Into each day a little humor must fall or it just isn't worth it. Some days it's a difficult hunt for anything laughable. On other days, the "fickled finger of fate" lights up and points its heart out. Today (this was actually written on May 27th) was such a day.
Please note: I am well aware that the following situations will not be funny to many readers. This may be an indictment of my warped sense of humor. There are many aspects of these situations that are not funny even to me but in a world gone mad, taking time out to see something funny has often been the only thing saving my sanity. Please allow me to indulge in a few moments of levity. Laughter often keeps the tears at bay. My body and soul often demand it.
Recently, I squawked about the annoyance of being invisible and not considered worthy in some elaborate employee hierarchy whose caste system often mystifies and irritates me. When I had asked the front office about whether or not my student would be involved in the testing and I suffered the burn of the invisible death ray shooting out of the secretary's eyes, I slunk away. Then I came home took aim and wrote a stinging entry as an outlet for my frustration.
Today, I was delighted to find that I am not the only one and not the only caste that is out of the loop. Even the math teachers had not been included in the vital communication that conveyed the very 'when, why and whos' of the upcoming math test. With less than 1/2 hour to go on the Friday before the test, confusion was confounding all of the people who actually work with the students in the classrooms. The mass confusion only angered those who had failed to communicate. They continue to labor under the false assumption that there is no reason for confusion. Yet, these geniuses managed to change the lists, etc. several times and thereby insured the confusion that resulted. Nothing like a good game of "Blame the Victim." To borrow a phrase from one of my favorite students, "Morons!"
I imagined myself giving the "suits" (this is the term used to described the powers making the decisions) a grade. The grade I'd give them hasn't been invented yet but it's very close to XYZ. Now if they'd only have enough sense to "examine their zippers" and realize their inability to communicate is showing big time. The idea of suits, men and women alike standing in front of us with all their zippers down amuses me. It may amuse me too much and my amusement is probably based on my feelings of inferiority but let me have my laugh.
Truth is, this latest episode of administrative insanity leaves me feeling quite good about myself. Little can boost ones' spirit the way that a big snafu on the evil puppet overlord's part can.
"Morons!" I shake my head and laugh until I almost cry.
The "Fickled Finger of Fate" was not through with me yet. There in the lunch room two equally unusual and eccentric substitutes found each other. The combination was magical. . .I'm talking nightmare and not happily ever after. I've had the dubious pleasure of being in attendance on several unpleasant occasions when these gentlemen were given the job of substituting for the regular teachers. Current law requires that substitutes for teachers have current and valid teaching certification. God, if they only knew.
There are a few wonderful substitutes. Please note the use of the word, "few." For the most part these two guys could be the frightening poster children for weird substitutes. Both like to talk, almost constantly. Sadly, neither has much to say. They are both terrible listeners. For purposes of my scathing attack, I am going to refer to them as Sub 1 and Sub 2.
Sub 1 is an older gentlemen who always wears the same corduroy slacks and blue sleeved vest over a long-sleeved white shirt. The last class I saw him in, he had the students play Pictionary on the overhead the entire time. I have learned to avoid eye contact. If you are foolish enough to make it, you are trapped by a flood of words about absolutely everything and nothing. Getting away from him requires nerves of steel. Yes, I know he must be lonely, insecure and dying for human contact but let's face it school is school. He's there for the kids and not the other way around.
He often appears in the lunch room and interjects himself into any conversation he can. I feel for the guy but I really don't want to sacrifice my lunch to his constant chatter. At the start of lunch, he sits in the table behind us. After heating up his lunch, he loudly interrupts the conversation and says,
"Wow, that microwave sure heats hot. I put my frozen dinner in for 5 minutes. That's what it says on the box. Well, I heated it for 5 minutes and now it sure seems hot!"
I try to smile politely but avoid any body language that would encourage further proclamations.
