PURPLE WOOL SWEATER WOMAN -- OR WHY GUNS SHOULD BE ALLOWED WHEN GROCERY SHOPPING

I know I've written about grocery shopping a few times before, and I apologize for being redundant, but I am now ratcheting up my offensive assault on grocery shopping.  I used to believe it should be a full-contact sport.  I now believe differently.

Grocery shopping should involve fully armed (locked and loaded) citizens bound by duty to eliminate the ignorant.

Truly.

Today in the tiny grocery store, there is a woman who should die.  She must die.  I am going to see to it.

I encounter her early on, right after the deli, immediately after I am blocked in by a young couple sampling Sal's pre-packaged pizza.  The two of them are straddling the entire aisle and blocking what is left of the passing corridor with their near empty cart.  After politely saying "Excuse me" about eight times, I physically shove their cart out of my way.  I round the corner to the next aisle and am suddenly lapped by a woman in a purple wool skirt.

Now first of all, it's in the 70's.  What the frig is she doing wearing wool?  Second of all -- solid purple?  Really?  It's a dusty lilac shade not a vibrant deep shade of purple.  It's the kind of purple that only belongs in wool when part of a tartan print.  But I digress.

Purple Wool Skirt Woman apparently must be friends of the couple I just accosted because she rolls down the middle of the aisle at about a snail's pace, not stopping for anything and not going.  Crawling along … just slow enough for me to keep edging up behind her.

"Excuse me," I say politely.

She stops and parks in the middle of the aisle, back to me.  She creeps up a tiny bit.  We continue in this pattern until we reach the end of the aisle.  I turn wide from the displays, cross in front of the registers as if I am getting in line, wait for her to get complacent, then zoom in front of her into the next aisle. 

I don't really need anything here, so I quickly snap through the pet food, round the corner and …

There she is again.  Purple Wool Skirt Woman.  This time she maneuvers her cart slightly sideways and pretends to be looking at something.  Jello, I think, chocolate pudding.

"Excuse me," I say again.  She doesn't listen, takes her bloody sweet time, and thinks she has the best of me.  I turn my cart around, go the other way, and start up the next aisle.  Without any warning at all, I see Purple Wool Skirt Woman, blocking the next aisle.

Either she is racing me, or she has continuous clones like The Matrix, or she's a hologram, or she's possessed.  I say nothing and edge closer.  I'm going to push this crazy ass woman out of my way.  She suddenly stands with her back to the side of the cart, her paltry groceries blocking the right side and her stupid wool skirt blocking the other.  I pretend I forgot something at the beginning of the aisle and back up slowly. When she's not looking, I head for the next aisle.

AHA!  I make it through the entire shopping aisle without seeing the woman.  I think I've lost her.  I head into the second to last aisle of groceries when …

You guessed it.  Purple Wool Skirt Woman is hanging ahead waiting for me.  Anyone ever see the old made-for-TV movie Duel?  This shopper is as sadistic and satanic as the truck driver in that movie. 

I swear on a stack of holy Bibles, if I had a gun right now, I'd shoot this motherfucker right where she stands.  I would mow her down like I'm Il Duce in Boondock Saints.  I honestly want to plug the ho right here, right now.  (This is why I do not have a License To Carry, apparently.)

I mutter under my breath, "You fucking bitch."

She looks at me. 

Maybe I don't exactly whisper it.  Maybe I say it in a normal voice.  Okay, maybe I say it louder than that even, but I don't yell it.  Much.  I mean, really.  The cashiers up front and all the people stocking shelves stop, hold their breaths, and gasp in horror.  I even think the Muzak has stopped, but I cannot be certain.

Okay, so I did yell it.  Sue me.  This fucking bitch is playing with me.  Normally I wouldn't care.  Normally I'd add shoe polish and hemorrhoid cream and Tampax and lice shampoo to her cart.  But today I'm busy.  I'm on a timeline. 

I leave my cart, walk around the fucking bitch Purple Wool Skirt Woman, grab the last few items I need, and head for the line, jockeying just in front of PWSW, forcing her to go to another line. 

Full contact shopping, my ass.  Ignorant people like Purple Wool Skirt Woman shouldn't be allowed out into the real world where everyday people like me are trying to function.  These are the same people who drive 30 mph in a 50 mph speed zone, the same people who stop for jaywalkers, the same people who sit at green lights when you're behind them and run red lights while playing bumper cars with your vehicle as the target.

