PARTY CART FOR THE PETRI DISH OF HORROR

I understand that this post will make me look like an alcoholic. Quite frankly, after the past two and a half school years I've been through, I should be an alcoholic. All teachers should be unless they've been checked into mental hospitals. March 12, 2020, until June 2022, should go on record as the longest psychological experiment in educational history.

I'm not sure how many of my readers have school-aged children, but here is a brief summary of the experience:

March 2020 to April 2021:  "Turn your cameras on. Turn your cameras off. Turn your microphones off. Turn your microphones on. Hello? I think you're frozen. Google is down. Repeat - GOOGLE IS DOWN!"

April 2021 to June 2021:  "I know it's weird all being back in school. No, keep your masks up. No, don't touch each other. Don't even look at each other. Stay in your seat. Don't touch my mobile cart. Let me spray airy dust so we can all stay alive. Let me wipe that pencil down for you -- wait. Why do you even HAVE a pencil? Don't touch anything. Don't touch anyone. Don't. Just don't."

September 2021 to June 2022: "Be quiet. Pay attention. I said be quiet. Please, pay attention. Stop talking. Stop ... you do understand that I can see you and I can hear you. You no longer have the option of cameras off and microphones off, right? You understand the concept that we are all back in school without masks, right? I can actually see your mouths moving and can actually hear you chatting."

So, is it any wonder at all that I take my Total Wine gift certificates and spend over an hour perusing the store the very first day after school officially ends? I even indulge in a wine tasting before noon. 

These are the front lines, people. We may not be in the hospitals pulling ICU duty, but make no mistake -- teachers were and are swimming in the Petri Dish of Horror. Every single educator not only earned but deserved whatever indulgence they care to enact.

So, yes, I treat myself to craft beer I've wanted to try, and small bottles of prosecco and champagne, and a large bottle of sangria, and some small boxes of wine to take to a friend's pool, and some mini-wines for travel. This is no longer my Survival Cart; this is my Party Cart.

After two-plus years in the Petri Dish of Horror, I've earned this. We all have. Salud.