And here we go, right? Everybody has to be back tomorrow, and the kids return Wednesday, and Open House was tonight. This year’s Open House involved a mad dash between 3:00 and 4:30 for new clothes, as I don’t own a single pair of slacks and didn’t remember that Open House was tonight and not tomorrow night until just after midnight. I literally had the librarian look me over for tags before exposing myself to the general public.
Also, the new plan for questions about my job is definitely to lie, because I made the mistake of telling the cashier at the clothier’s that I was buying an outfit for Open House, and could not convince her that there were roles other than “parent” or “teacher” that might nonetheless compel one to attend “parent-teacher night.”
“So, which one are you? A parent or a teacher?” she asks.
“Neither,” I say. “I work in the office.”
“So what do you teach?”
That’s literally exactly how the conversation went. From now on I teach 8th grade Algebra and that’s it. Truth is inconvenient and annoying.
I really only had two conversations with parents tonight, as nobody actually knows me and there aren’t many people who go to parent-teacher night to talk to the new staff they don’t know. One spent fifteen minutes telling me how wonderful her kids were (which led to me spending ten minutes discussing the University of Chicago with her older, high-school-aged daughter, who apparently has them on her shortlist) and the second showed up with ten minutes left in the event, spent five of his ten bitching about how his wife had told him the wrong time for the event, repeatedly ignored my suggestion that maybe he take his sixth-grade son to where the sixth-grade teachers were, and then asked me what the hell he’d have to do to “get some information.”
“You could have asked me a question at any point in the last five minutes,” I said. “Or you could go meet the sixth grade teachers, as I’ve suggested several times now.”
“I need some information, though!” he says, still without actually asking anything.
At which point I literally told him I didn’t have any more time to talk to him and walked away.
I’ll leave it as an exercise for the reader to determine which of these two fine individuals smelled of hard likker. I ain’t telling you.