I think grocery shopping should require guns, those reliable locked and loaded weapons, just in case.  Then you can plug a dumb bitch when you catch her playing with ya.  It might not solve your long-term problem, but your immediate needs would be met. 

End of story.

OHMYGAWD I NEVER THOUGHT I'D MAKE IT

It's Friday.

It is Friday, right?

Please tell me it's Friday.

I'm not going to make this a long post today because quite frankly I'm exhausted.  I wanted to redo my house this summer, and as the summer reached its conclusion, I had to step up my slow pace.

Why must I step up my pace?

Because I know if I invited company to stay, then I would have no choice but to get it done.  For the most part, the house is relatively put together now, although there are still some things that need sorting.  But it's a helluva lot better right now than it was even two weeks ago.  There's even room for people to put their stuff when they get here.  Amazing!

But please, please, please tell me it's Friday.

Thank goodness for weekends.

FIRST DAY RECAP - FIRST NIGHT NIGHTCAP

First Day of School under the belt.  Let me re-cap:

• I get two extra students assigned to my homeroom, one at 8:00 and one at 8:30.
• There are two broken locks in the batch, but luckily I had stashed three extras.  I'm still up one.
• I have students who forget how lock combinations work.  I can open their locks but they cannot.
• I have students ask if they need to bring ELA materials to ELA class.  No, just bring math stuff.  Doh.
• Child asks, "Can I go to the bathroom?"  I reply, "I don't know.  CAN you?!"
• I tell children if they chew gum they must find someone else's gum stuck under a desk and pick it off with their fingers.  I also tell them if they swallow it, they will blow bubbles when they fart.  No one chews gum.
• I teach four classes in a row before I get a break.
• I lose my voice at the beginning of fourth period.
• I crack pathetic jokes.  If I have to be there, I'm going to enjoy myself.
• Explaining MCAS prep to the children, I ask them enthusiastically, "Do you TRUST me?"  They all yell, "YES!" Then I say, "Trust me?!  You don't even KNOW me, you knuckleheads!"
• I tell them I once cheated on a book report therefore there will be no book reports but there will be weekly individual reading.  One child later tells me, "You are my favorite teacher of all time because you don't make us do book reports!"  If I'd known it was this simple, I'd have done away with them years ago.  Oh wait.  I did do away with them years ago.
• Ballast in the lights keep exploding all over our building.  Sparks fly everywhere.  It's like the Fourth of July only indoors.  Way cool.
• I tell the story about the vomit-covered MCAS test that had to be sealed in plastic, still chunky, and sent to the DOE/DESE.  No one seems to find this creepy, even the ones on their way to lunch after my class.
• I have a stage in my room.  At one point, I jump up and start answering questions in interpretive dance.  The aide in my room wants to have a chance on the stage, too.  Yes, we really are professionals.
• I am getting better at finding scheduling errors and managed to find four children who had been misplaced in incorrect classes and levels, put in wrong homerooms, or simply had fallen through the cracks all before noon time.  Yes, I really am that good.
• I have a searing headache by 12:30 and am popping Tylenol like it's candy by 12:35.
• The one copy machine does not break while I am using it, but it does curl the paper so that I have to catch and release every single sheet that it spits out or else it will jam.
• I drop my phone in the parking lot while trying to get out of the school to get to the university to get son so he can pick up his tux and his car for this weekend's festivities.  Phone bounces under car.  I cannot reach the phone and start screaming, "SONOFABITCH!!!!" in the school lot.
• I don't end up in the principal's office ... YET.
• I'm drinking a margarita.
• I'm almost ready to do it all over again tomorrow (including the margarita, if necessary).

 

IT'S THE FIRST DAY OF SCHOOL ... AGAIN

Today is the first day of school for the students.  Lucky them, and lucky teachers!

You see, when the students return, it means we don't have to sit through endless staff meetings that drone on and on and on into eternity.  I actually impersonated one of my brothers yesterday and cat-napped with my eyes open during the district-wide snooze fest.  I knew one of the elementary principals was watching me because I had already started the head-bobbing routine, and he spotted me from clear across the auditorium.  I pulled it off, though.  It may have only been a minute or so, but no one was the wiser, and I didn't even drool.

