Mrs. Hillbilly Mom never thought it would come to this. Never thought she would have to lock her classroom door in Newmentia to keep out squatters or invaders. And now, with mere HOURS (albeit 757.5) left until her impending retirement, she grows wary.
Mrs. HM has been locked out of her own room!
Okay. So it's not a big deal to Mrs. HM, because she has the KEY! Carries that thing in her pocket at all times. In fact, that key has worn a hole in many a pocket of hers. But The Pony has no key to carry. And he had to search the building after school to get in. That's because Mrs. HM was waylaid at the other end of Newmentia by a pupil who lollygagged for 50 minutes, then asked to stay after final bell to complete the assignment. Far be it from Mrs. Hillbilly Mom to turn down an imminently turn-in-able assignment. So she agreed. Then a colleague came in, which meant a short chat on our love for molding the young lives who will ultimately decide our future. Whether it's clipping our toenails in a skilled care facility, or running the country. It couldn't have been more than 10 minutes that Mrs. HM was not at her room. But 10 minutes is an eternity to The Pony.
I was shocked to hear that my room was locked. I left it unlocked. With a sign on the door saying where my classes were meeting. The only way that door could have become locked was if the custodial staff veered from their schedule and cleaned my room during school time. Uh huh. One would think one could leave a door in the state one found it. Locked if locked, unlocked if unlocked. Only yesterday, the same thing happened to another crony from my hall-end.
One would think that with all that extra time to clean during the school day, one could take one's time and be thorough. Or not. Because upon re-entry, this is what I spied.
Let the record show that no faculty member wants a wastebasket without a trash bag. Do you know the kind of stuff kids put in there? GARBAGE! We hear about it, too. Not Mrs. HM specifically, because hers is a no-food/no-beverage zone. But those who allow breakfasters and lunchers and snackers-during-classers in their domains are reminded when their area is...less than fresh.
It's not like one's hair might be on fire, or a comet headed for Newmentia, so that split-second escape is of the essence. Even if it were, there is no reasonable excuse for not bagging the can.
Yep. Right there inside is a roll of bags. No hardship involved. No need to go back to the supply closet. Simply reach down and grab one. Lift the wastebasket if one has a bad back, grab a bag, then put the can down after lining it while setting it on the desk to the right.
Mrs. Hillbilly Mom is definitely making her exit at an opportune moment in the history of Newmentia.