house with piles of blankets on every bed and the thermostat set at 80 degrees. I am on the road, gong home to see what havoc He Who has stirred up. He bought a Class C in my absence. Says he did laundry and mopped, but the floor is sticky with an odd smell. Can't wait!
Sioux,
But our teacher made us take it easy on the frail kids. WHAT KIND OF DODGEBALL IS THAT?
*****
Kathy,
Oh, dear. What the not-heaven did he use for mopping?
I DO need gloves. The kind with that flap that uncovers your fingertips, so I can type and do my teacherly duties.
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