"Do you want to go pick up a kid and bring him in?" My principal was standing at the door to my temporary office. I glanced up and quickly agreed, not even sure what the situation was. He went on to inform me that a student had refused to get ready for school this morning and as a result had missed the bus. The parent didn't have a car, so there was no way for her to get him to school.
After my morning ritual of giving the daily announcements over the PA system, I hopped in my car to track down the troubled kid. There was no way we were going to let this little guy cheat us out of the money we collect from the state each day a child is present. When I arrived at the apartment, I was thankful not to have been invited inside. The smell of the smoke so permeated the building that my eyes began to water. You have to understand that I have never met this child or his mom before. All she knew was that I was a representative of the school and that I was taking her son with me. I was actually shocked by her willingness to send her seven-year-old boy with a complete stranger. I guess there are some who blindly trust any governmental agency.
With a big smile of victory, the boy cheerfully headed out to my car. Once he was safely strapped in, he was amazed at the moonroof. Apparently he had never seen such a thing before. Not wanting to make him think this was a fun ride, I refused to open it. Instead I lectured him on the importance of school and told him that he was going to have to make up for the time he missed this morning by giving up recess.
The whole way to school he talked happily about all the things he saw as my eyes grew watery and my lungs constricted. I was not tearing up over his unfortunate situation, rather I was reacting to the overwhelming stench of cigarette smoke that permeated his clothing and thus, my car. I knew he was in awe of my moonroof, and I wanted him to hate the ride, but, doggone it, I needed to breathe!
At the halfway point I had to give in to protect the boy's safety and mine. I warned him not to have any fun, but it had to be done. As the fresh air filled the car, I inhaled deeply and felt my eyes return to their normal state.
And so goes the life of a short term AP.
Wednesday, March 31, 2010
Tuesday, March 30, 2010
Day 7 - Tuesday
Today was a busy day in the life of an assistant principal wannabe, but instead of boring you with tales of crazy parents and wacky kids, I am going to spend my time focusing on something entirely different today. I am constantly amazed by the types of people who get hired as role models for our kids.
Tonight I was out to dinner with my family to celebrate my daughter's sixth birthday. She was in her own little world playing with her cousins and eating her burger and fries while sipping on a chocolate milk shake. For that I was thankful because she could not hear the man siting at the table next to us. My ears kept picking up on his prolific use of four-letter words as he recounted to his buddy the trials he is going through with his live-in girlfriend. Nearly every sentence contained expletives, many used to describe her. I could tell he was angry and I concluded that to call him on his horrific behavior would only make things worse, so I suffered in silence.
As he spewed out his profanity, I couldn't help but notice that he wore the uniform of a local high school baseball team. Sure enough, the conversation eventually turned to baseball and the players on the team. I couldn't believe that this man had been hired to coach high school boys and mentor them through a portion of their most impressionable years. His disgust with his shack-up honey and the words he used in a very public setting were among the most offensive things I had heard in quite some time. I was equally appalled by his buddy who sat there never once suggesting to his friend that his language might be offensive to those around him.
If this man were to tell me that he never speaks that way in front of his team, I wouldn't excuse him. The truth of his character was revealed tonight. Even if his language was nothing but perfect in the presence of teenagers, his character is flawed and those flaws will be evident in his interactions with those he is tasked to train.
It is these kind of people who influence our children. These are the men who shape our future. Until our role models can control themselves, we will continue to see new generations of ineffective and immature parents sending their children to our already struggling public schools. It's time to take a stand because when we do, students will be free to learn.
Tonight I was out to dinner with my family to celebrate my daughter's sixth birthday. She was in her own little world playing with her cousins and eating her burger and fries while sipping on a chocolate milk shake. For that I was thankful because she could not hear the man siting at the table next to us. My ears kept picking up on his prolific use of four-letter words as he recounted to his buddy the trials he is going through with his live-in girlfriend. Nearly every sentence contained expletives, many used to describe her. I could tell he was angry and I concluded that to call him on his horrific behavior would only make things worse, so I suffered in silence.
