Sunday, May 25, 2008
A Midsummer Day's Nightmare...
This past Friday I took sixteen of my most well behaved, responsible, respectful, high-achieving, honors students on a field trip to Adventuredome (think indoors theme park with roller coasters, water rides, and all sugar your heart can handle). I paid for everything--a rented limo for transportation, all day ride passes, a catered pizza and ice cream party--all the bs kids love.
On our way out of Adventuredome, my kids asked if we could stop at the candy store. As we had to pass the candy store to leave the park, I said that would be ok. They went in two or three at a time, selected as much crap as they wanted, and left. On our way back down to the limo, one of my students (we'll call her honest student #1) looked very upset. And, she refused to tell me what was wrong when I tried to get her to talk.
AFTER we left Adventuredome, AFTER we were on the escalator, AFTER we were on the limo to return, she whispered in my ear "_____ and _____ were stealing candy from the candy store and using my bag to put it in. But you can't say anthing because I don't want to be a snitch." _____ and _____ will now be known as suspect 1 and suspect 2. I could feel my temperature rising.
Now, there were a few problems: I did not see suspect #1 or suspect #2 steal candy, I had no idea where it was not hidden or it's quantity. Prior to that moment, suspect #1 and suspect #2 were honest children. The limo was scheduled to leave in five minutes. I had a nail appointment in exactly 60 minutes. Shit.
I pulled suspect #1 and suspect #2 off of the limo and played Columbo. Here is a brief transcript of the conversation:
Me: Where is it?
Suspect 1: Where is what Ms. D.....
Me: You know what I'm talking about. Give it to me.
Suspect 2: What? Give what to you?
Me: You can either give it to me or let me find it. If you let me find it, trust me you will not be happy. You are better off just giving it to me.
Suspect 2: What are you talking about?
Me: The things from the store. I was watching you. In fact, I"ll do you one better. Let me have the receipt. I saw you go in with the big bag and you come out with the big bag, but no receipt in your hand. You have five seconds to make it reappear or I am going to go on the bus, to you your hiding spot and get it myself. If you let me do that you will have a very miserable ride home and a very miserable afternoon. (at this point I'm totally bluffing because I don't even know if they took anything, what it is, or where it is...)
Suspect 1 (who now goes by thief #1 and her compadre is thief #2) goes back to the limo and returns with a pitiful little bag of candy. Eureka!
So I march these two little delinquents back through Circus Circus, up the escalator, and to the store--the entire time expressing my displeasure and dismay at their behavior and actions. I march them to the candy store and have them return it to the clerk (by the way, he was all of seventeen and could have cared less about my moral lesson). He rang it up--all .97 of it-- and asked if they wanted to pay for it. I told him they would not be allowed to purchase said candy.
By the time we got back to the bus and back to the school, we had extended our contract by about 20 minutes--so this cost an additional $135.00.
So, for .97, I now owe the bus company $135.00, I had a crapload of paperwork to fill out, I had two parents to call, AND I missed my nail appointment. I really wish they had just asked for a dollar...
*M*
On our way out of Adventuredome, my kids asked if we could stop at the candy store. As we had to pass the candy store to leave the park, I said that would be ok. They went in two or three at a time, selected as much crap as they wanted, and left. On our way back down to the limo, one of my students (we'll call her honest student #1) looked very upset. And, she refused to tell me what was wrong when I tried to get her to talk.
AFTER we left Adventuredome, AFTER we were on the escalator, AFTER we were on the limo to return, she whispered in my ear "_____ and _____ were stealing candy from the candy store and using my bag to put it in. But you can't say anthing because I don't want to be a snitch." _____ and _____ will now be known as suspect 1 and suspect 2. I could feel my temperature rising.
Now, there were a few problems: I did not see suspect #1 or suspect #2 steal candy, I had no idea where it was not hidden or it's quantity. Prior to that moment, suspect #1 and suspect #2 were honest children. The limo was scheduled to leave in five minutes. I had a nail appointment in exactly 60 minutes. Shit.
