I’m teaching first hour today, as I do.  I’m expecting a pretty good day– a number of my usual discipline issues are suspended or out of the building for some reason, so, oughtta be peaceful, right?

Sure.

We’re midway through first hour when It Happens.  One of my girls– normally not a dipshit– looks out the window.  Note: it is snowing today.  It’s not super bad, certainly not anything to compare to what’s hitting the East Coast right now, but there’s definitely precipitation happening.

“Santa!” she squeals.

Uh, what?

Other kids are running to the window.

“Santa!  Santa’s outside!”

Note that this is a seventh grade class.  These kids, if they ever believed in Santa, don’t anymore.  And they are all hollering to me that Santa Claus is outside.

I look out the window and there is a goddamn fat person in a gigantic bright red coat with white fur lining the edges in the field outside our window.  He or she– I can’t see a beard, and something about the person scans female, but I can’t tell for sure because of the gigantic coat– is walking a dog.  The dog is wearing goddamn reindeer horns.  

Dude/ette spent twenty minutes outside my room, just fuckin’ walking around in circles– I don’t know if the damn dog was constipated or what but it was freaking below freezing outside and by the time he finally left I was about to just send the kids outside with him.  Because holy shit you people can be distracted by anything.

I have a silly job.

Several months ago I severed my relationship with Big Multinational Bank in favor of Smaller Regional Bank.  I was startled to receive a new bank card Saturday afternoon from BMB.  Identity theft? I thought to myself.  Nah, no way– it would require the stupidest identity thief ever to start a new account in my name and have the new card sent to my house.  It was Saturday, though, so I couldn’t call anyone or do anything about it until just now.

Hint:  When confronted by a voice-recognition phone system and a problem that can’t be neatly categorized by their bullshit (I don’t have an account with you; I can’t give you my number, and there’s no number to press for “you stupid shits sent me a card I don’t need for an account I don’t have anymore”) there is usually a good solution:  start swearing uncontrollably into the phone every time the recognition system asks for an input.  “Fuck cunt bullshit cock whore” gets you to a representative really quick most of the time.

After some digging around, she tells me that my checking account is closed, but my savings account is still open.  It has two fucking cents in it.

Which, at the time, was annoying– but now I’m still confused, because they sent me a debit card, which I could never use with my savings account before– and it’s not like I’ve gotten any paperwork or statements from them since I closed my account; I’d have noticed it.  So… yeah. Gonna go in tomorrow and get my two gotdamn cents and figure out what the hell’s going on.

Whee!