Wednesday, September 30, 2009

...followed by fail

When I woke up, I wondered idly what time it was, since the alarm wasn't going off yet.

Yet. Because it was never going to. Because although I'd set it, I hadn't actually turned the damn thing on.

It was 7:35. I wasted six precious seconds staring at the clock, asking it, "Really? No, really?" before I threw on some clothes, threw what I hoped was enough stuff to "sell" the second year classes with fake money so they could practice "How much is this?" into a bag, stuck my computer in my backpack, grabbed my umbrella and hit the door. No I didn't brush my hair. That only ever makes it worse when it's raining anyway.

Because it was. Raining. The second bus comes at 7:45. But I totally caught that one. You aren't supposed to use cell phones on the bus, so I sat there wondering how best to notify the school I'd be "late" (I remember my contract saying 8:15, but I'm always there by 8).. and feeling uncommonly grateful that my classes today were 3rd through 6th periods, instead of like, 1st, for example.

I walked briskly up the drive, trying to get there fast, but not wanting to overdo it because I realized I hadn't even put on deodorant, and although I had put some on the night before after I showered in the late afternoon, I didn't really trust it to make it through me running in the steamy (albeit fairly cool) morning.

I changed out my shoes real quick and hurried toward the staff room. My second-year JTE was just exiting the room, so he stopped outside the door to let me know that the schedule was changed and we were to teach first hour. Hahahahaha. I'm sure the look on my face was without price, because the next thing he began to say was "--you need not prepare anything" but I held up the bag of stuff I'd gathered in my rush this morning and, hoping to better the situation, said with a voice full of hope, "I brought some stuff and fake money!"

And so we did it "live," that is, made it up as we went along.

The end. (except it's not, because I bet in a few hours I will smell worse and be really hungry)

2 comments:

  1. Sounds like you need a "poor baby". Hang in there! Tante Willie

    ReplyDelete