cattiness

01-12-00

Bored.

I was a little annoyed this afternoon when I went to teach. All the teachers at this particular church have a file that's stored by the entry, and we keep our attendance and stuff in there. When I went to pick mine up today, I noticed a folder for some putz that said "Lower Brass." I'm the low brass teacher! I only have one student, how can there be a need for another teacher?

I got all catty for a while. Called John and told him to find out who the guy was, and why he thought he could just come in and teach lessons. (He has no students.) I thought maybe a local college student, in which case, uh, butt out, mister.

Then cattiness turned to craftiness. I called the band director at Perry High, Perry being the tiny town where I teach. I told him to get me as many students as he can, so I can quit my day job. We talked for a few minutes, and then I hung up and taught my lesson. After, I went to the director of the church music programs and told him the same thing. Said I need more kids, I want to teach as many students as possible, and, should my Wednesday schedule fill up, can I add another day?

I'm such a bitch sometimes. I don't know who that stupid low brass guy is, but he'll never work in that town again. Hey—I'm not sharing. This is my career I'm talking about, not 10 bucks a week to supplement my allowance. Wait your goddamn turn, man.

It's possible he's a member of the church who wants to get involved. Okay, problem: where were you five months ago, when they were desperate for a teacher? If he ends up taking students, what do I do? Do I quit on principle? Do I move my lone student to a different teaching location (charging him less, as an incentive?)

Or do I just collect more students and make that other guy's students look bad? Classic case of the teachers' egos getting in the way of the students' educations. Hey, my kids will be getting a good education. I'm trained, certified, experienced, and qualified for this job. Kiss my Yankee ass, y'all.

Fleck has developed an annoying game wherein he rearranges our bathroom sink clutter to his own liking. Strange. I say he rearranges because he's putting certain things in the same place every time, not just knocking things around and onto the floor. Every day, my deodorant is on the floor, almost under the wire shelvs by the tub. Every Day, John's contact case lids go into the sink drain. Today, just to make sure the lid stayed in the drain, Fleck took the rubber sink stopper and put it in the drain, over the lid.

He also believes that his squeaky toy duck, whom he takes in his teeth and flings into the air—for chasing purposes—belongs behind the bathroom door. Fleck may have to find a new storage place for Duckie; John and I are closing the bathroom door from now on.