HM Proposes Some Composing

How ya doin' out there? Did ya ever seem to have one of those days where it just seems like everybody's gettin' on your case, from your teacher all the way down to your best girlfriend?

Oops! That's Brownsville Station. And I AM the teacher. And if I was of the smoking persuasion, I would surely do it in the faculty women's bathroom like all the rest of them (allegedly), and not in the boys' room. There's not even a door on that sucker! Just a concrete-block rat maze.

But I've had one of those days. The #1 son made us late this morning, which of course meant that we would find ourselves behind a school bus and 10 cars.

Upon nearing Newmentia, a line of dump trucks would overflow their entrance road because their gate was chained shut, meaning that a dump truck would park IN THE ROAD, as we say around these parts, and we would have to hitch our hopes to a different school bus and tailgate it around that dump truck through oncoming traffic.

In the teacher workroom, I would be quizzed as to whether I jammed the copier, even though I was just standing there waiting for the bathroom (not to smoke).

Upon exiting the workroom, a pair of make-up cakers would shoot out of the concrete-block rat-maze of the girls' room like a rodeo bronc with a burr under his saddle, necessitating a quick application of my Fred Flintstone brakes, causing a grinding pain in my knee that made me nauseous for the next three hours until I popped an ibuprofen at lunch.

When quietly relating the passing of my grandma last week to my teaching buddy, Mabel, during the last few minutes of 2nd hour...a student would stand behind my desk (!) (NEVER EVER ALERT!) and state that he didn't really need anything, he just thought he would listen in on our conversation.

In a last-minute dash to run TWO copies to send additional work to ISS, the ParkingSpaceStealer would inform me that the copier would only run if you hit the button that said you were adding toner with each copy. She was running a whole stack.

At lunch, Stuart would cut me from the herd and insinuate that he wanted to sit in MY seat to do his duty, even though the one right beside me, with the same view of Lunchmentia, was empty.

After lunch, a romantic breakup would lead to a teary student leaving my class to go home. A seat scavenger would commit a NEVER EVER moving from the assigned seating chart.

At the bank after school, two trucks would barrel into the exit and park along the sidewalk, blocking me from backing out until cars beside me left.

The #1 son would lose his glasses inside T-Hoe when they fell off his face as his head dropped over in an impromptu nap.

At the Mansion, The Pony would clog the toilet in the boys' bathroom while the #1 son was telling him to hurry up and get out of there.

And...the piece de restistance: the air conditioning unit would flood the basement floor when its dehumidifying hose doomaflotchet chose today to clog up.


I need to compose a song for my garage band, Mommy's Got A Headache.