Tuesday, November 29, 2005

One flew East, One flew West...

Remember One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest? At work I sometimes feel like Randle P. McMurphy, but there's a catch. We get to see Randle after his first day in the hospital. For me, everyday is like the first day. It's like I'm doomed to encounter the "patients" again and again. Day after day, I encounter those that are mentally disturbed--the teachers, naturally. It's very Sisyphus-esque. Come to think of it, a lot of the patients were there on a voluntary basis too.

Take Ms. Trimbley for example. I don't mean to belittle her. I think she actually is ill. She carries around a pharmacy in her purse, rattling like a voodoo witch doctor walking down the hallway, and she's just slightly on edge. I made the mistake of saying "Hello" to her earlier in the school year and she jumped, eyes wide like saucers, turned, and ran away down the hall in a zig-zag fashion, rattling all the way out of my sight.

I'm not sure why the zig-zag running. Maybe she was trying to evade any hostile fire being laid down from my end of the hallway or maybe she was just having a difficult time running in a straight line, thrown off by the weight of her purse, but I learned my lesson: Do not talk to your fellow teachers. They are not well.

I guess having the summer off does little to calm the nerves of a shellshock victim.

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