Hallway Heist
This school wide renovation stuff has been killing me. I'm not talking about the constant noise nor the random nail that my trousers snag from time to time. I'm talking about the teasing. It's just so cruel!
Let me explain...
Since the construction should have been finished months ago, the new booty for the classrooms has been sitting in the hallways. We're talking about sleek desks, pristine white boards; you name it. The kids haven't even touched it either. Don't be surprised because, you see, the stuff doesn't have a face yet. That means that the kids can't associate it with a teacher until it belongs to a teacher. Once possession by a teacher has been established, it is then (and only then) that the item can be vandalized out of spite. The student isn't just sticking gum in your class set of dictionaries, he's spitting it in your face. Every pencil in the ceiling is one jabbed in your heart. Every tack on your chair... wait a second... there's nothing symbolic there. That's just good, old-fashioned assault.
Where was I? Oh yes, the stuff in the hallway. Don't think for one second that my inner hobo isn't crying out for me to liberate such virgin items and put them to use. For example, do you know that I still have a chalkboard? Still! The auditorium gets a $50,000 sound system last year, new seats this year, while I'm getting white lung like a sucker.
I'm half tempted to recruit a partner in crime to "liberate" some of this crap. I'm sure that Mr. Page, the Biology teacher, whose terrarium is jury-rigged with a car window and bungee cord, wouldn't be a difficult recruit. The two of us could easily boost a dry-erase board. Sure those things are supposed to be bolted onto the wall, but Page could always hook me up with some bungee cord.
Let me explain...
Since the construction should have been finished months ago, the new booty for the classrooms has been sitting in the hallways. We're talking about sleek desks, pristine white boards; you name it. The kids haven't even touched it either. Don't be surprised because, you see, the stuff doesn't have a face yet. That means that the kids can't associate it with a teacher until it belongs to a teacher. Once possession by a teacher has been established, it is then (and only then) that the item can be vandalized out of spite. The student isn't just sticking gum in your class set of dictionaries, he's spitting it in your face. Every pencil in the ceiling is one jabbed in your heart. Every tack on your chair... wait a second... there's nothing symbolic there. That's just good, old-fashioned assault.
Where was I? Oh yes, the stuff in the hallway. Don't think for one second that my inner hobo isn't crying out for me to liberate such virgin items and put them to use. For example, do you know that I still have a chalkboard? Still! The auditorium gets a $50,000 sound system last year, new seats this year, while I'm getting white lung like a sucker.
I'm half tempted to recruit a partner in crime to "liberate" some of this crap. I'm sure that Mr. Page, the Biology teacher, whose terrarium is jury-rigged with a car window and bungee cord, wouldn't be a difficult recruit. The two of us could easily boost a dry-erase board. Sure those things are supposed to be bolted onto the wall, but Page could always hook me up with some bungee cord.
- H.T. at 9:20 AM
