when you move into an apartment complex where the left side forces kids to go to the district in which you are employed, and the right side forces them to go to the next town over. In your naivete, you choose the left side. Why? Well, you're attracted to the idea of being close to the clubhouse, which probably means less of a building view and more of a "homey" view.
See the clear, crystal-blue water calling our name right from our very own balcony.
[Insert Stupid Side Note #1: Why, when you are living in an apartment, do you make a desperate attempt to make it less than what it is? Whether you can trick your mind or not, you are still living in a building with people every where around you, and though you don't intend to be judgemental, the people are not always the classiest of folk. You know what I mean???]
Anyway, so you choose the left side for the impeccable view and well, you're cheap (hence the apartment-living in general) and the idea of free Internet via the clubhouse is really, really appealing. However, no one tells you until a month or so into your humble (which also happens to be the name of your district employer--so pun definitely intended) abode arrangement that you are likely to be surrounded by your students. Yes, your eighth-grade, hormone-ridden, strange-acting, teacher-hating students. This can be a good or bad thing because you might actually like ONE of the four or five that live within touching/seeing-on-a-regular-basis distance of you and enjoy seeing her, but then there's the part where the rest of them are boys that you frequently discipline which is likely to cause you to have to pray frequently that they never, never ever figure out which car you drive or which door is actually yours amongst the plethora of doors. (Even though in the middle of your lesson on adjective clauses, you are asked what your apartment number is and whether or not you and your husband would be willing to hang out with them on the weekend by throwing around a ball. Really? I would rather __________. [Please fill in the blank with anything miserable in your life.]
But then, this is what really annoys you the most about this arrangement: You are so excited about keeping your sweet, amazing little nephew. You rush home from this job of yours, call the hubs on the way to see if he would be willing to take the little tike swimming. You walk up to your door (which is another great thing about apartment life--living on the second floor, but I'll save that vent for another time), change the little guy, put on your newly purchased swimming attire, wait for the hubs to put on his attire, walk down to the pool (which as mentioned before is very, very close and you think you like this).
Look at this sweet, innocent, wanting-to-go-swimming face.
As you're approaching this "resort-like" pool, you peek through the trees that give this less of an apartment feel, and you see him. Him. Yes, him. The boy from your class in his swim trunks. The boy that is a decent kid and you like sometimes, but you never ever ever really want to see him in any less apparel. More than that, you never ever ever ever ever want him to see you in less apparel. The very last thing you want is to be teaching punctuation or "Flowers for Algernon" and for him to be thinking of you in your swimsuit, which is basically just a form of a bra and underwear made from some less lingerie-like material.
[Insert Valid Side Note #2: Said student may or may not have been in alternative school the first semester of school for threatening to kill another student. And he may or may not have moved from the 'hood of inner-city Houston. But whatever. You're not scared.]
Once this is realized, you have two choices: 1. To allow just the hubs and nephew to swim, and you "enjoy" the view from the side in the 200 degree weather that is really like 300 degrees thanks to the sweltering humidity. This alternative is not good for the above mentioned HEAT, and it would still allow him to know that underneath your cute little Target swim cover-up you are wearing a swimsuit. Then, heaven forbid that you actually have to have a conversation with the guy outside of school. or 2. You walk back up the stairs with a disappointed husband and nephew hoping that they (students in pool) never saw you and never bring this up in the middle of the lesson. However, you're not so lucky. As you've chosen choice number 2, you hear the dreaded words ricocheting off the trees, "Hi Mrs. Whitley." You'll be preparing the rest of the weekend for how you will lie about why you didn't swim even though you had towels in hand and swimsuits on. My nephew was fussy. My nephew had a dirty diaper. My husband suddenly came down with the Swine Flu, and we had to evacuate the area. IMMEDIATELY.
This is the exact reason why you should either A: Do your research before moving into an apartment complex if you're a teacher. B: Never move into an apartment complex. C: Never be a teacher.
[Insert Justification Side Note #3: I really love my students. I just don't want to see them outside the confines of a school building. Ever. That's all. Really, I do. I love them. I promise. They're great. I think.]
1 Comment:
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Monday, May 11, 2009 10:19:00 AM
Too funny Hannah...I seriously laughed out loud, and I think I added my own scene into the story. For instance, I can picture you stopping just short of the entrance and frantically telling Cameron you can't go in because of the student being there, and then him responding with something like "don't be so silly; teachers swim too" all the while holding a fussy Bennett who just wants to jump into the pool. And just when you think you've persuaded him into a) walking away or b) swimming with nephew alone, the dreaded student calls out your name. Oh, what fun it is to be a teacher!! Loved the post and your entire blog for that matter!
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