Monday, April 27, 2015

Getta Loada

You know, how on Monday mornings, you just don't really want to deal with extraneous details? How you want to get to work, settle into your routine, forge into the week with a purpose, like you planned on Friday, which now seems so long ago? Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is like that, too.

Didn't happen.

As I entered the building, I saw The Pony flash past me on the way to his locker. That's not unusual. I give him the keys, and he trots on ahead, bearing the burden of my school bag. He sets it down, leaves the keys on my desk, and heads off to grab what he needs for his first couple of classes. But this morning, he gave me a sidelong glance. Not really a smirk on his face, but a different look. Like he had a secret. Like he had a secret he did not want to reveal to me. I soon saw why.

As I opened the door, I was met by this:

Let the record show that Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's classroom is not a library. Nor is it a doctor's waiting room, a duty-free shop at the airport, a bookseller's trade show, or an educational supplies kiosk at the mall.

So there I was, arriving right on schedule, with plans to get my pupil usernames and passwords cut out in ticket form to hand them at the stroke of start-school-thirty so we could complete the practice version of our upcoming state test online. Do you know how hard it is to book computer lab space this time of year? And instead, my path was blocked. It may look like there was room to squeeze through, but that's an illusion. Even passage for the narrow girth of The Pony was impeded.

"Well, ain't that a fine how-do-you-do?" said Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. Never. As she had some more colorful words with which to paint this portrait.

The Pony, ever loyal, returned. "Do you need me to get this out of your way? Take it back to the teacher workroom?"

"Yes. Please!"

You know, I don't mind people assuming they can trespass on my turf just because they have a master key, as long as none of my stuff is moved or destroyed, and NOTHING EXTRA IS LEFT FOR ME TO DEAL WITH!

Nineteen days. Plus one year. This too, shall pass.

Did you see what's perched in the middle of that rack, about two-thirds of the way down?


Sioux said...

Is that a Pony?

Or is THE Pony? Did he become--magically--a tiny stuffed pony so he could see your facial expression as you saw the travesty that had taken place?

Hillbilly Mom said...

It IS a PONY! And you'll never guess what it does! So I'll tell you, because I pretty much have enough to do without waiting around for you to play 21,000 questions. That pony WALKS if you push a button on its head! I would be tempted to buy it, because it's very cute, but when I picked it up later in the teacher workroom, I could feel all its metal workings, like a hard skeleton. Then it wasn't so cute anymore, but kind of a creepy toy masquerading as a soft pony.

I know The Pony was afraid to see my reaction. That's why he went to his locker first, rather than waiting for me to enter. Mrs. Hillbilly Mom does not cotton to Monday morning surprises.