The wash

Our washer is on the fritz and every time we do a load of laundry water just pours all over the floor. Being a holiday weekend the repairman can’t come out until next week. So this afternoon I piled all of the laundry into the basket and headed out for the laundromat not too far from our house. I parked, grabbed the heaping basket, and headed inside. Trying to balance the laundry and open the door at the same time, a rough-around-the-edges gentleman blocked my way. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?” he inquired. Resisting the temptation to respond “Well it’s a laundromat so obviously I’m here for your much needed six-month dental cleaning, you idiot,” I simply tried to walk past. He in turn took a step sideways to block my entrance. It was instantly apparent that he had seen this move in Road House, Cocktail, Coyote Ugly, or any other crappy film that takes place in a bar. I started to think that maybe this was an exclusive laundromat where you have to tell the doorman a secret code like “spin cycle” or “What a big load you have.” I wasn’t sure how to proceed because glancing at the man he looked like a cross between Willie Nelson and Tony Danza with the jiggly neck of a 103 year old woman. I held up the basket with both hands as though I were offering up a sacrifice to the fabric softener gods. He must have been pleased with my offering as he nodded and let me pass by.

I set down my basket as far away from the gentleman as I could and went to get some change for the washers. I instantly discovered that all I had in my wallet was a $20 bill, an Olive Garden gift card, and a random spearmint Tic Tac. Strange. So I slide the money in and instantly quarters start spitting out like I’ve hit the progressive jackpot on a slot machine at the Bellagio. Unfortunately the section of the machine that is engineered to catch the coins must have been designed by a moron as no more than four quarters would ever fit. Naturally quarters start spilling all over the floor, rolling under machines and I’m standing there trying to catch as many as I can as though delicate tea cups have started raining from the sky. I looked like some sort of retarded Michael Flatley doing a Native American rain dance. Of course this draws the attention of my new best friend and he rushes over bellowing “What did you do??” I don’t even answer him. Instead I just start handing him fistfuls of quarters to free up my hands to get the rest of them as they bounce out. I finally collect all of the change and walk back to my laundry with my mountains of money with my head held down in embarrassment, looking like a dejected pirate.

I divide up all of the laundry among three washing machines and find a seat to wait for what the display on the machine states will be 43 minutes. I sit down with a book and unsuccessfully try to read a bit. You know it’s not going to work out when you reread a page six times and you still can’t remember what you just read. I close the book and begin to do a little people watching. It is instantly apparent what made my new BFF so rambunctious. As he was folding his clothes with one hand he was drinking a can of Bud Light with his other. After craning my neck to examine a bit more I discover that he has an entire 12 pack of beer. For every article of clothing he folds, he takes two sips of beer. It’s like a drinking game for the Martha Stewart crowd.

Off in the corner near me is a couple in their early 20’s with their arms tightly around each other, giggling and whispering what I can only assume to be their favorite lines from the Twilight books. Something about nightfall and being only human. I don’t get it. It was at that moment that I wished a vampire with rank breath and Hepatitis B would just come down and put me out of my misery. As if it couldn’t get any worse, they then begin to make out right there pressed up against the coin-operated detergent dispenser. I don’t care how horny you are, the laundromat would be one of the last places you should get it on. I’d put it right up there with a Hardee’s restroom and your grandmother’s funeral. I had to excuse myself from this Real World-like scene and check on my wash cycle. Only 37 minutes to go. You can down a lot of Bud Light and another person’s saliva in that amount of time. Trust me, I saw it all.

Where I never wanted to end up

A girl that was in my class two years ago stopped by today after school to tell me that she was moving. Now I’ve gotta admit that this young lady was always quite odd, but I grew to actually like her quite a bit. So as we were standing outside at the playground this afternoon I asked her the requisite questions about where she was moving to and if she was looking forward to it. We talked for a few more minutes and just before she left I wished her good luck and told her that I knew she’d do great at her new school. As she walked away through the crowd of parents she turned back to look at me, smiled, and said “I still have your picture….” Awww, how sweet all this time later, I thought, until she added “….in my underwear drawer.”

