Today I subbed at Westlake Elementary. The woman I filled in for is essentially in charge of getting students off the buses in the morning and getting them on the buses in the afternoon. That means I was technically in charge of this ominous task. (I say "technically" because the assistant principal was present both times, and he was clearly the one actually in charge.)
If any of my fellow Hoosiers were outside this morning, then you boys and girls know it was ridiculously cold. It was the kind of weather my venerable grandfather Richard Scott would describe as "colder than a witch's tittie." Now I personally have never felt a witch's breast, but if it is even half as face-numbingly cold as the climate I experienced at 7:45am, then I shant be touching such a breast any time soon.
Even still, in spite of both the bitter morning chill and all common sense, there were several students getting off the buses with no hat on, with their coat wide open, or even with their coat stored uselessly under their arm. Mostly in vain, I petitioned several students to rectify their situations and thereby spare themselves some unnecessary discomfort.
I recognized one of the students with an open coat and without a hat as a kindergartener named Brian. Now I'm not inclinded to say a kidneygardner lacks common sense (seeing as this age group is still jumping through the requisite hoops of enculturation), but I will say that this one seems to lack the survival instinct that God gave goats. Brian is an especially friendly Hispanic lad who clocks in at the tender age of six. But, for all his positive qualities, Brian's powers of concentration are sorely lacking.
Mr. Scott: Good morning, Brian. It's freezing cold out here, friend. Why don't you put your hat on?
Brian: Hellllloooooo!
Mr. Scott: Hi, Brian. Put your hat on, okay?
Brian: Hey! [short pause] I have a dog. Heeeeee's big and he runs fast!
Mr. Scott: No kidding? Where's your hat, buddy? [At this point, Mr. Scott notices that Brian isn't wearing a coat but a lined jacket on top of a hooded fleece.]
Brian: My dog has big eyes. [Mr. Scott puts Brian's hood on for him as the boy continues to speak.] And he's furry. And he has hard teeth. [Brian uses his index fingers to mimic his dog's upper canines.] And he runs fast!
Mr. Scott: He runs fast, huh?
Brian: Yah.
Mr. Scott: Cool. Now go to your class Brian.
Brian enters the school building through the east entrance, thrilled that an adult has acknowledged his existence.
The second conversation I would like to document took place during lunch. The conversants were Mrs. Patterson, a white woman in her late 40's, and Ms. Glenn, a black woman in her mid 30's.
Mrs. Patterson: Ms. Glenn, could you help me with this can? I can't seem to get this lid off. [Ms. Glenn immediately pops the lid off on her first attempt.] How did you do that so fast?
Ms. Glenn: I just pulled where it said, "Pull Back Here."
Mrs. Patterson: Really? Jesus Christ! I mean, "Cheese and Rice." That's what I said, "Cheese and rice."
Ms. Glenn: That's not what you said. You called on the Lord's Name. I heard ya.
I throughly enjoyed witnessing that exchange.
"You called on the Lord's Name." That was classic black woman.
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