Yesterday was not a good day. I hoofed it up the hall, hoping to grab some prime water-closet real estate, only to find Sweet Alabama Beige standing in front of my desired destination, her hand on the door handle. She was having a discussion with The Professor.
[Pardon me while we stop to trash The Professor, the only teacher whom, in a variety of courses, has ever stymied my boys. They have never been able to earn an A. Oh, the occasional A- has slipped through, probably an oversight on The Professor’s part. And it IS true that Newmentia has an elevated 11-point grading scale, with a 93% being necessary for an A-, and a 97% for an A. But still. If a Commended National Merit Scholar and a National Merit Scholar Semifinalist (so far) cannot earn an A, who in this Newsweek Top 500 School can? It seems to me that an A must at least be attainable. Faculty who dish out too many Fs are encouraged to review their methods and curriculum. So, too, should those whose educational currency is the incredible unattainable A.]
Anyhoo, now that I’m refreshed from my soap box sojourn…I was standing outside the faculty workroom door, looking in at the not-quite-animated discussion. Knowing that Sweet Alabama Beige (bless her heart!) is not one to end conversations succinctly, but is wont to explore all options before putting the brakes on her vocabularic vehicle, I abandoned all hope before I entered there. Not gonna happen. No way was Sweet Alabama Beige going put that confab to bed and take care of her business within four minutes. AND there was the matter of The Professor. Merely chatting, or waiting for a turn? Nobody knows.
That is one of the perks of being retired, I suppose. Using your own bathroom whenever the urge strikes, and not standing in line, or having somebody thumping on the door the minute you descend onto the throne.
Have you heard? I will be sitting blissfully on my own toilet in a mere FOUR MONTHS!