Say cheese

Today was school picture day, and each spring we have the same old man come in to take the photos. It’s quite honestly one of the most painful things to endure. Last year when he was taking my picture for the yearbook he said, “Hey stilts, smile into the camera and say ‘Ally the alligator’.” At that moment I’m not sure which would have brought me greater joy, shoving the stilts where the sun doesn’t shine or watching with delight as an alligator devoured his head. I think he mistakenly thinks he’s a stand-up comic that got lost on his way to some seedy comedy club in Des Moines. He tries to make the students smile by using such sure-fire zingers as calling for the next boy in line by singing “John John the brown haired boy” like some annoying pied piper at a renaissance fair.

I always brace myself whenever they call our class down. I’m pretty sure a lesser man would be driven to drink copious amounts of alcohol. So today we lined up and waited our turn until he poked his head around the corner and called for the Jolly Green Giant’s class. Yep, he really did. (News flash, I am wickedly tall.) The first boy entered the room and straightened his shirt that had a basketball on it. The photographer proceeded to ask him “Are you a baller?” Okay, when you’re 70 years old you are way past being allowed to say that word. Let’s be honest, even at my age if I say “baller” I look like a schmuck. A few students later he called up a girl who is of mixed ethnicity. He took a look at her and said “Get on up here Miss Mocha.” I know I’m from Pekin and all, but I’m pretty sure that’s racist, right? The second to the last person to get photographed was the sweetest, quietest girl in the class. She sat down and grinned into the camera. Apparently this wasn’t enough for the photographer because he then instructed her to give him her “sexiest smile.” I just stared at him in shock and glared at him with the toughest look I could muster. (Let’s be honest, I’m not very intimidating). I was thisclose to pulling him aside and reminding him that this wasn’t a porn shoot. At this point I pushed the last boy through as quickly as possible, anxious to wrap up these perverted Glamour Shots.

Fire safety

This afternoon I was reading a book with a group of students about historic fires, like the Great Chicago Fire and the Great Fire of London. The end of the book listed a number of fire safety tips which we read through together. One of the boys in the group raised his hand. Now to give you some background, this boy is knowledgeable about a host of topics, but he’s very intense while sharing the information. Throughout the school year I’ve learned what percentage of Jupiter’s atmosphere is hydrogen (89%), which is the smallest Hawaiian island (Kahoolawe), and the name of the Pilgrim baby born at sea (Oceanus). You have to pick the right moment to call on him because if you just call on him at will you’ll be locked into a 20-minute dissertation on the migratory patterns of sea turtles. When I called on him, he caught me off guard because all he said was “My grandpa and grandma moved a heavy piano out of their house once.” We all sat there waiting for the connection to fire safety. It never came so I finally prompted him and asked what this had to do with what we were talking about. Rather nonchalantly he explained that the house was on fire when this was all going. Ah, so now it all tied together. Like we were reading about, make sure you have an escape plan….for rescuing a stinking giant piano. Before getting back into the book, he added “And my aunt and uncle died in the fire.” I’ve gotta admit, I didn’t see that heartwarming ending coming. Let this be a lesson to you kids. When a fire is ravaging your house, make sure you exert all your energy pushing out a large musical instrument while your relatives are burning up like the bad guy in Backdraft.

A birthday surprise

Today was the birthday of one of the girls in my class. She wasn't exactly having a great day. Her mom had yelled at her before school and thus had forgotten her birthday treats at home. Needless to say I tried to be especially nice to her today. When we sing "Happy Birthday" I always let the kids stand on their chairs and the birthday person stand on top of their table. (It bugs the crap out of the older teachers, which I relish.) So today as we finished up singing, trying to make her birthday a little more special, I hopped up on the table with her. I picked her up and held her up to the ceiling, singing "The Circle of Life." We looked like Simba and Rifiki on the cover of The Lion King DVD. In my head I imagined that this would be a moment she would always remember whenever she thought back to her ninth birthday.....until she farted in my face. I'm guessing it was the fried French toast sticks and greasy sausage patty she ate for lunch. An image of panic on both of our faces, she glanced down at me and I craned my neck to look up at her. Remembering the crappy day she was having (literally), I simply held my breath and set her back down at her seat. Our silence spoke volumes.

