a touch of floral underlies the coconut,
tang of sweat lies sticky upon it all.
dirty creases between fingers,
streaks of watermelon rivers,
wads of socks just fallen from the bed.
red bug-eaten welts, plastic ships
and paper airplanes,
belly hanging out of rumpled shirt.
my kisses fall upon you,
eyes closed, unknowing, while you sleep.
the deepest of sighs escapes
as i brush your twisted locks
and run my finger down the smoothest of cheeks
where the shadow of a man will grow
and hide the dimples that i gave you.
and when your little paws outstrip mine;
and when your smile winks above me;
and when we disagree because you have my
stubborn streak,
i will remember the little boy who mumbles,
“i love you, mama,”
and rolls over in his sleep.
09 June 2008
31 May 2008
i thought i'd try
...to educate the masses, that is. I can but try. Please pass this on; the general traveling public should know, whether they actually want to or not. Summer schedules are here and the longer the lines are, the more upset all the passengers get. Please educate yourselves. I'm so tired of explaining for the ever-present whining "why." If you don't like the rules, there's always Greyhound and Amtrack. You can catch the light rail to both stations downstairs, just outside customs in the international pier.
Nine bag checks in a row. IN. A. ROW. Nine. For the same exact reason. *whipsers "nine"*
And it wasn't even nine people in the same family, it was nine separate travelers, in a row. They all spoke perfect English, so there wasn't a language barrier. They could all ask and answer questions readily, so no hearing impairments or readily visible cognizance issues. So, someone please explain to me why we had the same conversation nine times in a row?
When I try something new for the first time or for the first time in a great long while, I ask a lot of questions. More than once, of more than one person. Call it "information gathering," if you will. It's all old news, really.
I have passengers on both sides of me grumbling louder and louder about the long wait in line. At bag check number seven, I lost it. I have to stop the x-ray machine every time a bag check is called. While all three of my bag checkers are engaged in checking bags four, five, and six, I can do nothing but wait for the next available pair of free hands. Because of the negligence of the passengers to inform themselves about their trip. Does that make the wait in line my fault? Hell no. I don't bring this shit to the airport because *ding ding ding* IT'S NOT ALLOWED!!! Give me a cookie, someone.
On 8-10-06, a plot was discovered involving liquid explosives disguised as sports drinks being brought aboard several aircraft simultaneously. As a result of that discovery, absolutely NO liquids, creams, gels, aerosols, or pastes were allowed in accessible passenger luggage aboard the aircraft. That ban was semi-lifted and these items were then restricted to one quart-size bag per person with containers marked 3.4 fluid ounces or smaller on 9-25-06. It doesn't matter if you just bought it and it is still sealed. It doesn't matter if you just bought it at Starbucks 30 yards away. It doesn't matter if you tell me there's only 2 squeezes left in the tube if it says 8.0 fl.oz on the side. I don't have a scale. And I don't know what is inside, either. No I will not sniff or taste it. You forgot you had it? It's been in that bag forever? Wow. Does "forever" keep your Diet Coke cold? Because the Diet Coke I'm holding is still cold, reminiscent of a cold soda recently plucked from a fridge. Huh. Weird, isn't it? No, you may not drink it here; you may not open an unknown liquid in my presence. Sure you can tell me it's a Diet Coke. You could tell me it's purple fairy piss for all I care. So could anyone else. Including a terrorist. I'm not taking that chance. Leave and drink or chuck it in the trash. The grumbling behind you is getting louder and I have another bag check.
Since 12-22-01, when Richard Reid packed the thick rubber soles of his hiking boots with the sticky clay-like explosive called PETN and led a fuse out the sole and through his shoelaces, all footwear has been required to be removed for x-ray inspection. That word is ALL. Bedroom slippers, bunny slippers, ballet slippers, dress shoes, tennis shoes, flip flops, sandals, high heels, flats, hiking boots, snow boots, cowboy boots...need I go on? That basically includes anything on your foot that is not a sock. You "can't" walk on the floor with other people's feet? Well, can you hover? Huh. Should have thought a little about that when you got dressed this morning. No, I don't have any socks for you. I bought my own, and actually chose to wear them. No I will not remove my boots and share my socks with you either. Shoes off. And yes, your funky shoes with electronic widg-e-ma-doos, light-ups, massagers, wheels, whistles, drinking flasks (yes, that is what I said), and other various unnecessary doodamajigs will be scrutinized longer than regular shoes. I will not hurry up simply because you don't like being barefoot in public. By making a big stink over your feet, you are making yourself look more suspicious. Is that what you want? Stick your shoes in the machine so people behind you can get moving too.