I pulled suspect #1 and suspect #2 off of the limo and played Columbo. Here is a brief transcript of the conversation:
Me: Where is it?
Suspect 1: Where is what Ms. D.....
Me: You know what I'm talking about. Give it to me.
Suspect 2: What? Give what to you?
Me: You can either give it to me or let me find it. If you let me find it, trust me you will not be happy. You are better off just giving it to me.
Suspect 2: What are you talking about?
Me: The things from the store. I was watching you. In fact, I"ll do you one better. Let me have the receipt. I saw you go in with the big bag and you come out with the big bag, but no receipt in your hand. You have five seconds to make it reappear or I am going to go on the bus, to you your hiding spot and get it myself. If you let me do that you will have a very miserable ride home and a very miserable afternoon. (at this point I'm totally bluffing because I don't even know if they took anything, what it is, or where it is...)
Suspect 1 (who now goes by thief #1 and her compadre is thief #2) goes back to the limo and returns with a pitiful little bag of candy. Eureka!
So I march these two little delinquents back through Circus Circus, up the escalator, and to the store--the entire time expressing my displeasure and dismay at their behavior and actions. I march them to the candy store and have them return it to the clerk (by the way, he was all of seventeen and could have cared less about my moral lesson). He rang it up--all .97 of it-- and asked if they wanted to pay for it. I told him they would not be allowed to purchase said candy.
By the time we got back to the bus and back to the school, we had extended our contract by about 20 minutes--so this cost an additional $135.00.
So, for .97, I now owe the bus company $135.00, I had a crapload of paperwork to fill out, I had two parents to call, AND I missed my nail appointment. I really wish they had just asked for a dollar...
*M*
One of Science's Great Mysteries Manifests Itself in my Apartment
"A black hole is a region of space in which the gravitational field is so powerful that nothing, not even light, can escape its pull after having fallen past its event horizon. The term "Black Hole" comes from the fact that, at a certain point, even electromagnetic radiation (e.g. visible light) is unable to break away from the attraction of these massive objects. This renders the hole's interior invisible or, rather, black like the appearance of space itself." --Wikipedia
When I was a little girl, sometime around fifth grade, I remember hearing about black holes for the first time. Quite frankly, they terrified me. The world--evidently--was filled with invisible, mysterious "black" (how are they black and invisible at the same time, I wonder?) holes that were so strong nothing--not even light or sound--could escape their gravitational pull. Once one came across a black hole, one was, well, screwed.
So, I spent some time trying to avoid black holes at all costs. Then someone explained to me that these holes exist in space and that I would be safe from black holes until the entire earth was sucked into one, as it inevitable would be. That helped me sleep at night, but I never forgot that these holes exist.
Over the past few months, the existence of black holes has once again entered my mind. I am now positive that A) black holes do exit; B) their gravitational pull is extremely strong; and C) nothing--especially socks, remote controles, and the occasional squished bug--can escape them. This once again puts me at risk.
There is a black hole in my apartment.
I live by myself. I rarely have company. All things considered, there is usually just me in this apartment. Somehow, however, things I KNOW I possess and remember using in the not-so-distant past seem to disappear. When these things disappear, they also never re appear. Now, I am sure some of you are thinking that perhaps I have just misplaced these objects. If I were home in Michigan, I may agree with you. However, in this tiny, sparsely furnished apartment there is very little room for me to misplace things. And, I have searched all 4 places where I may have misplaced something.
Exhibit A: My radio remote control. I have had the rc for years. I used to use it every morning while I got showered and dressed for work. About five months ago, it disappeared. I used it at night to turn off the radio and in the morning it was gone. It was not under the bed, under the dresser, or on the floor. It is gone.
Exhibit B: My black sock. I used to have two black socks, as socks typically come in a pair. A few weeks ago, black sock number 2 mysteriously disappeared sometime between the hamper and the dryer. It has yet to reappear.
Exhibit C: 4 spoons. I used to have a set of spoons. Now, I have 2.