As he spewed out his profanity, I couldn't help but notice that he wore the uniform of a local high school baseball team. Sure enough, the conversation eventually turned to baseball and the players on the team. I couldn't believe that this man had been hired to coach high school boys and mentor them through a portion of their most impressionable years. His disgust with his shack-up honey and the words he used in a very public setting were among the most offensive things I had heard in quite some time. I was equally appalled by his buddy who sat there never once suggesting to his friend that his language might be offensive to those around him.
If this man were to tell me that he never speaks that way in front of his team, I wouldn't excuse him. The truth of his character was revealed tonight. Even if his language was nothing but perfect in the presence of teenagers, his character is flawed and those flaws will be evident in his interactions with those he is tasked to train.
It is these kind of people who influence our children. These are the men who shape our future. Until our role models can control themselves, we will continue to see new generations of ineffective and immature parents sending their children to our already struggling public schools. It's time to take a stand because when we do, students will be free to learn.
Monday, March 29, 2010
Day 6 - Monday
What could go wrong on a Monday morning? The kids all had a nice relaxing weekend away from the pressures of school and they are feeling refreshed and enthusiastic about their education. Right? Oh, yeah. There was that little incident involving fire in the bathroom from last week that didn't get resolved. Then there's the two kids who got into a fight before school even started. Oh, and who would have guessed that we'd send a student to the hospital in an ambulance this morning? Maybe I shouldn't have called those other teachers first thing this morning and offered to help offload some of their more mundane tasks in anticipation of a slow day.
There is fun in it all, however. The fun comes from catching the bad guy. You remember the little fellow who got caught with matches after school last Friday? Well it didn't take long to connect him to the infamous Cheeto Fire of 2010. The Cheeto Fire was named after the source of the flames that filled the boys' bathroom with an odd odor last week. No damage actually occurred, but after only a few minutes of interviewing guilty consciences, I learned that Match Boy had invited a friend to join him in the bathroom to experiment with a new technique for making Hot Cheetos even hotter. According to their theory, a small flame held beneath the puffed chip-like creation would make it do something new and exciting. Apparently the word "burn" never entered their realm of hypotheses.
I always feel a little better when the truly guilty let the tears flow just a bit. It's nice to see that they are scared and that they fear the consequences of their transgressions. These little guys held back the tears until the just after the sentence was pronounced, then they let them flow. As the tears started to flow, so did the names of anyone else who was within a block of the flames. One name happened to belong to the little guy who first ratted them out last week. Isn't that convenient.
The best part, though, came when I called home and the parents of one of the little pyrotechnicians had just one question. "Where did he get the Cheetos?" And this my friends, is what we call "A parent that makes me go hmmm." I can't wait until tomorrow!
There is fun in it all, however. The fun comes from catching the bad guy. You remember the little fellow who got caught with matches after school last Friday? Well it didn't take long to connect him to the infamous Cheeto Fire of 2010. The Cheeto Fire was named after the source of the flames that filled the boys' bathroom with an odd odor last week. No damage actually occurred, but after only a few minutes of interviewing guilty consciences, I learned that Match Boy had invited a friend to join him in the bathroom to experiment with a new technique for making Hot Cheetos even hotter. According to their theory, a small flame held beneath the puffed chip-like creation would make it do something new and exciting. Apparently the word "burn" never entered their realm of hypotheses.
I always feel a little better when the truly guilty let the tears flow just a bit. It's nice to see that they are scared and that they fear the consequences of their transgressions. These little guys held back the tears until the just after the sentence was pronounced, then they let them flow. As the tears started to flow, so did the names of anyone else who was within a block of the flames. One name happened to belong to the little guy who first ratted them out last week. Isn't that convenient.
