I stayed home from work today because my boss told me I had to because she was concerned that I would a) commit more than one felony, and b) tell people how badly she has mismanaged the lame-ass piece of crap that I like to call La-Z-Boy. I was at Home Depot this morning buying yet more paint for my monkey's room and my phone rang ("On Wisconsin! On Wisconsin! Grand ol' badger state...") and I was asked a question about a project that I am nominally in charge of, but that La-Z-Boy should have answered. But he couldn't answer it because he wasn't there. He didn't bother to go to work because he knew that the Grand Queso wasn't there. So why bother? Because they're paying you? Nah -- he has realized that they pay you even if you don't do any work for two year. My favorite part about this drama is that he's supposed to go to a land far, far away soon (they just need a warm body, and that's what he's capable of), but he's going to have to go on loony leave, which in his case is actually lazy leave. I am not going to the far-away land. Because I'm OK in most of the world, but I'm not ready at the moment to go someplace where the alphabet doesn't work. My favorite favorite part is that he's calling around, making reservations and shit, and his credit card is constantly getting denied. My least favorite part is that he has been lying not only to our boss and to me, but to his wife, who thinks he's going to work while he's actually masturbating or eating kittens or whatever it is he does all day.
Anyhoo, I'm watching the Bachelor (cheesy reality tv whore! Here!). And Charlie's mom is wearing a necklace made out of NylaBonz. Who does she think she is? Wilma Flintstone?
I'm also drinking leftover sangria. Yay!
All teachers have known that feeling of being in the zone, of connecting with the kids on a deep and meaningful level, of finding the teachable moment... (aside: now Charlie's crying because he doesn't know who he loves more!! Snif!). I have been that teacher. I have felt the electricity of engaging with the tiny minds inside the little heads... When I worked at the animal shelter, I was in charge of giving tours of the place to scout groups and kindergarten classes, etc. So we'd always start with the Good Pet Care talk about tags and collars and food and water. Then we'd move on into the Cat Room, which was aptly named, except that we also kept (due to a really deep mean streak) small rodents and reptiles in there (Circle of Life, ya know?). So we'd all troop into the Cat Room where I'd hand out kittens like they were party favors, or gross people out by letting a rat crawl in my hair. Then it would be on to the Puppy Room. No explanation needed, probably.
Then, on to the big dogs (ARFARFARFARF!) before which I'd give the lecture about how to safely let a dog sniff your hand. The littler the kids, the scarier the big dogs were. Then it was off to the petting farm to meet the donkeys, pig, chickens, ducks, geese, horses, pony, and occasional skunk or 'coon. Then back inside for Q and A.
So this one time, I'm so synched up with these kids. They're understanding what I'm saying, they'll never ever ever leave the water dish empty, they'll always make sure the dog has THREE tags on the collar (ID, license, rabies), blah, blah, blah. They're asking questions, and I'm right there with them, BAM! One little hand goes up: Why do you have a pig? BAM! What do ducks eat? BAM! Why don't you wear nail polish?
About what I said before about the teachable moment? I don't know what I'm talking about.
3 comments so far