Exhibit D: One multicolored Charles and David high heeled shoe. Gone.
I could go on and on. You get the idea.
What make this so disturbing is that these black holes are powerful AND invisible! What will be next? My chair? The dishwashing soap? Possibly my hair dryer? ME?
*M*
When I was a little girl, sometime around fifth grade, I remember hearing about black holes for the first time. Quite frankly, they terrified me. The world--evidently--was filled with invisible, mysterious "black" (how are they black and invisible at the same time, I wonder?) holes that were so strong nothing--not even light or sound--could escape their gravitational pull. Once one came across a black hole, one was, well, screwed.
So, I spent some time trying to avoid black holes at all costs. Then someone explained to me that these holes exist in space and that I would be safe from black holes until the entire earth was sucked into one, as it inevitable would be. That helped me sleep at night, but I never forgot that these holes exist.
Over the past few months, the existence of black holes has once again entered my mind. I am now positive that A) black holes do exit; B) their gravitational pull is extremely strong; and C) nothing--especially socks, remote controles, and the occasional squished bug--can escape them. This once again puts me at risk.
There is a black hole in my apartment.
I live by myself. I rarely have company. All things considered, there is usually just me in this apartment. Somehow, however, things I KNOW I possess and remember using in the not-so-distant past seem to disappear. When these things disappear, they also never re appear. Now, I am sure some of you are thinking that perhaps I have just misplaced these objects. If I were home in Michigan, I may agree with you. However, in this tiny, sparsely furnished apartment there is very little room for me to misplace things. And, I have searched all 4 places where I may have misplaced something.
Exhibit A: My radio remote control. I have had the rc for years. I used to use it every morning while I got showered and dressed for work. About five months ago, it disappeared. I used it at night to turn off the radio and in the morning it was gone. It was not under the bed, under the dresser, or on the floor. It is gone.
Exhibit B: My black sock. I used to have two black socks, as socks typically come in a pair. A few weeks ago, black sock number 2 mysteriously disappeared sometime between the hamper and the dryer. It has yet to reappear.
Exhibit C: 4 spoons. I used to have a set of spoons. Now, I have 2.
Exhibit D: One multicolored Charles and David high heeled shoe. Gone.
I could go on and on. You get the idea.
What make this so disturbing is that these black holes are powerful AND invisible! What will be next? My chair? The dishwashing soap? Possibly my hair dryer? ME?
*M*
Sunday, May 18, 2008
Hmmm...Is that a threat or a proposition?
This Friday, my co-worker and I put on the 8th grade dance. We've planned the entire dance from beginning to end and have been driven to the edge of insanity quite a few times.
When we started planning, we decided to have a standard for attendance at the dance: students must not have any discipline referrals during the 4th quarter and they must be passing math and English with a minimum 60%. As you can see, we set the bar extremely high.
Of course, this was verbalized to students many many many times before the dance and as they all came with their money to purchase tickets. Last Wednesday I posted the names of students who had recieved discipline referrals and/or were failing math and/or English. Students were told that they would not be allowed to attend (the only exception was if they managed to raise their grade to 60% by noon on Friday).
Then the tears began. A student with a 38% in my class came begging me for work from April. I turned a deaf ear. Tears began to flow. Another student with a 47% in my class came begging me to read and grade her paper two weeks early. I knew she didn't have a snowball's chance in hell, so I appeased her, took her paper, and put it behind the other pressing matters on my desk.
The dance began at 6:00.
At 6:30 a student came to the entrance table. She was dressed to impress--resplendent in her purple dress with bright pink eyeshadow. She was told she could not enter. This child had either cursed out a teacher earlier in the week or she had punched another kid....not quite sure of the specifics, but regardless she had been in loads of trouble.
She huffed. She puffed. She tried to blow the entrance table down. But, one angry child does not a weakling adult make. She turned on her heels and stomped back outside.
At 6:33 she returned--with the bigger beast: her mother. After explaining the policy (again) to her mother, she demanded that her child be let in. I said that would not be possible. She did not like that.
