Those who are doomed to teach history…
Usually, I’m the first one around in the wee mornings of school days, but not today. Today, I walked into the teachers’ lounge to see a group of history teachers sitting at the table. They were adorned with backpacks and tote bags and were spooked. No one spoke. Some even had that jittery leg going, where the knee bounces up and down. They looked like a stick of paratroopers in the belly of a Ju-52 over occupied France.
It turns out that today was a field trip to our local history museum—poor bastards. Seven busloads of students in six buses, a maze-like environment of a museum for the kids to scatter throughout and do God knows what. No thanks.
As they shuffled passed me out the door, I half expected them to hand me letters to their families. You know, in case they don’t make it back.
It turns out that today was a field trip to our local history museum—poor bastards. Seven busloads of students in six buses, a maze-like environment of a museum for the kids to scatter throughout and do God knows what. No thanks.
As they shuffled passed me out the door, I half expected them to hand me letters to their families. You know, in case they don’t make it back.