The best part, though, came when I called home and the parents of one of the little pyrotechnicians had just one question. "Where did he get the Cheetos?" And this my friends, is what we call "A parent that makes me go hmmm." I can't wait until tomorrow!
Friday, March 26, 2010
Day 5 - Friday
An entire week has now passed and I am ready for the weekend. To call this week exhausting is an understatement. Today I learned the value of technical glitches and repeat offenders. Let’s start with the technical glitches.
A student, let’s call him Eager, was sent to “The Office” today for injuring another student on the playground. We’ll call the injured fellow, Bumpy. According to the witnesses, Eager lost his cool and pushed Bumpy into a bar. (Perhaps “pole” would be a better term for those of you wondering what kind of a school I come from.) The injury amounted to a slight bump (hence the name, Bumpy). As I always do, I pulled Eager’s discipline file up on the computer to review before acting. To my surprise, Eager’s file was empty. According to our system the child had never so much as smacked a fly on the playground. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself. “This is not the Eager I know.” As a prudent investigator, I ran this up the chain of command, only to determine that there was indeed an error.
After several e-mails around town, it was determined that the file was lost. Despite all of our best efforts to prevent this kind of a disaster, we have no digital evidence that Eager has ever been to the office. Fortunately, a hard copy remains. As for me, Monday promises to be a day full of data entry…unless I can pass it off to someone else. Not likely. Kindergarten registration starts bright and early Monday morning and all the office staff will be busy signing up the little guys.
Now on to repeat offenders. I was informed this morning that the boys bathroom smelled like matches. I walked by the open door and confirmed the report. A closer look revealed that the evidence had been removed and that only the smell remained. Given the lack of witnesses or evidence, there was little I could do to catch the perpetrator. I put the word out to listen for kids talking, but the dismissal bell rang without any response. It looked like this was going to be an unsolved mystery.
But wait, there is an after school program. And it was here that the offender struck twice. Without regard for his own personal safety or the safety of others, Smokey struck his matches in the presence of an adult and the case was solved. I have yet to speak with the child as he was sent home by the after school staff, but come Monday, as soon as I finish my stack of data entry, I’ll be on him like smoke on a fire.
A student, let’s call him Eager, was sent to “The Office” today for injuring another student on the playground. We’ll call the injured fellow, Bumpy. According to the witnesses, Eager lost his cool and pushed Bumpy into a bar. (Perhaps “pole” would be a better term for those of you wondering what kind of a school I come from.) The injury amounted to a slight bump (hence the name, Bumpy). As I always do, I pulled Eager’s discipline file up on the computer to review before acting. To my surprise, Eager’s file was empty. According to our system the child had never so much as smacked a fly on the playground. “Hmmm,” I thought to myself. “This is not the Eager I know.” As a prudent investigator, I ran this up the chain of command, only to determine that there was indeed an error.
After several e-mails around town, it was determined that the file was lost. Despite all of our best efforts to prevent this kind of a disaster, we have no digital evidence that Eager has ever been to the office. Fortunately, a hard copy remains. As for me, Monday promises to be a day full of data entry…unless I can pass it off to someone else. Not likely. Kindergarten registration starts bright and early Monday morning and all the office staff will be busy signing up the little guys.
Now on to repeat offenders. I was informed this morning that the boys bathroom smelled like matches. I walked by the open door and confirmed the report. A closer look revealed that the evidence had been removed and that only the smell remained. Given the lack of witnesses or evidence, there was little I could do to catch the perpetrator. I put the word out to listen for kids talking, but the dismissal bell rang without any response. It looked like this was going to be an unsolved mystery.
But wait, there is an after school program. And it was here that the offender struck twice. Without regard for his own personal safety or the safety of others, Smokey struck his matches in the presence of an adult and the case was solved. I have yet to speak with the child as he was sent home by the after school staff, but come Monday, as soon as I finish my stack of data entry, I’ll be on him like smoke on a fire.