Since 9-11-01, no knives of any size or type have been allowed to pass through the security checkpoint. That word up there was NO. I am not amused by the sheepish grin and the statement, "I thought i'd try." Oh. Did you now? So you deliberately tried to circumvent security, did you? You do realize that is a crime, don't you? Kevin Brown thought he'd try to circumvent security too on 4-1-08. He only wanted to smuggle pipes and endcaps, BBs, unknown liquids, batteries and bomb-making literature onto an Air Jamaica flight from Miami. If he had succeeded, where would those passengers be today? Did you want to trade your boarding pass for a set of pretty bracelets? I can arrange that. I'm not kidding. Oh. Not so funny anymore? Yeah. Thought that would wipe that stupid grin off your mug. I really don't want to hear about your very first Boy Scout knife's long and involved history; so long and involved you claimed to not own a knife just a minute ago. Are you checking it at your ticket counter, Fed-Exing it to yourself or can I toss it into a locked bin and move on? Make up your mind, other people behind you are bitching about the wait.
*sigh* I sound like a broken record. I sound like a broken record. I sound like a broken record. I sound like...
14 May 2008
ponderings
How many times have you heard someone say that they were late because their "alarm didn't go off" or their "car broke down" on the way to work? You might be able to blame the person if it happens every day and they don't fix the problem. And if they don't have the money to fix the problem, maybe they should just scrap the old machinery and get something new...which also costs money. But if the machinery malfunction only occurs every once in a great while, the delay is only a few minutes, and the job still gets done, is there a reason to get really angry with that person for running a few minutes behind?
Have you ever stood in a long line somewhere, let's say a fast food joint or ice cream stand, where the menu is plainly visible? We all have. While in line, patrons talk amongst themselves, mostly deciding what to order and getting their money out. When the customers in front of you finally make it up to the head of the line, they stop, scratch their heads in wonder and ask, "What do you have to eat here?" and proceed to have the entire menu read to them. Is that frustrating or what?
There is a sale going on at your favorite store. When the cashier goes to ring up the little old lady in front of you, there is a problem. The computer doesn't recognize the bar code, or the wrong item keeps popping up; something odd is tipping off the machine. The cashier explains that it isn't an equipment failure, but a manager needs to have a look and see what is going on. The little old lady is furious at being put out, yelling at the cashier that she has an appointment in five minutes and she has to leave now, just to give her her item so she can leave. But the machine has to resolve the price issue so that the lady can pay, or she'll have to leave the sale item behind. If the lady knew she had to leave at a certain time, why didn't she allow herself plenty of extra time to complete her shopping, just in case there was a long line or problem?
You know that kid who never listens, even when he asks a question and someone immediately answers it? Isn't it frustrating for someone to ask you a question and then continue about their lives doing what they want without listening to the answer? Especially when the answer to the question will determine what action they should take next? Um, yeah. Thanks for listening.
When you go to a circus or fun-fair, you usually buy tickets for each attraction. Or at least that used to be the way things went. When you get up to the head of the line you give your ticket to the guy in the funny hat to go inside the tent to see the fattest bearded lady in the world. You can't go inside without a ticket, or maybe a special hand stamp. Everyone in the line is doing the same thing. Until the dude in front of you reaches the front. He throws his hands into the air and gets mad at the man in the funny hat. He yells things like, "You never told me I had to have a ticket!!" and stomps away to go buy a ticket. Isn't that behavior rude and just flat out ignorant?
What about when you're at the grocery store? When you stand in line forever, people tend to jump out of the line. When you get up to the cashier and start unloading your cart, you find out that the reason the line is taking so long is because the person who is being rung up is taking one box or can out of the cart at a time and waiting for it to be rung up before they take out another. The cashier keeps telling the patron that she can empty her whole cart at once, but the lady insists that she has to keep an eye on her groceries in case the cashier steals them or breaks them open while she's not looking. Wow. Now that is confidence. Why bother coming here at all if she feels that way?
Or how about this one....you're stopped at a red light near enough to a police officer who has pulled someone over and you can hear the conversation. The driver is yelling at the officer who is calling for backup. The man has made an illegal right turn on red in front of a posted sign. The officer is explaining the law and why the man is getting a ticket as the driver gets more and more angry. The driver is clearly in the wrong. Why do some people think that the rules do not apply to them?
Just one more.
You know what is really really REALLY weird?
Have you ever been in a long line at the airport and been really ticked at the officers who are working there because you perceive them as slow, shady, inefficient, lazy, and rude? Read all those scenarios again and picture an airport checkpoint instead.
I can help who is next in line, please.
Have you ever stood in a long line somewhere, let's say a fast food joint or ice cream stand, where the menu is plainly visible? We all have. While in line, patrons talk amongst themselves, mostly deciding what to order and getting their money out. When the customers in front of you finally make it up to the head of the line, they stop, scratch their heads in wonder and ask, "What do you have to eat here?" and proceed to have the entire menu read to them. Is that frustrating or what?
There is a sale going on at your favorite store. When the cashier goes to ring up the little old lady in front of you, there is a problem. The computer doesn't recognize the bar code, or the wrong item keeps popping up; something odd is tipping off the machine. The cashier explains that it isn't an equipment failure, but a manager needs to have a look and see what is going on. The little old lady is furious at being put out, yelling at the cashier that she has an appointment in five minutes and she has to leave now, just to give her her item so she can leave. But the machine has to resolve the price issue so that the lady can pay, or she'll have to leave the sale item behind. If the lady knew she had to leave at a certain time, why didn't she allow herself plenty of extra time to complete her shopping, just in case there was a long line or problem?