As fate would have it, (The Fickled Finger is have a busy day) in walks Sub 2. Sadly, Sub 2 has spooked every staff assistant that's ever worked near him. Spontaneously, we've developed an underground railroad of communication. When one notices he is on campus, they spread the word among the others. Not only does this guy need constant adult supervision, he is down right creepy. This was a unanimous response before any collaboration occurred. He seems determined to act oddly and say inappropriate things but it's hard to tell what he really means. Initially, I tried to give him the benefit of the doubt but he keeps digging a bigger hole.
The students take one look at Sub 2 in the classroom and say, "Oh, no, not that guy again. He's nuts."
I rarely think like a teen but in this I totally agree with them. The first time I encountered him, I make the mistake of introducing myself. He spent the entire class period trying to convert me to Islam. I don't have any problems with Islam. Too many Americans falsely believe that the religion itself is militant etc. They couldn't be more wrong. Ignorance would seem to be an equal opportunity malady. I admire many within the Muslim faith and do not feel fearful or threatened by their religion. Mohammad was actually a very good and peaceful man and so are most within the Islamic religion. Extremists exist within any group. It's extremist thinking that we need to fear not a religion or culture or race. The problem I had with Sub 2 was that he didn't seem to realize that trying to convert me to Islam isn't what the district was paying him for. The kids were noisy and could have been hanging from the ceiling for all he knew.
Sub 1 and Sub 2 meet and greet each other like friends. I'm sure to Sub 1, Sub 2 was a friendly face in a sea of indifference. Since they both love to talk and neither seem to have any listening skills, I knew this would be a good pairing. They sit and begin to carry on almost two separate conversations. At first talk of the microwave and lunch is enough to want to send me screaming. "Do they have to be so loud when they talk about the hot microwave?" I wonder.
"Isn't this test debacle enough irritant for a perfectly good Friday?"
It's raining. Morale stinks. Now I have to hear about how hot lunch gets again at decibels the human ear shouldn't be subjected to during LUNCH!!!!"
All these things I say only in my head. And then, humor comes to roost. I begin to find this whole interchange delightfully amusing. Now, lest you think I'm just a horrible and cruel person, please know that my back was to both of them. I sat watching the faces of the two women at my table go through a lot of expressions. None of which were happy or relaxed. I started to grin. My dimples threatened to create huge craters in my face. The faces of my companions eased and they too smiled as secretly as they could.
Meanwhile Sub 1 and Sub 2 where deep in odd conversation. Sub 1 suddenly launches into a lengthy monologue about the death of Osama bin Laden and what the Pakistanis' knew or didn't know. I'm not really sure which. All I knew was that the topic was controversial at best and that Sub 2 is Pakistani. When Sub 2 revealed this to Sub 1, Sub 1 was genuinely surprised. Sub 1 would only have had to really listen and clue in to the possibility that Sub 2 was from the region of the world that he was badmouthing. There is nothing like leaving a trail of explosives and then dropping a match.
Sub 1 then assumed that since Sub 2 was from Pakistan that he was an expert on the geography of the entire country. Sub 1 continued to bury himself with his ignorant prattle as Sub 2 tried to tell him that he had never traveled to the region that was of such great interest to Sub 1. Sub 1's diatribe ended their pleasant conversation about overheating microwaves.
Meanwhile, during this whole conversational faux pas, the faces, particularly the eyebrows of my table mates were crackling with activity. They registered annoyance and complete disbelief. At this point, my wicked sense of the absurd kicked in and I started to grin. When the verbal fumbling of Sub 1 brought camaraderie to a sudden halt, Sub 1 and Sub 2 quickly parted the lunch room each through a different door. Nothing like watching a social train wreck that could have so easily been avoided by common sense and the ability to think before speaking.
Since Sub 1 and Sub 2 have cornered me once too often and trapped me in bizarre or potentially explosive politically charged conversation, listening to matter and anti-matter meet and explode so quickly was perversely entertaining. The nice person in me feels a little sorry for each of them. The not-so-nice person feels that they got what they deserved. Funny, how the fumbling of another form the basis of amusement. Some days it's either laugh or cry. Some days it's both. Now I've got to find out what's really happening with the blasted math test. It's not only that microwave that over heats.
No comments:
Post a Comment