But today the kiddos return.  I get a whole new crop of kids and a whole new pile of minutiae to worry about -- collecting forms, making seating charts, and trying to figure out which bizarre name belongs to a boy and which to a girl.  Even "Michael" isn't sacred anymore.

I'm not one of those teachers who refuses to smile until Christmas.  I crack jokes from Day One.  Lord knows if we all have to be there, it shouldn't be bloody torture.  This isn't Queen Elizabeth I's court, for crimeny's sake; no reason to off their damn heads the first day.

So far we're down to one copy machine and the construction guys hit a sewer line outside my window (or they discovered an underground sulfur deposit, or one of them ate a really nasty breakfast).  The weather hasn't broken, it's supposed to be in the 80's (with no a/c), and if the humidity level is even close to yesterday, we shall all have melted like Asimov's Sakkaro family by noontime ("Rain, Rain, Go Away" - a short story I highly recommend).

Okay, I'm off to the races.  Wish me luck!  Better yet, wish the kids luck; they're the suckers stuck with me for an entire year.  Poor bastards.

I'll let you know how it all works out.

IT'S THE END OF THE WORLD AS WE KNOW IT ... AND I GUESS I'M READY

Today is a day of many To-Do List items.

First thing is getting the kid off to college.  He is all packed, everything is right near the door, and he is ready to go.  He was ready to go mentally about a week ago, but he is physically ready today.  We have a plan:  If we can get out of the house by 7:45 a.m., we'll stop at Dunkin Donuts.

Cue the thunder storm and the pounding rain.

The storm is a fast mover, and we start loading the car while it is still drizzling out.  Eventually we get everything loaded, with nary a whisper of room left for anything else, and the skies open up again just as we close the hatchback.  Our departure time is 7:45.  Perfect.

We hit Dunkins, which is about a half mile from the house.  Son realizes he forgot to pack nail clippers.  Back to the house we go, only I can't pull into the driveway because if I do, I won't be able to back out again as I cannot see a blasted thing except bags and gear.  As soon as the kid returns to the car with the clippers, it starts to rain again.  By the time we reach the highway, it is coming down in buckets.

We drive in and out of several storms, but we also drive through several completely dry patches, as if the rain we've had for hours simply forgot to fall here.  Despite our slow pace so we can avoid several hydroplaning situations, we arrive before the 9:00 check-in starts.  Surprisingly enough, they are ready for us, and we move to a prime spot along the building. 

We are given fifteen minutes to unload, and we clear the car as efficiently as we packed it.  It's not too hard -- the dorm room is on the bottom floor.  I don't even break a sweat despite humidity levels of about 95%.  The car is empty by 8:49, and I move it to the nearby field house parking lot for an easy escape when the time comes.  Son's roommate arrives, so we help him unload, too.  Then son's girlfriend arrives.  After quick introductions with her parents, we unload their car, too, into a nearby brick building.  The trek is a little more strenuous, up to the third floor which is really like climbing four full sets of stairs while carrying gear.  Sweat breaks out in places I didn't even know sweated, but we get her moved in within the fifteen minute time allotment.

I extricate myself reasonably early and start driving south.  As soon as I hit the highway, the rain begins again.  And again.  And again after that.  Three separate waves of rain with the occasional break of dry-as-a-bone asphalt. I can actually see where one storm stops behind me and another begins in front of me while cruising through a pocket of vacuous air space. 

I decide to hit a few stores on the way home for things that I need.  As I am walking through the parking lot to store #1, it starts to sprinkle.  By the time I exit store #1, I just make it to the car when it starts to pelt water all over again. 

My next stop is the mall.  I have some serious shopping and some window shopping to do, so I decide to hit the top floor first and then hit the bottom floor.  This is a great plan until I get to the middle.  The store I need in the middle of the mall requires me to go back upstairs.  No problem.  There are escalators inside.  I need some work clothes, which I have been putting off all summer, and, since school starts tomorrow, I should probably see what I can find.

What I find to try on are about twenty shirts, a skirt, and two dresses.  Now here's where I really hate myself and the entire garment industry because shopping for clothes surely must be some kind of subversive torture perpetrated against women.  Every store sizes their clothing differently, and sometimes even the same garment in a different color is not necessarily a slam-dunk in the same size. 