You know that kid who never listens, even when he asks a question and someone immediately answers it? Isn't it frustrating for someone to ask you a question and then continue about their lives doing what they want without listening to the answer? Especially when the answer to the question will determine what action they should take next? Um, yeah. Thanks for listening.
When you go to a circus or fun-fair, you usually buy tickets for each attraction. Or at least that used to be the way things went. When you get up to the head of the line you give your ticket to the guy in the funny hat to go inside the tent to see the fattest bearded lady in the world. You can't go inside without a ticket, or maybe a special hand stamp. Everyone in the line is doing the same thing. Until the dude in front of you reaches the front. He throws his hands into the air and gets mad at the man in the funny hat. He yells things like, "You never told me I had to have a ticket!!" and stomps away to go buy a ticket. Isn't that behavior rude and just flat out ignorant?
What about when you're at the grocery store? When you stand in line forever, people tend to jump out of the line. When you get up to the cashier and start unloading your cart, you find out that the reason the line is taking so long is because the person who is being rung up is taking one box or can out of the cart at a time and waiting for it to be rung up before they take out another. The cashier keeps telling the patron that she can empty her whole cart at once, but the lady insists that she has to keep an eye on her groceries in case the cashier steals them or breaks them open while she's not looking. Wow. Now that is confidence. Why bother coming here at all if she feels that way?
Or how about this one....you're stopped at a red light near enough to a police officer who has pulled someone over and you can hear the conversation. The driver is yelling at the officer who is calling for backup. The man has made an illegal right turn on red in front of a posted sign. The officer is explaining the law and why the man is getting a ticket as the driver gets more and more angry. The driver is clearly in the wrong. Why do some people think that the rules do not apply to them?
Just one more.
You know what is really really REALLY weird?
Have you ever been in a long line at the airport and been really ticked at the officers who are working there because you perceive them as slow, shady, inefficient, lazy, and rude? Read all those scenarios again and picture an airport checkpoint instead.
I can help who is next in line, please.
06 May 2008
pride, honor, discipline
a friend's blog touched a nerve the other night. no, i'm not mad at him; the subject just got me thinking and i've been a little bit ticked ever since. the words "Pride, Honor, Discipline" are stenciled across a banner on my basic training t-shirt. it is old, fading, holey, and i generally don't wear it anymore, but i will keep it forever. those three traits have always been around the top of my personality, floating just beneath the surface, yet visible in my daily actions and my words. my parents ingrained them into me long before i heard jody calls and the ringing of 50 heel beats on hot asphalt. how many of those traits do we instill in our kids? how many of them are demonstrated as well as taught? methinks our generation of kids is seriously lacking in more than one of those areas. and that is what has me thinking. and ticked.
"Pride." i think we've all pretty much got that covered. with our heritage months and our t-shirts and bumper stickers proclaiming our religious beliefs and value systems. or lack thereof, in some cases. it gleams in our walls loaded with trophies, certificates, medals and ribbons for all of the things we have accomplished, no matter how small or whether it was for an outstanding individual effort or if the whole team gets one fat happy pat on the back.
or is that all? shouldn't real Pride bleed into the way someone carries themselves? and i'm not necessarily talking about posture; some of that is just hereditary. however worn and used one's clothing may be, however poor and tired one is, effort should be expended to keep noticeably clean and fresh. shouldn't real Pride come from the unnoticed good done every day, for the sake of doing good, not for a special award? a true sense of Pride should come from the accomplishment of doing the best, recognized or not, and wanting to do it again tomorrow.
"Honor." we have that one mostly in sight. there's the biblical "honor thy mother and father," "...to honor and to cherish so long as we both shall live," honorary diplomas and graduation certificates. yeah. and if we don't screw up too badly we can't bring dishonor to our family.
but true Honor comes from being able to make the right choices, whether they are the choices we want to make or not. we know we can get to work faster if we speed, especially when there is little traffic around. and we know where to slow down to avoid the speed traps. but we should just allow enough time to get to work, right? Honor is knowing you don't have enough money in your bank account, and deciding you can go without those shoes until you have enough saved up, rather than writing a bad check, or using money earmarked for something more important to pay for them. Honor is volunteering to help someone and actually following through without making up excuses. c.s. lewis put it quite well when he said, "we laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst." indeed.
