Apr 08 2009
Tonight, on my way home, I found a bunch of trading cards – Pokemon, Something Something Battle, and other franchises unknown to me – scattered on the sidewalk by the traffic light closest to the school. I was in a hurry to get back because I had received an urgent summons from the chili in the fridge, but, you know. I work at a school. Some kid’s mom might well call up in the morning saying that Taro’s all crying because he lost his foil Bulbasaur.
So I gathered them all up and took them up to Kagura-sensei (named for her love of Fruits Basket), who rushed them over to Manager and engaged him in an intense discussion of which kid liked both Pokemon and Something Something Battle. They didn’t come to any conclusions, but the cards are in the lost-and-found now.
I hope they actually belong to one of the kids who goes here – it’s a busy intersection. It’s just that of the establishments on that block, we’re the one with the most Pokemon-card intensive traffic, so I figured odds were good they belonged to one of our students. Some of them had already gotten torn up from being on the ground, so I didn’t want to just leave them there.
Mr. Weepy is a little creep. As predicted, today he got all broody when I wouldn’t let him play with blocks instead of studying English, so he started crying, to try and make his Mom think I was being mean to him. But it’s better than that. I had tapped him on the forehead to get his attention, and he pretended I had poked him in the eye. Jesus, sweetie. Regrettably for Mr. Weepy, his mom was talking to Mr. Clown’s mom when this went down, so this masterful performance went entirely to waste.
We have a new girl in Mr. Weepy and Mr. Clown’s class as of last week – a two-year-old, who absolutely should not be in this class – and of course, Mr. Weepy was obnoxious to her. “She’s a baby! She’s just a baby! Go back to mama, baby!” Luckily, Miss Foo doesn’t have the attention span necessary to recognize Mr. Weepy’s extremely subtle brand of harassment.
This week, Mr. Weepy had a change of heart. “You know,” he said consideringly to Mr. Clown as they were coloring, “Miss Foo is actually quite pretty. You’re a pretty girl, Miss Foo!” he told her, in a hilariously lecherous little voice. He obviously thought he sounded quite suave, and my laughter offended him deeply. Oh, Mr. Weepy, you’re such a lady’s man. (Miss Foo, very busy trying to figure out how to right the plastic chair she’d flipped over, remained completely unaware of Mr. Weepy’s advances.)
(Rest of the day is cut for length.)