While in the dressing room, I hear a roar that sounds an awful lot like a tornado or a freight train or maybe just the end of the world.  This thought does not please me as I wonder if the clothing I spent thirty minutes picking out is going to be sucked out of a hole when the ceiling opens up.  I also have the thought that I am half naked, and to make matters worse should the roof actually collapse on me, I am wearing a frumpy, old, graying Bali bra.

Goddamnit!  It's the end of the world as we know it, and I'm not even wearing my best undies.  I hate when my mother is right.  So when the rescuers arrive, as surely they will by the sound of it, I will not only be mostly unclothed, I'll be wearing crappy undergarments. 

Pissah.  With my luck my damn picture will make the news.

After about six minutes of absolute ear-boggling noise, the rain abates, and I am able to dump most of what I brought in with me and retreat to the register with four shirts and a dress.  Some of the shirts I try on are rayon (no freaking way - that stuff shrinks like crazy), some have humungous armholes (so even the students can see my bogus Bali bra, apparently), the skirt has a weird slit in it that was sewn shut at the bottom, giving it and me a bulbous appearance, and no matter how valiantly I fight one of the dresses, the zipper isn't long enough and the belt is attached to the fabric so even one of my thighs can't slip in.

On the way home I plan to visit a friend.  I take out my phone, dial her number, and start walking to my car, which I parked way, way, waaaaay out yonder so I can walk more for exercise. 

What happens as soon as I hear the phone ring on her end?  It starts to rain, big fat droopy globs of rainwater, all over me and my phone and my bag of new clothes, as if the rain is daring me to get into my car.  The moment I close the door, all hell breaks loose and the rain is coming so fast that I am relieved I parked on higher ground.

In the scheme of things, it is a good day.  I manage to be in my car (or a dressing room) during the worst of the weather and out of my car in between the many fronts that move through.  I'm doing some cleaning and To-Do List stuff before school starts tomorrow.  School starts … hey, school starts tomorrow.  Have I finished getting organized?  No.  Do I have a plan for the week?  No.  Am I remotely ready?

Well, I did buy some new shirts and a brand new dress, and I did manage to restore the empty nest.

I guess that means I'm ready.

LET THE GAMES BEGIN: BACK-TO-SCHOOL NIGHTMARES

Well, I finally have it.

I've sort of had mini-versions of it twice already this summer, but last night The Nightmare attacks.  Not a bad dream, and hopefully not a premonition.  The Back-To-School Nightmare.

This year I am starting off with the kids in groups.  I know darn well that it's okay to have two boys and two girls in the same group, creating a symbiotic 2:2 ratio, but it's not okay to have a 1:3 ratio.  I haven't created my seating charts for each class yet, but it's something that won't take long.  It's a little trickier than having the kids sit alphabetically by rows, and, since I only know a few of the kids already (which is not necessarily a positive point for them) and not all of them, I'm not sure who blends with whom.  But I'm going to try it, anyway.

I'm also not entirely certain what I'm going to do that first day after going over the syllabus.  I usually have everything planned, but this year I'm not so uptight about it all.  As a matter of fact, I'm feeling pretty relaxed about things, which is why The Nightmare catches me off guard.

The Nightmare starts out with me arriving at school, but it's not really my school where I work now.  It's more of a combination of my school and the school I went to for first and second grade until the new elementary school was finished.  Anyway, I am walking across the campus expecting a full day of meetings.  That's what we do the first day (in Non-Dream Land) -- no kids, just endless droning and chattering of various speakers telling us stuff we already know, don't care to know, or will forget before we've even left our seats to move onto the next meeting.

Instead of meetings, in The Nightmare I am greeted with the panic of, "What do you mean you didn't know the kids were coming today?  We changed it.  First day is now for everyone.  There are kids in your room already…."  And I totally panic in my dream (nightmare) because I realize I don't have rosters for any of my classes.

Now, I know where this evil dream is coming from.  For our open house last week, which was voluntary attendance, I met students who already had their schedules.  The problem that day was that the teachers had NOT been given schedules nor rosters yet.  So I had no idea if I were meeting my students or kids who just thought I might be their teacher.  The room numbers are completely screwed up in our hallway:  A1, A3, A8, A4, A5, A6, A7.  My first year here I was assigned room A4, tucked by the stairwell in the corner after A8, and I had a hell of a time finding the damn room.