"Discipline." that is the one that really sticks in my craw. as parents, we are no longer in control of our own families. everyone has become so nosey in everyone else's business that the slightest form of Discipline is now interpreted as abuse. we are only allowed to speak to our children in low, hushed tones and use kind words to admonish bad behavior. i call the bullshit flag on that one. nothin' like a good loud bellow every once in a while to put a child back into his/her right mind. and god/goddess forbid anybody gets a good old fashioned ass-whuppin' anymore. i can think of a great number of politicians that missed out on this rare staple of childhood and seriously need a severe kick in the pants today. with steel-toed boots.
i see the lack of Discipline every day. every single day. at my work, children blithely ignore their parents when asked to sit down or put something away. they walk away from their parents into someone else's way or into the path of something dangerous and the parents tell them once again in hushed, bored voices to comply. or better yet, they just let them go. again, no response. at this point, i would have my child sitting at my feet, speaking to them in a low stern voice about the dangers of their actions, their consequences. then they would have some sort of privilege revoked. period. there is no discussion, debate, or further questioning. why? because my children have been raised to understand that there are consequences to every action, and i mean what i say. it's called Discipline.
in the schools, students are running wild, hitting teachers and classroom aides, swearing at each other and purposefully damaging school property. teachers aren't allowed to single a child out for punishment. and why? because the child's precious self-esteem might be damaged. well, how about using that sense of shame they are feeling to Discipline them, showing them that they need to Honor the rules and have Pride in themselves to obey? children have learned that our generation of parents (who were raised on time-outs, cartoon network, and self-esteem building) are nothing but a bunch of pushovers. i have seen kids talk their own parents out of punishments as smooth as a greasy lawyer taking a deposition. not in my house.
"i just told you NOT to ride your wheeled toy next to my new car. someone has already put scratches in the paint. you listened to me tell you not to ride there and immediately drove your toy right where i said not to. your consequence: you will still go on the walk with us, but you will not be allowed to ride. you must walk with me now." no buts. lots of tears and howling for 20 minutes. but i stand my friggin ground. i will not be walked upon. *I* am the parent. more parents need to realize that. those tears are not of pain. it's to get their parent to back down, feel sorry for the poor sad little kid. which is exactly what i will not do.
and my kids will be stronger, full of "Pride, Honor, and Discipline" later in life because of that.
"Pride." i think we've all pretty much got that covered. with our heritage months and our t-shirts and bumper stickers proclaiming our religious beliefs and value systems. or lack thereof, in some cases. it gleams in our walls loaded with trophies, certificates, medals and ribbons for all of the things we have accomplished, no matter how small or whether it was for an outstanding individual effort or if the whole team gets one fat happy pat on the back.
or is that all? shouldn't real Pride bleed into the way someone carries themselves? and i'm not necessarily talking about posture; some of that is just hereditary. however worn and used one's clothing may be, however poor and tired one is, effort should be expended to keep noticeably clean and fresh. shouldn't real Pride come from the unnoticed good done every day, for the sake of doing good, not for a special award? a true sense of Pride should come from the accomplishment of doing the best, recognized or not, and wanting to do it again tomorrow.
"Honor." we have that one mostly in sight. there's the biblical "honor thy mother and father," "...to honor and to cherish so long as we both shall live," honorary diplomas and graduation certificates. yeah. and if we don't screw up too badly we can't bring dishonor to our family.
but true Honor comes from being able to make the right choices, whether they are the choices we want to make or not. we know we can get to work faster if we speed, especially when there is little traffic around. and we know where to slow down to avoid the speed traps. but we should just allow enough time to get to work, right? Honor is knowing you don't have enough money in your bank account, and deciding you can go without those shoes until you have enough saved up, rather than writing a bad check, or using money earmarked for something more important to pay for them. Honor is volunteering to help someone and actually following through without making up excuses. c.s. lewis put it quite well when he said, "we laugh at honour and are shocked to find traitors in our midst." indeed.
"Discipline." that is the one that really sticks in my craw. as parents, we are no longer in control of our own families. everyone has become so nosey in everyone else's business that the slightest form of Discipline is now interpreted as abuse. we are only allowed to speak to our children in low, hushed tones and use kind words to admonish bad behavior. i call the bullshit flag on that one. nothin' like a good loud bellow every once in a while to put a child back into his/her right mind. and god/goddess forbid anybody gets a good old fashioned ass-whuppin' anymore. i can think of a great number of politicians that missed out on this rare staple of childhood and seriously need a severe kick in the pants today. with steel-toed boots.
i see the lack of Discipline every day. every single day. at my work, children blithely ignore their parents when asked to sit down or put something away. they walk away from their parents into someone else's way or into the path of something dangerous and the parents tell them once again in hushed, bored voices to comply. or better yet, they just let them go. again, no response. at this point, i would have my child sitting at my feet, speaking to them in a low stern voice about the dangers of their actions, their consequences. then they would have some sort of privilege revoked. period. there is no discussion, debate, or further questioning. why? because my children have been raised to understand that there are consequences to every action, and i mean what i say. it's called Discipline.
in the schools, students are running wild, hitting teachers and classroom aides, swearing at each other and purposefully damaging school property. teachers aren't allowed to single a child out for punishment. and why? because the child's precious self-esteem might be damaged. well, how about using that sense of shame they are feeling to Discipline them, showing them that they need to Honor the rules and have Pride in themselves to obey? children have learned that our generation of parents (who were raised on time-outs, cartoon network, and self-esteem building) are nothing but a bunch of pushovers. i have seen kids talk their own parents out of punishments as smooth as a greasy lawyer taking a deposition. not in my house.
