Break The Mo-old

Let's hope the mold is broken.

Shattered to miniscule fragments, like a piece of Waterford crystal (illegally) flung off the top of the Empire State Building. Melted to oblivion, like Lieutenant Ellen Ripley after her swan dive into a fiery vat of molten lead in Alien 3. Blown to smithereens, like that bridge on the River Kwai. Ripped into a million little pieces, like James Frey's credibility.

Yes. We do not want the mold to survive. The mold that made the collective batch of pupils who arrived to walk the hallowed halls of Newmentia this year. Such a unique group. Unschooled in the ways of...well...school. Having no concept of what the educational setting entails. Like gamboling puppies turned loose at a white-tablecloth black-tie dinner. Gnawing on the shoestrings of the guest of honor. Total strangers to proper decorum.

This morning I had to leave my post door-side, and trek a few tens of feet to the faculty women's restroom, where you're always next to next to next to next to next in line. I did not expect problems. The Germ-X was safely stowed away. Two of the top instigators were on the absentee report. The very first pupils had just begun to enter. How was Mrs. Hillbilly Mom to know that those tiny-bladder gals amongst her colleagues could hold so much? When nature and the pharmacy call, Mrs. HM knows to listen. Besides, it was an easy day of project-finishing, final review, and video. Nothing to rile the clientele.

Imagine Mrs. HM's surprise when she rounded the corner of her door a mere 10 seconds after the bell, and discovered every pupil sitting in his assigned area. Though not necessarily in his own desk.

Let the record show that this project requires the removal of one student desk from the seating chart. Not the chair. Only the desk. It is pulled to the side, placed next to the desk where assignments are turned in at the corner by the pencil sharpener, and used for the testing of the project, to see which group earns the most bonus points. It's not rocket science. It's building bridges out of paper. Which we did on Friday as well, and only needed to finish up today. So this was not some foreign concept that had not been observed on the very last day the pupils were in Mrs. HM's classroom.

"Wait a minute! Why are you sitting at a desk? There was no desk there when you came in."

"I didn't know what you'd want me to do."

"Sit on your chair. Exactly like you did on Friday."

"I didn't know if you'd want me without a desk. So I took one."

"From WHERE?"

"He took MY desk! So I took that one next to me, on the other side."

"And that was MY desk. So I pulled over the one nobody sits in."

"No. Just no. Put them back where they go."

"But then I don't have a desk."

"Your desk is right THERE! The one we're testing with. All you have to do is sit on your chair and watch. You have the best seat in the house. It's what you did on Friday. Just sit there on the chair in your regular place."

"Oh. Okay."

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom went about her business, handing out handouts to study as a review for the test on Wednesday. Taking attendance. Reading announcements. Readying the project testers.

"Wait a minute! Where did THIS chair come from? A chair does not belong here!"

"Oh. It's from over here."

Let the record show that the student chair right in front of Mrs. HM's desk was two rows back, and four desks over from where it belonged.

How do they DO that?

Break the mold! (Break break break, duh duh duh duh duh duh, break break break, duh duh duh duh duh duh...break the mo-old).

Don't even think about shakin' your booty.