There Might Be A Trip To Michigan To Recycle Pop Bottles In Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's Future

Hellooo...HM!

Yeah. Like Jerry said, "Hellooo...NEWMAN!" With scorn. Annoyance. Not a high opinion. That's Mrs. Hillbilly Mom today. She is despicable. Like Newman.

Also like Newman, Mrs. Hillbilly Mom has a little quote for you. But we'll save it until the end.

Today, The Pony and I headed off for Newmentia to pick up his schedule. It's not something I like to do, but something that must be done. He had to get his folder and papers for filling out the same information we fill out every year, and get his locker assignment. No parking place for The Pony. Yet. Though they would have given him one if he asked.

I like to stay far, far away from Newmentia on this day each summer. As do all teachers. Got some work to do in your room? You do it the other four days this week. Our 181 contracted days don't start until Monday, you know. No need to be on display for the entire pupil body to drop in and usurp your unpaid moments. But there I was. Waiting for The Pony to pick up his paperwork so I could fill it out, and testing my work laptop to see if my issues had been remedied.

There I was, my ample buttocks just plopped down on my rolly chair, the power button pushed, in the middle of the first of assorted passwords, when a woman and child entered my domain.

"Are you Mrs. Hillbilly Mom?"

"Yes, that's me." I was startled. Not expecting visitors. In fact, I had set the door to lock, and only had it propped open for The Pony to return with his forms that needed filling. That way I don't have to take them home and forget about them until a week later when they're due. The initial paperwork for a locker is something most kids can come up with. Phone numbers and email and emergency contacts.

"Well, go introduce yourself," the woman told the child. A child bigger than The Pony.

"Oh, this isn't open house, you know. I brought my son for his schedule. I just got here."

The child was still smiling. Stopped the half-step taken from the door corner toward my control center in the opposite corner of the room.

"I don't mean to be rude. But I'm only here because I brought my son. Sorry."

The woman and child nodded and turned to seek the next room on the schedule. They did not seem to bear any ill will. I felt bad. Because Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is a gosh-darn giver. A staunch supporter of her charges. Willing to go the extra mile for their every need. Well. As long as her time is contracted.

When I told day-off-having Farmer H the tale, he shook his head. "They're just people, HM. Just people wanting to stop in and meet the teacher."

Here's the thing. That pair walks in. The kid comes to shake hands and self-introduce at the woman's prompting. Next thing you know, the woman has wandered back to the desk. Gives me the child's complete history from conception to thirty seconds ago. Describes siblings of kid, maybe graduated, maybe in preschool. Makes comparisons. Details personal educational achievements before having kid and siblings. Grinds ax on former faculty who have had bones to pick with child. THEN another couple appears at the door. And waits THEIR turn for an audience with Her Royal Heinous Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. And another. And before you know it, Mrs. HM is working a full day for nothing.

Let the record show that open house is next week, and woman and child will surely be there. So they WILL get their chance to interact with Mrs. Hillbilly Mom on the properly scheduled evening. No need for Mrs. HM to feel bad about her banning, right? Right? In fact, Mrs. HM has even seen her immediate administrator tell folks at open house that this is not a conference day. To keep them moving, you see. So the teachers don't get bogged down, and the night does not stretch on to infinity. Only this, and nothing more. Everything in good SCHEDULED time.

"Because the patrons never stop! They just keep coming and coming and coming. There's never a let-up."

Yeah. That's Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's quote.