"i just told you NOT to ride your wheeled toy next to my new car. someone has already put scratches in the paint. you listened to me tell you not to ride there and immediately drove your toy right where i said not to. your consequence: you will still go on the walk with us, but you will not be allowed to ride. you must walk with me now." no buts. lots of tears and howling for 20 minutes. but i stand my friggin ground. i will not be walked upon. *I* am the parent. more parents need to realize that. those tears are not of pain. it's to get their parent to back down, feel sorry for the poor sad little kid. which is exactly what i will not do.
and my kids will be stronger, full of "Pride, Honor, and Discipline" later in life because of that.
25 April 2008
charlie foxtrot
yeah. cute shoes. *gritting my teeth in pain* let's just say they look a lot cuter than they feel. even after practicing. even after sitting most of the day. even with bandaids plastered to my feet. "i can make it up the stairs. i can make it to the checkpoint. i can make it to the employee bus. i can make it to the car...." and then the day got longer.
as i arrived home, i heard the last ring of the phone before the voicemail kicked in. it was an unrecognized number. i ignored it. i let the dog out, checked the mail. checked email. checked voicemail. i had a message from my oldest daughter. "mom. <\\wind blowing fuzzed out message//> something wrong at the school. there's gas or something coming out of the school and you need to come get me. i'm on <\\static's//> cell phone. and 'stefanie' wants you to pick her up too because her mom's not home."
i didn't even put the dog away. i grabbed my purse, shoved my throbbing feet back into my shoes (not thinking to change shoes, of course) and ran back out the door.
i arrived on the scene to find mild chaos. three news stations on the sidewalk, several fire trucks and ambulances, firefighters exiting through the front door with masks on, and a helicopter overhead. students were milling around in loose groups with teachers that i assumed were individual classrooms. i could not see nearly enough students to see that the whole school had been evacuated. maybe 200 students in all. so where's my kid and how do i find her and my god why didn't i put on flip-flops? someone pointed me to a long line of irritated people clutching ID who were most likely trying to sign kids out of the school. my ID was still conveniently clipped to my shirt. i quickly snatched it off and tucked it into my purse before stepping in front of the tv cameras.
i snagged a couple of familiar faces and asked the kids if they'd seen my daughter. a loud-mouthed mom kept informing me that the line was far behind her. at some point i turned around and snapped out, "obviously i'm not looking for the line or i'd already be in it. and if you were in charge, your ass wouldn't be all the way back here either." halfway through the line, i took off my shoes and stood barefoot in the grass watching the students disappear back into the school. i overheard a teacher telling the students they were going back into the school to get their belongings and be dismissed from their mod nine class. what?? mod nine. is that gym today? or, um, music? is it an A-day or a B-day? knowing which day it is on this FUBAR schedule is really important if you need to find your kid.
so has there been an all-clear sounded? what happened? why are they outside to begin with? does anybody here have a bullhorn? could we find one and begin communicating with the growing numner of parental units in the grass?
i buttonholed a firefighter who explained to me that some students were in the nurse's office with breathing problems. she called for paramedics. by the time they arrived (literally minutes, the station is closer than my house) several more ill students had arrived. some were treated on the scene, some were taken to the hospital and the school was evacuated. but nothing registered on the instruments when the firefighters went inside, so they authorized the kids to get their stuff and then leave again.
so is my bus-riding kid taking the bus home? the school staff did not know. they said that bus riders would be put on the bus unless someone was here to sign them out. um. hello? body in front of you? so.... my kid thinks i'm coming to get her. and i stupidly left the phone number from the cell she used at home. so i can't call her back. they could net tell me where she was. obviously. and now all the parents are being shuffled across the street behind the buses where we can't see kids exiting the school and they can't see us either. but the staff were more than willing to let me hoof it into the school to find her.
wait. hold the cheese here a second. i have to stand outside in a line to show my ID before being allowed to walk the perimeter of the school, but it is perfectly OK to just waltz into the school unchallenged with my bloody bare feet in search of one short blond kid?
so this is the action plan i signed millions of colored sheets of paper in the fall to implement? my daughter standing outside borrowing a cell phone and asking me to get her? and when i arrive i never even find her? i would hate to see an actual real-live emergency. this charlie-foxtrot bullshit is not an action plan. about the only thing to happen on cue was the arrival of medical personnel and media. the rest can go hang, right? i mean, who needs to actually communicate with a large number of parents when said parents are frantically lokoing for their kids? not me. not them. not the media. not the helicopter. it's all good.
i closed my eyes, had an oooohhsaaaaah moment, and made a command decision. if i left the middle school now, i would have time to pick up my three elementary kids on time. i would then give the middle school 30 minutes to send my child home safely on the bus before heading back to the school to look for her. as i was leaving the elementary school, my girl's middle school bus was coming down the street dropping kids off. less than 15 minutes later i was hugging my baby in our front yard.
it's all good now. ooooooohsaaaaaaaaah.
