I work with a bunch of perverts. Not sex offender level perverts –we’re not allowed to gain that level, not that we’re trying or anything. We’re just your average over-educated nerds who like words and are fucking filthy immature assholes. It might be our escape method. We do spend our entire work day editing our language and holding back our personal opinions so sometimes we have to blow off steam and just say:
There are three routinely rough days in our year: Open House and the two parent-teacher conference nights. All three take the regular work day which starts somewhere around 5:30 a.m. and tags on about six extra hours. Not only have we expended resources teaching and putting out fires on those days, but the extra six hours requires our perkiest, high-energy, “There is still hope for your child” dog and pony show. Smiles all around, because no one is actually allowed to tell parents that their kid is a horrible example of the evolutionary process and that the majority of the problem is their poor “I don’t give shit and want to be my teen’s buddy” parenting. SMILE!
Add in the stress factor of you never know what kind of crazy to expect. Maybe everyone in the room will agree that yes, many problems could be solved if Johnny actually did the assigned readings etc… Maybe mom will burst into tears and decide to share intimate gynecological information about Susie and how she caught Susie boning Johnny on the couch. The stain just won’t come out. Maybe dad will hit on you. Maybe mom and dad will decide that Johnny’s interests would be better served if they screamed at you for a while because his failures are your fault, you’re overpaid, get the summers off and never have to deal with anything like student pregnancy, body odor, drug dealing, profanity, lying, cheating, masturbating, lack of social skills, swearing etc…
Or maybe you will be physically trapped behind your desk by a midget close-talker who smells like sweet and sour chicken and insists on telling you the same 3-4 bits of information over and over again for 40 minutes. (FYI: I was starving and she really did smell like sweet and sour chicken.)
Who fucking knows what we’ll end up dealing with on any of those very long nights. So I think that we are sanctioned to release pressure through whatever means are available…and they’ve told us that we can’t drink on school property.
Our second parent/teacher conference night typically falls on or right before Valentine’s Day which sucks even more if you actually have a Valentine. (We’re not supposed to have sex on school property either.) But it also means that chocolate and conversation hearts are readily accessible.
No one wants to actually eat conversation hearts. The texture and taste are what I would imagine gnawing on a piece of dirty chalk would taste like. They only sell for about 6 weeks of the year but candy companies have them in production for 11 months of the year. Rumor has it that their shelf life is about 5 years. Yum.
In lieu of eating the conversation hearts, my department members have carried on the tradition of editing the text of the hearts because we are over-educated nerds who like words and are fucking filthy immature assholes. It gives us an opportunity to maniacally giggle over our 15 minute dinners of whatever the PTA is feeding us that night. Our students who like to fake naivety and innocence whenever their teachers appear slightly human, would be appalled.
“One & Only” = Bone & Only
“Angel” = Anal
“First Kiss” = Fisting is for me.
“Puppy Love” = Puppy Love is still bestiality.
Clearly this is my three college degrees paying off. And, of course, we do not leave these just laying around because THAT would be inappropriate.
HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!!