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Day 4 - Thursday
Did you say progress reports are due tomorrow? Since when does the assistant principal have to do progress reports? Oh, that's right. I was a teacher last week and the sub doesn't even know the kids' names yet. My plan was to work on a few progress reports a day throughout the week, but it hasn't happened that way. As a matter of fact, that is one thing you learn as a school administrator: Nothing goes according to plan.
There are roughly 850 students at my school (give or take a few depending on the position of the moon). If one out of ten got sent to "The Office" on any given day that would be 85 kids. Fortunately our school is not that bad. Five percent would be just over 40 kids per day. We still have that beat. Let's cut it down to about 2.5% of the kids getting into trouble on any given day. That would be in the neighborhood of 20 kids. Today was right about at the 2.5% mark. That doesn't mean there were 20 fights, because each fight takes a minimum of two people, but it was a busy day for "The Office."
I view student discipline from two different conflicting perspectives. On one hand, I would love to work at a school where all the kids got along and solved their own conflicts; A place were teachers and other adults were treated with respect and kids were motivated to succeed. But that would make me irrelevant in my particular role as an administrator. As a person, I need to be busy in order to feel satisfied. A busy day gives me a sense of accomplishment and value. Given my position, a busy day involves kids screwing up. From that perspective, there is a twisted sense of worth that comes after a long day of disciplining kids. As with any day in the classroom, I hope that they have learned what I have taught them them.
I try to reflect on the good parts of each day, but in the world of student discipline, that can be hard. Fortunately I have great kids at home. Tonight I watched a kindergarten student during Open House who could not recite the alphabet to her parents even as she pointed to the letters on the wall. Obviously, she struggled with the sounds of the letters as well. As I watched this episode, I thought of my own kindergarten aged daughter and absolutely delighted in the fact that she not only knows the letters and sounds, but reads entire books.
Once the kids were in bed tonight, I sat down to write about my day and noticed that there were two comments on yesterday's post. I clicked the link and read what my own son had to say about my writing: "You are so funny!" His second comment was just a reiteration of the first. "I said....You are so funny!" How can you not smile knowing that your own son is your biggest fan. I am truly blessed.
Now, time for some progress reports. Anyone want to help?
There are roughly 850 students at my school (give or take a few depending on the position of the moon). If one out of ten got sent to "The Office" on any given day that would be 85 kids. Fortunately our school is not that bad. Five percent would be just over 40 kids per day. We still have that beat. Let's cut it down to about 2.5% of the kids getting into trouble on any given day. That would be in the neighborhood of 20 kids. Today was right about at the 2.5% mark. That doesn't mean there were 20 fights, because each fight takes a minimum of two people, but it was a busy day for "The Office."
I view student discipline from two different conflicting perspectives. On one hand, I would love to work at a school where all the kids got along and solved their own conflicts; A place were teachers and other adults were treated with respect and kids were motivated to succeed. But that would make me irrelevant in my particular role as an administrator. As a person, I need to be busy in order to feel satisfied. A busy day gives me a sense of accomplishment and value. Given my position, a busy day involves kids screwing up. From that perspective, there is a twisted sense of worth that comes after a long day of disciplining kids. As with any day in the classroom, I hope that they have learned what I have taught them them.
I try to reflect on the good parts of each day, but in the world of student discipline, that can be hard. Fortunately I have great kids at home. Tonight I watched a kindergarten student during Open House who could not recite the alphabet to her parents even as she pointed to the letters on the wall. Obviously, she struggled with the sounds of the letters as well. As I watched this episode, I thought of my own kindergarten aged daughter and absolutely delighted in the fact that she not only knows the letters and sounds, but reads entire books.
Once the kids were in bed tonight, I sat down to write about my day and noticed that there were two comments on yesterday's post. I clicked the link and read what my own son had to say about my writing: "You are so funny!" His second comment was just a reiteration of the first. "I said....You are so funny!" How can you not smile knowing that your own son is your biggest fan. I am truly blessed.
