Hopefully, He Won’t Have An Idiot Named Ted Working For Him

Oh, dear. I envision The Pony as a latter-day Lou Grant. We all know he doesn’t really care about people. And I’m pretty sure he hates spunk. I was holding out hope that he MIGHT be able to escape this destiny, because The Pony has not yet taken to drinking desk whiskey while on the job. But Tuesday night, I spied an action on his part that might just have sealed his fate.

Newmentia had parent conferences, and I had to stay until 7:00. As a special treat, rather than have the faculty order out as usual, we were treated to Pasta House. I did not have a chance during the day to ask if I could pay for The Pony to feed at our trough. He was invited to join us last year for free, but I don’t mind paying for a pasta buffet for the young ‘un. A person not in charge said she thought it was fine. In fact, she made a plate for the very young children of Italian Chandelier, who was in a meeting. Another teacher-kid came to feed. I had told The Pony that he should wait until the faculty had a chance to go through the line.

I was at the tail end, only ahead of the two tech guys, who suddenly remembered they had forgotten to do something, and rushed off. The Pony came in at that moment, and followed me down the line in the teacher workroom.

I was mesmerized watching Ms Poor fill a Styrofoam plate with salad. A heaping plate. I did not begrudge her the feast, but was only enthralled with the mechanics of her gravity-defying construction. On I went, past the rolls after putting one on my plate to hand off to The Pony later (because Mrs. HM has been cutting back, and pasta was carb enough) to the almost-empty chicken fettuccini foil pan. I glanced over my shoulder, and saw with horror what The Pony was up to.

Actually, I was alerted to turn around by Pinky, who had sidled in unannounced, and said, “Good gosh, Pony! Do you like rolls?” And there he was, grabbing a handful of fake-butter packets, his plate brimming with 6 rolls. SIX ROLLS! Plus I had one on my plate that I was secretly giving him!

I couldn’t tell him to put some back. Like when Mary Richards told Lou Grant clandestinely in the kitchen: “Mr. Grant! There are six servings of Veal Prince Orloff. You took HALF!” And Lou Grant made a big show of going back to the table, picking up the serving utensils, and putting two slices of Veal Prince Orloff back on the platter. “What do you know? I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

I couldn’t tell The Pony to put some back. There was Pinky as a witness. Nobody wants rolls that a student had on his plate. So I said, “You are a guest here! There is no need to be a hog. Other people want to eat, too.” Which is what Pinky told us, in not so verbal words, on the hot-pink poster board she made one year and flaunted at the holiday potluck down in the home ec room. Seriously. Don’t get me started. You go to the store and buy a poster board and take the time to write on it and leave your class to come to first lunch shift and walk around flashing that sign that pretty much called us hogs? “Remember. Other lunch shifts need to eat, too.” I don’t remember ever running out of anything. Nor did we run out of rolls from Pasta House Tuesday night. Indeed, there was still a foil tub half full.

It’s just the idea that The Pony was caught by Pinky with a plethora of breadstuffs on his plate. I’m sure that information made the rounds. Of course she wasn’t there when the little kids were getting their plates filled, and the other faculty offspring made hers. I hope she doesn’t complain and try to get me fired.

Oh, wait! I’ve already resigned!