My life has been busy which is why I haven’t been blogging. A week before school started, I got a phone call from the Interview #2 people. They called to ask if I would step into a long-term subbing position for the 7th grade Language Arts (MY DREAM JOB). I of course quickly agreed. So I started the year with these kids, I am the only teacher they know.
Which leads me to my story. I have always been told, by other teachers, not to teach in the same city you live in. Today I discovered why. I teach about 20 minutes away from my house in another city. After school I decided to make a quick stop at the Walmart by the school for a few items.
As you know, I am seven months pregnant and I have well, a problem pooping. The Chief really can’t make fun of my rabbit pellet poo anymore. I have the opposite problem. I think I might be taking in too much iron because now it is painful to poop because I have...well....horse turds. Gross, I know. It gets better.
 |
| Rabbit poo looks like raisins! |
 |
| Did you really think I was going to put a picture of horse poo? Gross! |
So I am at the Walmart, picking up a few items, and go ahead and grab some Preparation H while I am there. It gets better. Wait for it.
There I am standing in the 20 item or less check out line reading the US magazine, that just so happened to be screaming my name, when I get a tap on the shoulder. Wait for it.
A student and her mother are standing directly behind me. I immediately start visiting with them, talking about the student’s recent progress on her descriptive essay we are working on in class. As I talk, I approach the counter where I quickly throw my five items on the little bar. We continue chatting when I hear this annoying, “BEEP...BEEP”. I turn to see the checkout girl attempting to scan my butt cream. Instead of pulling up a price, the screen simply says: <CLEAR>. WAIT. FOR. IT.
After three or four more attempts at pounding on her keyboard, she finally interrupts our conversation with, “Ma’am, do you know how much the Preparation H was?”
We stop chatting so I can address the checker lady who now is starting to look more like Satan with a blue vest. My mind quickly races trying to think how I am possibly going to get out of this without killing any chance I might have maintaining respect from this parent, and without traumatizing a child. I could say:
A: How the hell did that get there? That isn’t mine!
B: My elderly mother put that in there, and she is now wandering the store somewhere...no biggie, she can get it another time.
C: Preparation H? Holy Cow! I meant to get toothpaste!! This pregnancy brain is REALLY getting to me!
Instead I muttered, $5.50 or so...silently praying she wasn’t going to announce a “Preparation H price check on Checkout #3” over the loud speaker. Luckily, she typed in the $5.50 and moved right along to my next item.
I then turn back to the two innocent bystanders and ended the conversation with some bull about the weather changing and how the student shouldn’t forget to study for tomorrow’s test. I walked away with my head down, shame crawling up my neck, and my Preparation H in my bag.
Can’t. Make. This. Shit. Up.