What's in the bag?

Disclaimer: I am such a third grader. I mean when someone says the word "balls" or farts in class I laugh. I can't help it. So today was the 100th day of school and each student was asked to bring in 100 pennies for a math activity. Later in the day as were passing them back out to the class, one of the students' collections caught my eye and, yes, caused me to chuckle. Needless to say, "pennies" will be on next week's spelling list.

The sketch artist

Yesterday during indoor recess some of the girls were drawing on the board. One of them decided to draw a picture of our student teacher, Miss Philipchuck. The two of us both laughed because it looked nothing like her.
For the record, she doesn't look like a frizzy-haired Julianne Moore, nor does she have a 2 x 4 permanently jutting out of her rear. Oh, and the large, oversized globes on her chest? Those are her poofy sleeves, lest you think otherwise you perverts.

Repentance

This weekend at church they had a family-style service, so Ella stayed in with us instead of going to her normal class. So we all sang and played games, and about halfway through my niece Joy came back to sit with us. Now when Ella and Joy get together it’s a bit like a preschool version of Laverne and Shirley. Joy leaned over to ask where the puppet was that she saw earlier. I simply told her that I think it got sick and was taking a nap backstage. Of course this didn’t satisfy Ella who wanted to know what was wrong with him. Like the mature father that I am, I whispered that I thought he had diarrhea. Immediately I realized that this was the wrong thing to say because she began giggling uncontrollably and loudly announced in the middle of the service, “Joy, the puppet has diarrhea!” Please forgive me, Lord.

Change has come...well maybe not.

Just before Christmas break some ladies that work at the bus department generously made stocking caps for every single student at school, some 313 hats to be exact. Needless to say, today was a very busy day at school, with all of the excitement surrounding the inauguration. As a class we watched the swearing in ceremony online, and I strove to explain to the students why it was such a truly monumental day for our nation. So later this afternoon after the events of the day had kind of died down, the students made thank you cards for the hats. As I was looking through them at the end of the day the one below caught my eye.I opened it up to read the letter that the girl had written. It all sounded perfectly fine until I got to the last word.
I mean, really. Did my gripping racial equality speech from the morning not mean anything? Do we still need to be trying to defeat the black man? Disheartened, I called her up to my desk to ask her why she would write something like that. To my relief, she was trying to spell "ninja." Maybe some of that upcoming Obama stimulus money could be spent on some new dictionaries.

Mistaken identity

Tonight we made a quick trip to Walmart to get a few items. As we were getting the everything out of the cart to pay for them, Liam started pointing and saying “Shrek! Shrek!” over and over again. I looked around for a discarded DVD or those Pez dispensers they always have by the check-out. I couldn’t see anything, but he kept pointing at the cashier and yelling “Shrek!” I studied her nifty blue vest for a Shrek button or something but she wasn’t sporting a single piece of flair. I then realized that he might be calling the cashier by that name. She was a rather large woman. So large that she had to sit down on a stool while she rang us up. So large in fact that Bob and Jillian would throw their hands up in surrender. Now I realize that pointing at someone and categorizing them as a giant, oversized, green ogre isn’t the most complimentary title. It’s like calling a person unpatriotic.….or a slut.….or a Holocaust supporter…..or Rosie O’Donnell. These tend not to go over very well. As I was trying to quiet Liam down, of course Curious George’s sister Ella had to pipe in. With a quizzical look on her face she asked, “Daddy, why’s Liam calling that girl Shrek?” I lied and said that I thought he was telling us that he wanted to rent Shrek from the Redbox by the door. She didn’t buy this and pressed the issue further. “Maybe because she looks like Shrek,” she added, as I prayed that the cashier would just eat me and put me out of my misery. I handed the woman a $20 bill and didn’t even wait for my change or receipt. Sometimes you’ve just gotta cut your losses and call it a day.