as i arrived home, i heard the last ring of the phone before the voicemail kicked in. it was an unrecognized number. i ignored it. i let the dog out, checked the mail. checked email. checked voicemail. i had a message from my oldest daughter. "mom. <\\wind blowing fuzzed out message//> something wrong at the school. there's gas or something coming out of the school and you need to come get me. i'm on <\\static's//> cell phone. and 'stefanie' wants you to pick her up too because her mom's not home."
i didn't even put the dog away. i grabbed my purse, shoved my throbbing feet back into my shoes (not thinking to change shoes, of course) and ran back out the door.
i arrived on the scene to find mild chaos. three news stations on the sidewalk, several fire trucks and ambulances, firefighters exiting through the front door with masks on, and a helicopter overhead. students were milling around in loose groups with teachers that i assumed were individual classrooms. i could not see nearly enough students to see that the whole school had been evacuated. maybe 200 students in all. so where's my kid and how do i find her and my god why didn't i put on flip-flops? someone pointed me to a long line of irritated people clutching ID who were most likely trying to sign kids out of the school. my ID was still conveniently clipped to my shirt. i quickly snatched it off and tucked it into my purse before stepping in front of the tv cameras.
i snagged a couple of familiar faces and asked the kids if they'd seen my daughter. a loud-mouthed mom kept informing me that the line was far behind her. at some point i turned around and snapped out, "obviously i'm not looking for the line or i'd already be in it. and if you were in charge, your ass wouldn't be all the way back here either." halfway through the line, i took off my shoes and stood barefoot in the grass watching the students disappear back into the school. i overheard a teacher telling the students they were going back into the school to get their belongings and be dismissed from their mod nine class. what?? mod nine. is that gym today? or, um, music? is it an A-day or a B-day? knowing which day it is on this FUBAR schedule is really important if you need to find your kid.
so has there been an all-clear sounded? what happened? why are they outside to begin with? does anybody here have a bullhorn? could we find one and begin communicating with the growing numner of parental units in the grass?
i buttonholed a firefighter who explained to me that some students were in the nurse's office with breathing problems. she called for paramedics. by the time they arrived (literally minutes, the station is closer than my house) several more ill students had arrived. some were treated on the scene, some were taken to the hospital and the school was evacuated. but nothing registered on the instruments when the firefighters went inside, so they authorized the kids to get their stuff and then leave again.
so is my bus-riding kid taking the bus home? the school staff did not know. they said that bus riders would be put on the bus unless someone was here to sign them out. um. hello? body in front of you? so.... my kid thinks i'm coming to get her. and i stupidly left the phone number from the cell she used at home. so i can't call her back. they could net tell me where she was. obviously. and now all the parents are being shuffled across the street behind the buses where we can't see kids exiting the school and they can't see us either. but the staff were more than willing to let me hoof it into the school to find her.
wait. hold the cheese here a second. i have to stand outside in a line to show my ID before being allowed to walk the perimeter of the school, but it is perfectly OK to just waltz into the school unchallenged with my bloody bare feet in search of one short blond kid?
so this is the action plan i signed millions of colored sheets of paper in the fall to implement? my daughter standing outside borrowing a cell phone and asking me to get her? and when i arrive i never even find her? i would hate to see an actual real-live emergency. this charlie-foxtrot bullshit is not an action plan. about the only thing to happen on cue was the arrival of medical personnel and media. the rest can go hang, right? i mean, who needs to actually communicate with a large number of parents when said parents are frantically lokoing for their kids? not me. not them. not the media. not the helicopter. it's all good.
i closed my eyes, had an oooohhsaaaaah moment, and made a command decision. if i left the middle school now, i would have time to pick up my three elementary kids on time. i would then give the middle school 30 minutes to send my child home safely on the bus before heading back to the school to look for her. as i was leaving the elementary school, my girl's middle school bus was coming down the street dropping kids off. less than 15 minutes later i was hugging my baby in our front yard.
it's all good now. ooooooohsaaaaaaaaah.
21 April 2008
few and smallish
in maryland, when someone slows their car at a stop sign, crosswalk, or when traffic in front of them has for some reason stopped, it is OK to simply screech around the slowing vehicle, even if it means they will more than likely hit a pedestrian, another car, or the car that was originally in front of them. really. it is. i watched it happen four times today alone. i was the slowing car in every instance. therefore i am a bastard.
our house is actually a giant trash can. we live inside it. it doesn't have a flip-top lid, though. it is pretty convenient to live inside a giant trash can, especially for my offspring. that way they can just spit food onto the floor, we never have to clean or bathe, any toys or books or clothes on the floor can be broken or dirty or not. whatever. such is the life in a trash can.
when you travel by air, make sure you wrap small electrical devices in lumpy masking tape packages with odd ends poking out- for security, so they don't bounce around inside the luggage with all the other electrical devices. when wrapping the tape around and around, make it as uneven and make-shift as possible. that way, when someone checks inside your bag and they immediately call for a supervisor and everything you own is pulled out to be indiviually inspected while you look on behind a glass partition, you will have an exciting story to rant about when you finally arrive at your destination. beacause those airport security guys just profile the hell out of everyone, huh?
