Petty Misadventures and Daring-Do
The story I’m about to tell you is anecdotal, and it isn’t the one you’ll immediately think it is.
Class starts at 8 a.m. The school is 15 minutes away.
I woke up, still in that half-asleep stupor. I strained to read the red-LED alarm clock on the bunk below me. Its half-functional AM/FM is always an option, but I usually set the alarm to buzz — it’s more irritating. I looked at the silent clock.
“It can’t be 7:14 a.m.,” I thought to myself. “It’s too light outside.” I re-read the clock, correctly this time. 7:44 a.m.
Stupor over. I threw on yesterday’s shirt, socks and pants, and rushed out the door.
As I told a friend of mine this story, she looked at me with a look on her face that said, “I’m polite and pretending to pay attention. This is boring, but I don’t want to hurt your feelings.”
I gave her an out. She took it.
It’s kinda disappointing once you realize that the excitingest, heart-thumpingest part of your day is realizing you didn’t set your alarm the previous night.
Teaching is an exciting profession, to be sure, and there are plenty of “I-have-no-idea-what-I’m-doing” moments, moments where an old Marines axiom comes in handy — Improvise, Overcome, Adapt.
Yet achieving these goals, and proudly telling tales of them — improvising with hand-drawn maps, overcoming broken copiers, adapting to disappearing textbooks — doesn’t really excite anyone else, at least when I do it.
I could tell by the expression on my friend’s face that she would in no way be interested in how I managed to scrounge up a transparency of “Dulce et Decorum est” when it turned out I hadn’t enough copies for two periods, or the time that I managed to voice a valid opinion of an RSP student I only really just met when I spoke in his IEP meeting.
It doesn’t help that when I tell these stories of boring-do I have to explain out the alphabet soup I myself barely understand.
But, forget these things. I am in high spirits today, verily. For today, I wear my brightest, shiniest shirt to school, in preparation for what immediately follows. You see, I have a hot date of the most exciting sort within 30 minutes of the final bell.
I’ll have to remember to think up more exciting stories. I’m sure something will happen — I’ve two periods of sophomores next.
Moral of the story? Never assume anyone but you even cares.