So yesterday just before lunch I got a call from the office. From the office worker, to be precise.
"The insurance man is coming. Make sure you don't have any candles burning."
How random, you might think. But no. There is a method to this madness. A few years ago, Arch Nemesis went off and left a candle burning in her classroom while she enjoyed her 18-minute cafeteria lunch. That's a no-no. Because the insurance man came that day, and raised quite a flap over a flickering flame. Because you know that while you're out of the room, all manner of flammable teaching accouterments are going to jump right into that candle. And for good measure, we are also banned from having those melty wax smelly pots going. On days when the insurance man is coming.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom leaves the aura of her room au natural. So I knew I didn't have to worry.
So today here comes The Little General down the hall. Mrs. Not-A-Cook was all discombobulated because she thought he was coming into her room with that clipboard. "WHAT have you done now?" I asked as she scurried by just ahead of him. She could, because her legs are longer than his.
The Little General spoke: "Or maybe it's Mrs. Hillbilly Mom." He ducked into my room. Looked at the back corner. "Yep. It's her."
"What do you mean? I didn't have a candle burning."
"You have a TV that's not strapped to the cart."
"I know that. That's what the insurance man wrote up last time he was here. Which was a long time ago."
"Well, that TV should have been strapped down."
"I'm not buying a strap and putting it on my TV. I don't even use that TV. The cart belongs to the library. They can have it back, and my TV, too."
"That doesn't matter. Wherever it is, that TV needs to be strapped down."
"I'm not the one to do it."
"You should have told Mr. Principal the last time."
"I'm pretty sure he's the one who told me. I don't get the report."
"Well, you need to tell him. Tell you what. I'm going to the store this afternoon. I'll get a strap."
"The last time my bookcase was an issue, too, because it isn't bolted to the wall."
"Oh! It has to be bolted to the wall."
"That means it can't be moved."
"I think it will fall apart if it gets bolted."
"It has to be. Kids could climb on it and it could turn over on them."
"You know, my posters fall off the wall, too, and they might slice a kid's jugular."
"I wouldn't bring that up."
So off went The Little General. Indeed, he came back (in a classroom full of kids, of course), to fasten a royal blue come-along across the top of my TV and under the shelf of the cart. RATCHET! RATCHET! RATCHET! He put that thing on tight. He thought. But the underside looked like the aftermath of the belly of a recalcitrant pony who decided to blow up his gut while the saddle was cinched, then let it out.
The Little General did not molest the bookcase. I only have four giant 3-ring binders on there with my self-built curriculum. I don't sense a casualty will be forthcoming.
I'm not telling on my bookcase. Other people get paid a lot of money to figure these things out.