when you break your state or government issued ID card by using it improperly to, say, open a locked door or entertain a small child or animal as a chew toy, make sure you wait until it actually expires before getting a new one. it couldn't possibly look fraudulent when it's only snapped into two pieces. and it costs a fortune to replace: $15 and a whole afternoon at the department of motor vehicles. i mean, it is a lot to ask to have valid-looking ID for identification purposes. oh, and that line on the passort that says "not valid unless signed" means abolutely nothing. especially to theives who can make about $25K on each passport they can lift without a siggy.
if you work at a job that requires the use of a writing utensil, it is a great idea to actually have a writing utensil on your person when doing your job. for instance, if you are paid to initial small pieces of paper to identify them as being valid pieces of paper for travel, you must certainly have something with which to make your initials on said papers. like a pen. or a pencil. a sharpie or highlighter might work well, although not usually a first choice. so when you show up for your job without a writing ustensil, you need to find one. borrow one. go to the shop 15 feet away from the break room and buy one. bite off the tip of your finger and write with your blood i don't care but do not under any circumstances continue to do your job without a writing utensil and expect everyone around you to "assume" you have done your job even though you have no pen to make your initials. hold still while i show you what my pen looks like by stabbing you in the eye with it. that is what happens when i have to re-do your job (with my very own pen, even) and have 100 angry passengers in front of me and 20 angry co-workers behind me who all think I am failing to do my job because i am busy re-doing yours while doing mine at the same time. *ahem* deep calming breaths......
i have been informed that when wearing "business casual" attire, one must not wear a work uniform, jeans of any color, any type of open-toed shoes, stockings with seams, sleeveless shirts, blouses that allow pachangas to jiggle out, skirts shorter than one's ass, any type of athletic shoe, or any kind of tee-shirt. so i went out in search of clothing for a two-day training class that requires business casual attire since i only own the aforementioned types of clothing. after spending $80 on a pretty sundress (with a short-sleeved cardigan to cover the spaghetti straps), a nice skirt and short-sleeved button shirt combo and a pair of chic white pumps to match both outfits, i was dismayed to learn that dresses are not considered "business casual" attire either. nor are white shoes with or without heels. you know what? fuckit. i'm wearing the clothes i bought. if they don't like it, next time i'll just wear my uniform.
someone i know had a massive "failure to communicate" moment at her job the other day. it wasn't me for a change. "joan" was screening a passenger wearing a large amount of jewelry. everyone i know already has the understanding that one should put the bling-bling away before walking through a metal detector. this lady is someone i do not know. joan calmly informed the passenger that she would be patting down her arms, torso, and a portion of her legs. the woman burst into tears and cried, "you're going to cut off my ARMS???" in between one blink and the next, joan's head whirled with thoughts. thoughts that she did not speak aloud. joan thought, "of course we're going to cut off your arms. that's what happens when you wear a lot of jewelry, dumbass. after we cut your arms off, we're going to x-ray them and then beat you with them. that way only your fingerprints will be on your body. what you do with your bloody stumps after that is your choice. your gate is on the right hand side." joan said, "uh...no, ma'am, i will PAT your arms." she didn't even laugh in the woman's face. joan showed great professionalism by remaining calm and not cutting off the woman's arms, even after she deserved it. she exceeds the standards set by this organization and is presented with the "ooooosaaaaah award for cool thinking under the influence of stupidity." congratulations, joan.
here ends the rant. nothing follows.
our house is actually a giant trash can. we live inside it. it doesn't have a flip-top lid, though. it is pretty convenient to live inside a giant trash can, especially for my offspring. that way they can just spit food onto the floor, we never have to clean or bathe, any toys or books or clothes on the floor can be broken or dirty or not. whatever. such is the life in a trash can.
when you travel by air, make sure you wrap small electrical devices in lumpy masking tape packages with odd ends poking out- for security, so they don't bounce around inside the luggage with all the other electrical devices. when wrapping the tape around and around, make it as uneven and make-shift as possible. that way, when someone checks inside your bag and they immediately call for a supervisor and everything you own is pulled out to be indiviually inspected while you look on behind a glass partition, you will have an exciting story to rant about when you finally arrive at your destination. beacause those airport security guys just profile the hell out of everyone, huh?
when you break your state or government issued ID card by using it improperly to, say, open a locked door or entertain a small child or animal as a chew toy, make sure you wait until it actually expires before getting a new one. it couldn't possibly look fraudulent when it's only snapped into two pieces. and it costs a fortune to replace: $15 and a whole afternoon at the department of motor vehicles. i mean, it is a lot to ask to have valid-looking ID for identification purposes. oh, and that line on the passort that says "not valid unless signed" means abolutely nothing. especially to theives who can make about $25K on each passport they can lift without a siggy.
