Thursday, June 26, 2008

I hear you Jose

I saw the best minds of my generation destroyed by madness, starving, hysterical, naked, …but it was nothing compared to the destruction of minds and souls that I saw today. Administrators fighting. Teachers hiding in rooms, allowing, if not inviting, the madness. Students shooting waterguns in the hallways and scribing their graffiti in the stairwells and the Lord of the Flies cussing out peers and superiors alike. A new floor created of cupcakes and workbooks and stinkbombs and looseleaf and cockroaches and pizza crust and Axe. Thinking back on my generation's hysterical, naked, starving madness is no longer a memory which causes me stress, but a welcome relief from this hell.

From Miss Señora, who remembers When I Was Your Age, and just as generations past, is convinced life was better then.

Props to Jose

Wednesday, June 4, 2008


It's 4:35 pm. Approximately 4 days and 17 hours away from the Spanish final. I'm staying after school late with the two students (out of 143) who wanted to study after school with me. The outside phone rings:

Miss Senora?

It is I.

(Angrily) Did my daughter Espy come to school today?

Well, I can't speak for the whole day, but I can tell you that she was not at lunch or in Spanish class. Oh, and the kids all said she wasn't here today. No mention of her leaving early.

Oh my God! Why didn't anyone call me?

We don't call for absent students until they've been absent for three days.

Well, you didn't hesitate to call last week when she skipped.

Well, your precious Espy chose to skip with her three best friends AFTER they were spotted by two staff members at Dunkin' Donuts. Since we were positive that she had skipped, we called.

And just WHAT is the school going to do about this?

Excuse me?

This is now twice in two weeks that she's skipped. The school better do something.

Listen biatch, I'll be happy to call CPS on your incompetent ass. You need to talk to the principal tomorrow. Good luck finding that brat Espy.

Three more weeks. Three more weeks. Three more weeks. Three more weeks.

Maybe I’ll learn more responsibility over the summer.