*If you have small children reading this, this is the point that I highly encourage you to give them something else to do. The following dialogue is in it's true form. It has not been edited or changed or any way. The dialogue noes not reflect the views of the author or our sponsors.*
"Fuck you! Fuck this dance! Fuck this school! Fuck you! Fuck you! and Fuck you! I spent all this money on this fucking dress! She's coming in"
"Ma'am, that will not be possible."
"Fuck you! Fuck this muthafuckin school!"
I think there was a "kiss my ass somewhere in there, but I'm not quite sure"
The woman said "fuck you" so much, I wasn't sure if she was threatening me or propositining me. She huffed. She puffed. She could not blow the table down. She turned on her heels and stormed out the door while a string of "fuck you's" traveled behind her.
Does that count as mental/emotional turmoil and can I now apply for combat pay?
*M*
When we started planning, we decided to have a standard for attendance at the dance: students must not have any discipline referrals during the 4th quarter and they must be passing math and English with a minimum 60%. As you can see, we set the bar extremely high.
Of course, this was verbalized to students many many many times before the dance and as they all came with their money to purchase tickets. Last Wednesday I posted the names of students who had recieved discipline referrals and/or were failing math and/or English. Students were told that they would not be allowed to attend (the only exception was if they managed to raise their grade to 60% by noon on Friday).
Then the tears began. A student with a 38% in my class came begging me for work from April. I turned a deaf ear. Tears began to flow. Another student with a 47% in my class came begging me to read and grade her paper two weeks early. I knew she didn't have a snowball's chance in hell, so I appeased her, took her paper, and put it behind the other pressing matters on my desk.
The dance began at 6:00.
At 6:30 a student came to the entrance table. She was dressed to impress--resplendent in her purple dress with bright pink eyeshadow. She was told she could not enter. This child had either cursed out a teacher earlier in the week or she had punched another kid....not quite sure of the specifics, but regardless she had been in loads of trouble.
She huffed. She puffed. She tried to blow the entrance table down. But, one angry child does not a weakling adult make. She turned on her heels and stomped back outside.
At 6:33 she returned--with the bigger beast: her mother. After explaining the policy (again) to her mother, she demanded that her child be let in. I said that would not be possible. She did not like that.
*If you have small children reading this, this is the point that I highly encourage you to give them something else to do. The following dialogue is in it's true form. It has not been edited or changed or any way. The dialogue noes not reflect the views of the author or our sponsors.*
"Fuck you! Fuck this dance! Fuck this school! Fuck you! Fuck you! and Fuck you! I spent all this money on this fucking dress! She's coming in"
"Ma'am, that will not be possible."
"Fuck you! Fuck this muthafuckin school!"
I think there was a "kiss my ass somewhere in there, but I'm not quite sure"
The woman said "fuck you" so much, I wasn't sure if she was threatening me or propositining me. She huffed. She puffed. She could not blow the table down. She turned on her heels and stormed out the door while a string of "fuck you's" traveled behind her.
Does that count as mental/emotional turmoil and can I now apply for combat pay?
*M*
Skilled Trades(wo)man
BEFORELast week, I took my $17.99 and added it to the other pennies I had been savig under my bed and purchased a wine bar and hutch. (For some reason, my friends find it odd that i do not possess a couch, a loveseat, a desk, or a file cabinet, but I now am the proud owner of a dark mahogany, malaysian wood wine bar...go figure). After I dragged it home from Cost Plus Wine Market, I got all ready to put it together. I cleared a space on the floor (which wasn't hard, as I do not possess a couch, a loveseat, a desk or a file cabinet) opened the box, found a screw driver and got to work.
The directions said that the construction should take about 1 hour. I had an hour so I got to work. The first lesson I learned is that it is definitely a BAD idea to pull off the little stickers with letters on them. Though they may not look like much, those little stickers will correspond to 7 or 8 pages of directions. Believe it or not, they are used to let you know what to connect what to. About 5 stickers into the removal process, luckily I decided not to waste time taking them off.