if you work at a job that requires the use of a writing utensil, it is a great idea to actually have a writing utensil on your person when doing your job. for instance, if you are paid to initial small pieces of paper to identify them as being valid pieces of paper for travel, you must certainly have something with which to make your initials on said papers. like a pen. or a pencil. a sharpie or highlighter might work well, although not usually a first choice. so when you show up for your job without a writing ustensil, you need to find one. borrow one. go to the shop 15 feet away from the break room and buy one. bite off the tip of your finger and write with your blood i don't care but do not under any circumstances continue to do your job without a writing utensil and expect everyone around you to "assume" you have done your job even though you have no pen to make your initials. hold still while i show you what my pen looks like by stabbing you in the eye with it. that is what happens when i have to re-do your job (with my very own pen, even) and have 100 angry passengers in front of me and 20 angry co-workers behind me who all think I am failing to do my job because i am busy re-doing yours while doing mine at the same time. *ahem* deep calming breaths......
i have been informed that when wearing "business casual" attire, one must not wear a work uniform, jeans of any color, any type of open-toed shoes, stockings with seams, sleeveless shirts, blouses that allow pachangas to jiggle out, skirts shorter than one's ass, any type of athletic shoe, or any kind of tee-shirt. so i went out in search of clothing for a two-day training class that requires business casual attire since i only own the aforementioned types of clothing. after spending $80 on a pretty sundress (with a short-sleeved cardigan to cover the spaghetti straps), a nice skirt and short-sleeved button shirt combo and a pair of chic white pumps to match both outfits, i was dismayed to learn that dresses are not considered "business casual" attire either. nor are white shoes with or without heels. you know what? fuckit. i'm wearing the clothes i bought. if they don't like it, next time i'll just wear my uniform.
someone i know had a massive "failure to communicate" moment at her job the other day. it wasn't me for a change. "joan" was screening a passenger wearing a large amount of jewelry. everyone i know already has the understanding that one should put the bling-bling away before walking through a metal detector. this lady is someone i do not know. joan calmly informed the passenger that she would be patting down her arms, torso, and a portion of her legs. the woman burst into tears and cried, "you're going to cut off my ARMS???" in between one blink and the next, joan's head whirled with thoughts. thoughts that she did not speak aloud. joan thought, "of course we're going to cut off your arms. that's what happens when you wear a lot of jewelry, dumbass. after we cut your arms off, we're going to x-ray them and then beat you with them. that way only your fingerprints will be on your body. what you do with your bloody stumps after that is your choice. your gate is on the right hand side." joan said, "uh...no, ma'am, i will PAT your arms." she didn't even laugh in the woman's face. joan showed great professionalism by remaining calm and not cutting off the woman's arms, even after she deserved it. she exceeds the standards set by this organization and is presented with the "ooooosaaaaah award for cool thinking under the influence of stupidity." congratulations, joan.
here ends the rant. nothing follows.
15 April 2008
begging
my son is begging to take the little clear plastic bag to school, crinkling the cellophane in his grubby fist as he pleads with me. "i promised i would," he blinks his steady blue-grey eyes at me, "i promised. please? how about if i just take one?"
i look at the calendar. "not during testing week. you're not supposed to have that stuff at all, but not this week. next week you may."
"YESSSSSSSS." he leaps into the air, pumping his fist triumphantly.
booger.
black pepper.
earthworm.
dirt.
ear wax.
sausage.
grass.
vomit.
soap.
sardine.
pickle.
rotten egg.
those are what the little man is so happy about. he's sharing a bag of bertie bott's every flavor beans with his classmates, currently manufactured by the best of the best: jelly belly. so you can guarantee your vomit bean will actually taste like vomit. with a candy coating. for some reason, my son is the only kid in the third grade who has heard of these raunchy candies from the harry potter series, and santa claus himself delivered small pouches of them into stockings this past christmas. i haven't yet figured out if they were inplace of coal or if they were actually supposed to be a good gift. after the first few "ick" faces, the novelty of the bertie bott's wore off and only one child continued to eat them. and now all the third grade boys are begging - BEGGING - for a taste of earthworm and dirt mixed together. maybe a rotten egg and sausage? sardine and pepper, anyone?
ah, yes. fifteen minutes of fame indeed.
i look at the calendar. "not during testing week. you're not supposed to have that stuff at all, but not this week. next week you may."
"YESSSSSSSS." he leaps into the air, pumping his fist triumphantly.
booger.
black pepper.
earthworm.
dirt.
ear wax.
sausage.
grass.
vomit.
soap.
sardine.
pickle.
rotten egg.
those are what the little man is so happy about. he's sharing a bag of bertie bott's every flavor beans with his classmates, currently manufactured by the best of the best: jelly belly. so you can guarantee your vomit bean will actually taste like vomit. with a candy coating. for some reason, my son is the only kid in the third grade who has heard of these raunchy candies from the harry potter series, and santa claus himself delivered small pouches of them into stockings this past christmas. i haven't yet figured out if they were inplace of coal or if they were actually supposed to be a good gift. after the first few "ick" faces, the novelty of the bertie bott's wore off and only one child continued to eat them. and now all the third grade boys are begging - BEGGING - for a taste of earthworm and dirt mixed together. maybe a rotten egg and sausage? sardine and pepper, anyone?
ah, yes. fifteen minutes of fame indeed.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)