I’ve been working three days a week or more for the past month or so, and that welcome action is my moral solace as real estate tax time approaches. So when my life lurched into Wednesday this week and the guiest teacher service had not called me ONE TIME, I was beginning to feel like the guy who hides in the bushes and watches your mother disrobe for a bath . . . . . worse, actually. I had just about convinced myself that my Top Ten Benefits to Substitute Teaching posting earlier at H&Q had been read by “management” who had decided to smite my formerly tolerable name from their “call when needed” roster. That presupposes, inaccurately as time would tell, that the mentality festering in the White House has a kindred perversity in District 186!
In fact when the call came in I told the courteous caller I had been worried that I had been taken off their list. She reassured me that I was still on the good list. On some days, I can feel horrible about sneaking a snack from the cookie jar even though there’s not a cookie jar in the house!
An unpredictable offshoot of the lack of guest teaching action was that today, after planning to get down to some long-overdue correspondence, and maybe visiting with an editor friend, I was hoping the service would not call me. The call came about 7:30. I said “Yes, I’ll be delighted to come in” so fast that after I hung up the phone and starting to wash the sleep away, I had to call them back to be sure I remembered the correct middle school destination! It was one of my fave destinations, and I was reminded why when I arrived, as promised over the phone, one minute before 8:00 a.m.
“Mr. Conger, glad to see you again. Can you come back for the day tomorrow?” <— That kind of greeting at the front desk is the best greeting there is in all of “guest teacherdom.” Of COURSE, I’d be delighted to return tomorrow!
Though the day had been a breeze, the night before the day had been less. Didn’t get to bed until about 3 a, wrestling my my demons. I had consumed only one beer, and that was close to 3 a. Could have hit the hay right after the hour-delayed Charlie Rose (Illinois Lawmakers kicks it back an hour when the General Assembly’s in session, and it’s a fine program and host in its own right. My beer consumption is not about ingesting (suckling, if you will) affirmation. It’s about suckling a representation of affirmation, and on my budget, that works for me. If I actually had a real full-time employer, I’d have knocked down for Old Milwauks with some chips and been sleeping by 12:35.
Near-abject poverty has its upside, dang itTHANK GOD.
Meanvile, back to this aftagnoon . . . . . After downing the usual two PB&J sammiches washed down with a tall glass of Liipton Instant Tea, I nodded, guilltlessly, off to sleep city transported by the convivial white noise repartee of Johny and Josie on WMAY. And when I awoke, I was ready for aviation history action which I’ve engaged for the past three hours in the basement: filing hundreds of articles, accumulated over more than a year if foggy disinterest. And I’m making progress. I had to stop several times to savor Fresh Air with Terri Gross on WUIS.
There are some shows that are denser than AM or ABC cereal filler. Terri Gross (apologies if I’m mis-spelling her excellent name) and Charlie Rose are at the top of my heap; not all the time, but a good 80 percent of it.
I’ll have to catch up with that correspondence this weekend.
I’m sure you’ve noticed I am on a writing binge, of a sort. I want to get back to a posting a day, either here at Honey and Quinine OR at Umbrage Universal. Besides reminding YOU I am still alive, it’s my best way of reminding ME I’m alive.
Thanks for dropping in.
Live long . . . . . . . and proper.
