Justice Is Meted Out To The Little Slacker

The honor of the slacks has been besmirched! An embarrassing stain appeared Tuesday evening on the upper right thigh, in a dribble that could be misconstrued by those wanting to cast aspersions upon the toileting accuracy of one Pony Hillbilly of Hillmomba, USA.

The khaki slacks! Jake from State Farm would have a tremor in his voice if he knew he was wearing stained slacks. I felt bad for The Pony. He did, after all, stop by the dispensing station of the faculty feeding frenzy on conference night to pick up our meals and deliver mine to me. Therein lies the problem.

We always order out on the night we have to stay until 7:00. We’ve tried different vendors over the years, from Chinese to Mexican to Subway to a local bar and grill. This year, we changed Chinese restaurants in favor of a new one, rumored to be less oily, where one of our students works. It goes a little like this.

All morning people are wondering if we’re going to order out. Not wondering enough to take the initiative and send around an order sheet. But wondering just the same. At lunch, one of the shifts decides where the food is coming from. They discuss their order. Sign up and pay. Then through the afternoon, the teachers from the other lunch shifts grouse about being left out. Soon enough, whether by design or out of shame, a student is sent up and down the long hallway of Newmentia to show a menu and take orders from other faculty. It is considered polite to give extra money for tax, and not be a miser about getting your exact change back. A tip for the driver who goes to pick it up, even though the chance to leave the grounds and puff a smoke are usually incentive enough that the delivery job does not go begging.

Since The Pony had to stay all that time with me, I ordered a dinner for him as well. I’m sure many a comment was made about Mrs. Hillbilly Mom ordering TWO dinners. Teachers can be so cruel.

So…the food arrived. Before I even knew it was there by the announcement over the intercom, The Pony was carrying my food into my classroom. “Oh. I heard the teachers talking about it down on my hall when the food got here. So I left the ATV room (that’s what I call it, but it really has a different name) to get my meal. Somebody there asked if I was bringing yours to you, so I said, ‘Sure. Why not?’ And here it is.” Yep. That Pony sure has no interest in helping people.

“I’m sorry about this mess on your desk. It was leaking when I picked it up. In fact, it got all over me.” He grabbed a Puffs and started wiping it on his slacks.

“NO! That will leave tissue crumbs all over your slacks. Get some Germ-X and dab it with your finger. I’ll scrub your slacks before I wash them. Until then, you’re just going to have to walk around with a stain on them.”

“Eh. I’m just going back to the ATV (not his words) room. I’ll be okay.”

Poor Pony. We know how he loves his slacks. But he loves sweet-and-sour chicken and internet access more.