Sunday, February 22, 2015

     I never thought I had many embarrassing moments in my life, but after my adventure of Friday evening, some blush-worthy stories began to drizzle down into my memory. Here are a few:

Story Number 1:

     Several years ago, I took a “Personal Day” off work. Being conscientious as I was, I left detailed lesson plans. The plan for my Humanities class included a short art history film describing various paintings for my students to study. As I was in a hurry, I didn’t preview the film all the way to the end. This painting was one of the ones the substitute had to try to explain to my 16-year-olds. 





      I was called into the principal’s office the next day. When I walked in, I had no idea why I had been summoned. My students had said nothing, and there was nothing written from the substitute. The principal and assistant principals (both male) were sitting smugly in their big power chairs, their arms folded over their barrel chests. I smiled and said, “Good morning.” That morning was not good. Their choice in reprimanding me was to make me sit and watch the film I’d left while the two of them were watching my reaction. Needless to say, I was mortified. My principal said, “Perhaps next time, you might want to preview the entire film before leaving it for the substitute.” 
*Today, this would be considered sexual harassment. Looking back, I find it quite amusing. (A parent had called and complained, or else I would never have known.)
Story Number 2:
     One day at lunch on the second floor, I bit into a peach. The pit was all jagged, and it went up my front tooth and cracked it right in half. Needless to say, I was shocked and humiliated. I put my hand over my mouth and ran to the teacher’s restroom on the first floor. I locked the door, and stared at the devastation. What now? I couldn’t stay locked in the bathroom, and my class would be waiting for me in 10 minutes. I finally went to the school secretary and behind my hand, I whispered the name of my dentist and asked her to call him for an emergency appointment. She did, and she got me a substitute so I could leave the building immediately. Close call. I didn’t have to teach the conjugation of “to cry” in French sans dents (toothless).


Story #3:
     There was a time during my divorced days that I was dating the Marlboro man. He loved me to wear my skirts short and tight. One day, I was called into the principal’s office. I had no idea what I had done wrong, and the principal was a friend of mine with whom I had socialized when I was married. He was never quite as friendly after my divorce. Anyway, his face was beet red, and he nervously asked me to sit down. I sat down in front of his giant desk, crossed my legs, yanked on my denim mini-skirt and positioned my stilletos just so. He said, “It has been brought to my attention that the boys are talking about your short, tight skirts in the hallway. One of our teachers overheard them, and brought this to my attention.” I looked him square in the eye, paused, smiled my sexiest smile and said, “Hmm, Bob. You and I both know it wasn’t a male teacher who reported this.” He turned another shade of scarlet. “I’m just passing on information,” he muttered. “Are you telling me to wear long skirts, Bob?” “No, I’m just relaying what was said to me,” he babbled. “Ok, then. Thank you for sharing this information.” I walked out of the office furious. I knew some jealous bitch on staff had sold me out, and I needed to know who. I already had a good idea, but I had no proof. When I told Mr. Marlboro, he just laughed. “Should I wear a long skirt tomorrow?” “Hell no!” he said. “Wear a shorter one, and smile all day long.” I did. 

     Years later, at my principal’s retirement party, I decided to do a little schtick. I put on a tiny skirt, and then put a long skirt over it. I had written a good-bye song to roast him, and I had my ukelele all set to go. Just before I got ready to sing the song, the bitch showed up at my table. She said,” Why are you wearing that long skirt? You never wear long skirts. Do you have a short one on under that?” I just smiled at her, knowing she was the traitor. Bob loved the song, and he especially liked the part where I ripped off the long skirt and threw it in his face. Years later, he was still talking about that bit. The bitch ended up having an affair with an old boyfriend, getting divorced, going through very unpleasant consequences with her children in the fallout. Be careful who you betray:)