Back to The Nightmare.  I walk to my classroom and realize that I don't know the kids' names.  That's okay -- I'll wing it.  They can sign their names to a piece of paper.  Of course, this being a nightmare and all, there isn't any paper.  Then we run out of time, but the next class has too much time, I miss lunch because I think it is a meeting day, and the school provides lunch the first day.  In The Nightmare I forget this information. 

I complain to one of the other Dream Land teachers, and she berates me for not opening my email to read about the changes.  In my dream-state, this comment manages to aggravate the piss out of me because in real life I check my school email at least once a day, especially during the week prior to the new school year, and I'm dreamily insulted that I have been left off The Nightmare distribution list.

To top off The Nightmare, my psyche has changed class times on me, so I almost miss a class and I have one really short class and then one realty looooong class where I cannot think of anything to do with the students.  I've run out of ideas.  The Nightmare has …

Wait a sec.  Wait just one goddamned second, here.  Now I know for sure, even in my sleep, that this isn't real. 

I NEVER RUN OUT OF IDEAS. 

I wake up abruptly, look at the clock, and realize ironically that on the real first day of school, it would be time for the alarm to go off had it been set.  This is the official Back-To-School Nightmare I've been waiting for.  In a way, it's a relief that it's over.  On the flip side, it means summer is over, as well.

Happy fall, all y'all.  Let the games begin. 

GETTING SHIT ON IN MULTIPLE WAYS

Fucking weather forecasters. 

No, really.  I've put up with their bullshit for the last year.  It started last fall when they kept saying it was going to be too dangerously windy to go outside during a hurricane.  Schools were cancelled all over the state, adding to the school year.  And what did we get?  Wind no worse than a normal windy day.  My trash cans didn't even take flight.  I call bullshit.

The same thing happened a couple of times over the winter.  They predicted a blizzard; we got barely six inches of snow.  They predicted six inches of snow; we got two frigging feet of the shit. 

It's not frikking rocket science.  Boobs.  Idiots.  Charlatans.

Last week we had a forecast for cloudy, rainy, and cool that turned into sunny, blue skies, and hot.  Missed a beach day.  Today the prediction is for partly cloudy with sunny skies by noon, but I am awakened at 6:45 by the pounding, driving, shattering rain.  The forecasters claim the storms are passing, but I can see on the radar that they are not.  Another missed beach day.

Based on my ability to read radar, I know this time that the forecasters are lying.  LYING.  There really can be no excuse.  They have radar and sonar and satellite equipment, and still they get it wrong?!  How in the hell they get to keep their damn jobs is something I seriously I want to know. 

This thought is still pissing me off when I decide that I might as well be productive.  I have one broken mini-blind that needs to be exchanged for a newer, better one.  I also need some of the minutiae that can only be found at a cheapo department store.  I make peace with myself about abandoning the beach and decide to hit Home Depot and WalMart and get those off my list.

As soon as I leave the house and reach for my car door handle, a bird shits on my arm. 

In some cultures, this is considered good luck, so I say to myself, "Aha!  It's going to be a good day!"  Yeah, right.  I promptly get behind a Jeep doing 20 mph under the posted speed limit, which is 30 mph.  This scenario repeats itself several times during the day as if there is some cosmic joke I've managed to miss and my car and I are wearing targets.

Surprisingly, though, it really is a good day.  I find what I need, for the most part anyway, there are no lines at the stores, and I even remember my usual route home (which is not the same as the way there) is full of traffic detours so I jump on the highway instead.  The laundry all gets done, and the washer doesn't even unbalance when I put through the giant quilt.  I manage to hang the blind and some pictures, and the cordless drill doesn't run out of battery until I am driving the final screw into the plaster wall to hang a mirror.

The weather forecasters may have shit on me today, and a bird truly did shit on me today, but so far everything else has gone relatively well.  I might even get to bed before midnight, which will be a first in the last few weeks.  I may not have gotten to the beach, but my to-do list shrunk immensely today. 

 

Though this is all fine and well, I am reminded of a poem. 

I'll bet you think I'm going to go big or go home.  Well, I already am home, and I already got shit on today, so here's the poem that ran through my head as I was opening my car door:

Birdie, birdie in the sky,

Why'd you do that in my eye?

I won't laugh, and I won't cry,

I'm just glad that cows don't fly.