Now, time for some progress reports. Anyone want to help?
Wednesday, March 24, 2010
Day 3- Wednesday
Have you ever had one of those days when you were so busy you didn't even notice how long you had been working? You know what I'm talking about. The kind of day where an innocent looking child is sent to you for stabbing other kids in the neck with a spork and pretending it is a Taser? The kind of day where other children look you in the eye and lie about launching spitballs into the face of a sweet little girl? Come on, admit it. This kind of thing happens to you all the time. Doesn't it?
OK, maybe you're a cop and the Tasers you work with are real and your spitballs are bean bag pellets fired into unruly crowds. (Hey, that's not a bad idea.) Or maybe you work in a shoe store and your Tasers are smelly feet or ugly bunions. We all have Tasers and spitballs on our jobs. But do you have a joy buzzer?
Oh, yes. I said joy buzzer. You remember those wind up toys that buzz innocent victims when you shake their hands. I got one today from a cute little fourth grade girl. Actually, she's a good kid and goes to our church. As a matter of fact, I have to go and pick the kids up from church in a few minutes and you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna buzz that cute little fourth grade girl! Oh, how I love this job.
OK, maybe you're a cop and the Tasers you work with are real and your spitballs are bean bag pellets fired into unruly crowds. (Hey, that's not a bad idea.) Or maybe you work in a shoe store and your Tasers are smelly feet or ugly bunions. We all have Tasers and spitballs on our jobs. But do you have a joy buzzer?
Oh, yes. I said joy buzzer. You remember those wind up toys that buzz innocent victims when you shake their hands. I got one today from a cute little fourth grade girl. Actually, she's a good kid and goes to our church. As a matter of fact, I have to go and pick the kids up from church in a few minutes and you know what I'm gonna do? I'm gonna buzz that cute little fourth grade girl! Oh, how I love this job.
Tuesday, March 23, 2010
Day 2- Tuesday
The day started out beautifully... until 5:30 this morning. The beautiful part was the part where the baby slept through the night. The ugly part, the 5:30 part, occurred when my wife's cell phone decided to audibly alert us that the battery was running low. (Insert parenthetical statement here that I won't actually say because it might jeopardize my marriage.) Oh well. The alarm was going to go off in a half hour anyway, might as well get up.
Since my purpose is to chronicle the highs and lows of the day, I'll start with the lows and work my way up. During my morning briefing with my classroom sub, I told her not to put up with anything from the class. If they were not focused she was to send them up to "The Office" immediately. Since yesterday was a "sink the sub" day, this seemed prudent. She took me seriously. Very seriously. By 10:00 a.m. I had seen 12 kids. Nine of them were from my own class. How do you spell Aye-yi-yi as you bury your face in your hands and pretend to weep? I think the strategy worked, though. The class did much better in the afternoon.
Let's go one notch up from there. For guy who deals with discipline all day, it can actually bring about a warped sort of high when you catch a kid red-handed. I had one of those moments today. Guess who's class the culprit came from? Yup, you guessed it, Mr. "The Office's". We have an online learning site where the kids can log in using their own usernames and access learning materials. The site also features an e-mail component. What the kids don't know is that there is an electronic spy that notifies the administrators anytime profanity is included in an e-mail The spy is fast. Very fast. Within three minutes of one student sending a dirty message, he was sitting in my office. I felt wise. And powerful.
Later, another student from Mr. "The Office's" class was in the library using a computer. He launched a naughty e-mail. The program administrator for the entire district happened to be in our library at the time with her Blackberry in hand. The e-mail arrived in her hands seconds after the naughty boy sent it. Caught again! Life is good!
