“Hi! How are you today?” David used his winningest smile on the woman across the counter. Judging by her withering scowl, he’d need one winning-er still. “I’m wondering if you might be interested in…”
She held up a hand. “No.” She didn’t elaborate.
I’m not usually the one of those “there’s beauty everywhere” types. This isn’t because I think the world an ugly place: I appreciate sunsets, artwork, my wife’s smile, babies laughing, and all that jazz. No, I’m just one of
The term substitute teacher doesn’t work for me. Teachers know their students since they spend six hours of the day together. Teachers have a vision of how lessons, units, and curricula fit together. Teachers know the subject matter they’ve studied and taught for years. Substitute teachers know an outdated, alphabetical list of full legal names; their vision is crusty-eyed from the jarring 6:15 am wake-up call; and their subject knowledge consists of bulleted instructions on a Post-It Note dictated to the school secretary. How can the one be a substitute for the other? Sub is better: sub, as in subpar or subhuman – “less than, degenerate.” Or sub, as in subbasement or subzero – “under, beneath.” It’s the traditional location of Hell. But when I subbed, I quietly preferred “mercenary teacher.” Have chalk, will travel. Write referrals, ask questions later. Do anything if the pay is right.
A few years ago I was suckered into running for vice president of my company’s Employee’s Association. It turns out no one else ran. The week of the “election” I wrote this and shared it with friends at work.
Good afternoon, my fellow employees.
[Thunderous applause, several “woot!”s, and a single emphatic, “We love you, Tim!” from the crowd]
Thank you, thank you. You’re wonderful. Really. Please… Yes, thank you.
I just wanted to take the time to say a few words today – during this momentous, historic election week – to thank my supporters.
[Uproarious applause, a couple hardy “here-here!”s, and a single, touched, “Aw shucks”]
…and also to send a special message to those who may still feel undecided about how to cast their vote in this election.
[A death-like hush fills the room]
The following poems were all inspired by actual moments at work – some even written on scraps of paper or emails to myself while on the job.
Don’t ask me what the weather is like in Binghamton
You know,
if I stand up
and peer over my back wall
(as long as there’s no one by the printer or fax)
I can just make out what the weather would be like
if I were outside.
Complex Karen met a heron
A-walking through the park.
“Forgive my staring,” said this Karen,
“But are you starling, thrush, or lark?”
When this he heard thus replied the bird:
“Surely you put me on!
Timbits 