1:00 pm-My first challenge: building a drawer. That I tackled easily. Smugly, I grinned to myself, stretched out my legs, and admired my drawer.
1:15 pm--My second challenge: building the bar. This quickly became more and more difficult. The screws wouldn't tighten. no matter how hard I turned the screw driver, they adamantly refused to tighten into the holes. I was sweating. Mahogany malaysian wood bits littered the floor. I got a bigger screwdriver.I got frustrated when I realized the company had sent damaged washers. Half of them were split right through the middle. I called my aunt Julie, to ask for advice (should I go buy new washers, or take the whole damn thing back) when she explained to me that the "broken" ones were actually spring washers.
2:15 pm--My third challenge: undoing 5 screws which were missing spring washers.
3:15 pm--My fourth challenge: Ducking as what I had constructed came crashing to the floor.
4:00 pm--My fifth challenge: Cursing as loudly as I could.
5:00 pm--My sixth challenge: Wondering what the hell the L shaped metal tool was for they sent in the package, but was not referenced in the directions.
5:15 pm--My seventh challenge: Going back to tightening screws. Tightening. Tightening. Tightening. To no avail.
6:00 pm--My eighth challenge: Standing it up. The wine bar was missing the back (still havent figured how to get that on) and was wobbly. Extremely wobbly. I smiled at my work. I looked at the floor and realized there was still an entire bag of screws and dowels that I had not even opened. My smile faded. I looked warily at the wine bar.
The next day, I went to my job and lamented to my coworkers about my wine bar. I kept saying that the damn screws wouldn't tighten, no matter how hard I turned them. About 5 minutes in the conversation, I asked why they would give me an L shaped metal bar. What the hell is that for?
My coworker raised an eyebrow slightly. "The allen wrench?" he asked.
"Hell if I know." I responded.
"Um, Miah. The allen wrench is used to tighten screws."
So, now I have a wine bar, which is too wobbly to hold actual wine and a wine hutch that is still in the box from Cost Plus Wine Shoppe.
Touche.
*M*
Friday, May 2, 2008
17.99
A few weeks ago, I mailed my tax information home to my mom so she could file my taxes for me. (Once you have a GREAT tax person, it's hard to give her up!) While she was at the office, she called me and told me I would be getting a refund from the great state of Michigan. She also told me not to get my hopes up, because I was not getting much. I figured I would get about $200...not much, but workable.
The past two months have been a little rough. Teaching, while evidently admirable, is not what one would call lucrative. (As an aside, for all of you touting how noble teaching is, and how teachers "change and shape the world" how about voting for a school bond or another measure which would put money into schools so your teachers can at least keep up with the cost of living?) As a result, my funds have been a little on the low side; it does not matter how much I make because bills truly do not care.
Today when I got the mail, I saw a check from the great state of Michigan, where I taught, paid taxes, swept the yard, didn't litter, saved a tree, voted, didn't speed (much), picked apples, and bought cherries most of last year. I clicked my heels together when I saw the envelope standing up straight and proud in the mailbox. My eyes got big. Greedily I snatched the envelope from the mailbox, ripped the back flap from the rest of the envelope, and tore the check away from it's white cocoon and looked for the magic number.
$17.99
The past two months have been a little rough. Teaching, while evidently admirable, is not what one would call lucrative. (As an aside, for all of you touting how noble teaching is, and how teachers "change and shape the world" how about voting for a school bond or another measure which would put money into schools so your teachers can at least keep up with the cost of living?) As a result, my funds have been a little on the low side; it does not matter how much I make because bills truly do not care.
Today when I got the mail, I saw a check from the great state of Michigan, where I taught, paid taxes, swept the yard, didn't litter, saved a tree, voted, didn't speed (much), picked apples, and bought cherries most of last year. I clicked my heels together when I saw the envelope standing up straight and proud in the mailbox. My eyes got big. Greedily I snatched the envelope from the mailbox, ripped the back flap from the rest of the envelope, and tore the check away from it's white cocoon and looked for the magic number.
$17.99
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