Now for the best part. The girl fight! No, there were no fists or claws, it was a verbal war, but girls can be mean with their words. To simplify things, let's call them Kitty and Drama. Drama came to me on the verge of tears because Kitty had said mean things. (Yes, Drama. Can you believe it?) To get her back, Drama insulted Kitty, etcetera, ad nauseam. With both girls sitting in my office, I told them that they can make the choice to be nice to each other and that compliments are more productive than insults. Then they each took a turn at complimenting the other and things were going well. It was at this point that I began to feel left out, so I gave them an opportunity to compliment me as well. (Might as well get my own back scratched when I have the chance.) Kitty thought for a moment, then spoke. "Uhhhh, you have nice posture."
Nice posture! That's the best they could come up with? I'm in for a long month.
Since my purpose is to chronicle the highs and lows of the day, I'll start with the lows and work my way up. During my morning briefing with my classroom sub, I told her not to put up with anything from the class. If they were not focused she was to send them up to "The Office" immediately. Since yesterday was a "sink the sub" day, this seemed prudent. She took me seriously. Very seriously. By 10:00 a.m. I had seen 12 kids. Nine of them were from my own class. How do you spell Aye-yi-yi as you bury your face in your hands and pretend to weep? I think the strategy worked, though. The class did much better in the afternoon.
Let's go one notch up from there. For guy who deals with discipline all day, it can actually bring about a warped sort of high when you catch a kid red-handed. I had one of those moments today. Guess who's class the culprit came from? Yup, you guessed it, Mr. "The Office's". We have an online learning site where the kids can log in using their own usernames and access learning materials. The site also features an e-mail component. What the kids don't know is that there is an electronic spy that notifies the administrators anytime profanity is included in an e-mail The spy is fast. Very fast. Within three minutes of one student sending a dirty message, he was sitting in my office. I felt wise. And powerful.
Later, another student from Mr. "The Office's" class was in the library using a computer. He launched a naughty e-mail. The program administrator for the entire district happened to be in our library at the time with her Blackberry in hand. The e-mail arrived in her hands seconds after the naughty boy sent it. Caught again! Life is good!
Now for the best part. The girl fight! No, there were no fists or claws, it was a verbal war, but girls can be mean with their words. To simplify things, let's call them Kitty and Drama. Drama came to me on the verge of tears because Kitty had said mean things. (Yes, Drama. Can you believe it?) To get her back, Drama insulted Kitty, etcetera, ad nauseam. With both girls sitting in my office, I told them that they can make the choice to be nice to each other and that compliments are more productive than insults. Then they each took a turn at complimenting the other and things were going well. It was at this point that I began to feel left out, so I gave them an opportunity to compliment me as well. (Might as well get my own back scratched when I have the chance.) Kitty thought for a moment, then spoke. "Uhhhh, you have nice posture."
Nice posture! That's the best they could come up with? I'm in for a long month.
Monday, March 22, 2010
Day 1 - Monday
Let's begin by setting the stage. I learned of this gig last Thursday evening and was told to keep it under wraps until after school on Friday. That means that my class didn't learn of my departure until they showed up Monday morning and I was there to introduce them to the long term sub whom I had just met.
My class here at Anonymous El. is made up of a bunch of talkative kids who love to have fun. While they demand that I keep a vigilant eye on them, the severity of the average offense ranges somewhere between "Knock it off" and "You're a dork, I'm calling your mom". I started the day off by informing the class that I am now "The Office." When they get sent to "The Office," they are coming to me and I was not about to go easy on them.
Predictably, the class with the most visits to "The Office" was Mr. "The Office's" own class. One of the little darlings was caught throwing erasers across the room. Another tried dancing on the desk. I told him he was a dork and called his mom.
The most exciting part of my day, however, came earlier this morning. One of the fourth grade teachers asked me if I would do a home visit for one of her problem kids. Before I continue, you have to understand that I actually enjoy dealing with with those of the denser persuasion. My reason for this is simple: I love to tell a good story and the denser members of our society provide excellent fodder. That being said, there is no shortage of density in and around public schools, so my stories should be plentiful. (If you haven't yet figured this out, I have done a stint as a fill-in administrator before, so I already know what to expect.)
