The Mime's Pantichief

I survived the first day back. Of course, it's not the REAL first day. That's when the students show up on Thursday. And by survived, I mean that I endured a mighty headache from 6:00 a.m. until noon, at which time I popped an ibuprofen, chugged some Diet Coke, and tossed back an acetaminophen thirty minutes later. Ain't no headache like a first day headache, cause a first day headache don't end.

We sat in a district-wide meeting all morning. I am pleased to report that for the first time EVER, my table was on the side of the room that got to go first for the catered breakfast buffet! Mark your calendars. Not only were we on the first side, we were so close that we had to hang back and let the coach's table overtake us so we wouldn't actually be first in line. No need to look like pigs, you know. Which obviously is not something the coaches are were worried about. I thank Mr. A$$hole for our good fortune, since he was the only one at that table when I asked if I could join him and save three seats. Oh, that's not his REAL name. It's not even a descriptor of his demeanor, but rather a homonym for his name. For all of you who are not English teachers, a homonym is a word that sounds like another word. And when Mr. A$$hole is called on the intercom, that's what it sounds like: A$$hole is needed in the office. Also, that word is not pronounced HOMOnym. Just sayin', because it kind of made me giggle to think that's what the kids might call it.

I filled my styrofoam plate with scrambled eggs, bacon, a cinnamon roll, and a wedgie slice of watermelon. It was premeditated, I admit. After the eggs and watermelon, I sighed. "Looks like I can't finish all of this. I'll just take it down to my room." Where the #1 son lay in wait, having made himself my indentured servant for five days. He is in need of a new laptop. Lappy is on life support and #1 refuses to pull the plug. He is saving for New Lappy. Also, he has decreed that the actual spelling of that name is Lappie, which is just too effeminate for me, but you can't reason with a kid who wants to name a big-screen television TVisa.

After a bunch of professional teachery stuff on confidentiality, cyberbullying, child abuse, insurance, test scores, and why we didn't get a raise and how we are subsidizing programs that have been cut by the government, we had a little time to work in our rooms. Before I knew it, it was lunch time, by cracky! The best part of workshop day. So we all drove ourselves to our annual Chinese buffet ritual feeding.

Our table consisted of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom, a mime, PennyP, Mabel the Buccaneer, New Kid on the Hall, and the #1 son. I must announce that lunch exceeded my greatest expectations. But maybe it was just that the ibuprofen, caffeine, and acetaminophen made me woozy. We had some great laughs, many at the expense of Mime, who brought it all upon herself by wearing a white shirt with black stripes that made her look mime-y. It didn't help that her gesticulations in an effort to disclaim her mime-iness only made her look even more mime-y, like she was feeling the side of an imaginary box. And it's really her own fault that she brought up her flowered-panty faux pas at the inservice day nine years ago. I certainly wasn't thinking about it today. I wait until the proper anniversary of that inservice to torment her.

The consensus was that Mime might as well post her little transgression on F*** My Life. Or maybe jump up on a table, pull a pair of flowered panties out of her jeans leg, and whirl them around her head before flinging them into the audience of her peers. Or sew a bunch of them together and pull and pull and pull some more, like a magician's handkerchief, except it's a mime's pantichief, and comes out her leg instead of her sleeve. Any of the above being anticlimactic, because word of Mime's misfortune has traveled far and wide. We know this, because Mime tried to explain it to New Kid, who had already heard, informing Mime that New Kid's mom had sent it out in emails to all her friends over the past several years. Mabel the Buccaneer, in her own white-with-black-stripes shirt, may not have heard all of our suggestions. She was too busy chatting with PennyP, probably on ways to trick somebody out of $4, or how five-day-old catered BBQ is still perfectly delicious, even though it may have set out several hours, because what's a little ptomaine gonna hurt when it's FREE.

Mabel the Buccaneer thinks she can outdo Mime with her own new fashion trend of wearing the size sticker dealybobber down the side of her pants leg. Au contraire, my dear buccaneer. Flowered panties out the leg trump a swatch of size tape down the leg. But I do think a Buccaneer beats a Mime any day.

I can't wait to see tomorrow's cast of lunch characters.