Join me as I cruise to a dilapidated mobile home to determine why little Horace does not turn in his homework. The teacher had tried calling Mrs. Horace, but their phone was disconnected. When I arrived on scene a car was parked in front and the booming techno music was actually making the little ramshackle house throb. I began to worry that the structure might collapse if the music wasn't turned down, but instead, I regained my focus on the task at hand. Climbing the astroturf steps to the front porch, I made note of the sliding glass door that served as the home's main entrance. With no blinds to hide it, the inside was laid out before me.
The polite administrator within me rang the door bell, but, not surprisingly, it didn't work. The 8-ounce yapping dog, however, announced my arrival as he stared me down through the door. Next time I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping to arouse a sleeping giant. As I did, I noticed the glass of ice water on the kitchen table. The ice was not melted. "Someone is home," I quickly deduced as the techno music throbbed in my ears. I waited for the song to end and when it did, I pounded away on the glass once again. My window of silence was all of three seconds before the next techno track started, so I went around to the other side of the trailer and pounded on the back door. I even shouted out a greeting to inquire if anyone was home. No luck.
The second song was about to end, but someone didn't want intruders. The soundtrack turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots and screams. Was that a warning? If so, I was determined to heed it and off I went. No wonder Horace is failing.
Stay tuned for more fun tomorrow!
My class here at Anonymous El. is made up of a bunch of talkative kids who love to have fun. While they demand that I keep a vigilant eye on them, the severity of the average offense ranges somewhere between "Knock it off" and "You're a dork, I'm calling your mom". I started the day off by informing the class that I am now "The Office." When they get sent to "The Office," they are coming to me and I was not about to go easy on them.
Predictably, the class with the most visits to "The Office" was Mr. "The Office's" own class. One of the little darlings was caught throwing erasers across the room. Another tried dancing on the desk. I told him he was a dork and called his mom.
The most exciting part of my day, however, came earlier this morning. One of the fourth grade teachers asked me if I would do a home visit for one of her problem kids. Before I continue, you have to understand that I actually enjoy dealing with with those of the denser persuasion. My reason for this is simple: I love to tell a good story and the denser members of our society provide excellent fodder. That being said, there is no shortage of density in and around public schools, so my stories should be plentiful. (If you haven't yet figured this out, I have done a stint as a fill-in administrator before, so I already know what to expect.)
Join me as I cruise to a dilapidated mobile home to determine why little Horace does not turn in his homework. The teacher had tried calling Mrs. Horace, but their phone was disconnected. When I arrived on scene a car was parked in front and the booming techno music was actually making the little ramshackle house throb. I began to worry that the structure might collapse if the music wasn't turned down, but instead, I regained my focus on the task at hand. Climbing the astroturf steps to the front porch, I made note of the sliding glass door that served as the home's main entrance. With no blinds to hide it, the inside was laid out before me.
The polite administrator within me rang the door bell, but, not surprisingly, it didn't work. The 8-ounce yapping dog, however, announced my arrival as he stared me down through the door. Next time I rapped my knuckles on the door, hoping to arouse a sleeping giant. As I did, I noticed the glass of ice water on the kitchen table. The ice was not melted. "Someone is home," I quickly deduced as the techno music throbbed in my ears. I waited for the song to end and when it did, I pounded away on the glass once again. My window of silence was all of three seconds before the next techno track started, so I went around to the other side of the trailer and pounded on the back door. I even shouted out a greeting to inquire if anyone was home. No luck.
The second song was about to end, but someone didn't want intruders. The soundtrack turned to the rat-a-tat-tat of gunshots and screams. Was that a warning? If so, I was determined to heed it and off I went. No wonder Horace is failing.
Stay tuned for more fun tomorrow!
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