Lukus Alderman
Moderator
- Joined
- Oct 23, 2013
- Messages
- 2,406
The worst part about being a teacher is lunch. Let me preface by saying that I share a large classroom with another teacher.
Every day I'm sitting in my room trying to enjoy a peaceful lunch meal when a freaking gaggle of big teachers with bigger mouths come in with their lunchables/leftovers/lunch trays from the cafeteria to join together in a gab session. Unfortunately for me I have no place to retreat to. If I go to the teacher's lounge, there are small groups of kids in a tutoring session. If I go to the cafeteria, I might as well be in the mall food court. If I go to my car, I suffocate to death because I'm not wasting gas (poor excuse, but it's true).
Anyways, these ladies in their early 40s to late 70s talk about everything from their kid's poor grades to hot flashes. And there's always one ringleader who spends the first 20 minutes of conversation rehashing the same story she told two days ago...and apparently I'm the only one who remembers it because everyone laughs at the same punchline of whatever funny part of the story she is telling and gives the same "mmm hmms" at the same parts of the story that's supposed to be sad or concerning.
The worst part is when they look over at me typing away at my computer and starts to feel sorry for me because I look so sad all by myself and then they try to include me by asking "how was your weekend" or "how are your kids" or "have you ever had that happen to you?". Man, I don't want to talk to you. If I did, I would be sitting at the same table with you old ladies.
Thank God for Hornsports.
Every day I'm sitting in my room trying to enjoy a peaceful lunch meal when a freaking gaggle of big teachers with bigger mouths come in with their lunchables/leftovers/lunch trays from the cafeteria to join together in a gab session. Unfortunately for me I have no place to retreat to. If I go to the teacher's lounge, there are small groups of kids in a tutoring session. If I go to the cafeteria, I might as well be in the mall food court. If I go to my car, I suffocate to death because I'm not wasting gas (poor excuse, but it's true).
Anyways, these ladies in their early 40s to late 70s talk about everything from their kid's poor grades to hot flashes. And there's always one ringleader who spends the first 20 minutes of conversation rehashing the same story she told two days ago...and apparently I'm the only one who remembers it because everyone laughs at the same punchline of whatever funny part of the story she is telling and gives the same "mmm hmms" at the same parts of the story that's supposed to be sad or concerning.
The worst part is when they look over at me typing away at my computer and starts to feel sorry for me because I look so sad all by myself and then they try to include me by asking "how was your weekend" or "how are your kids" or "have you ever had that happen to you?". Man, I don't want to talk to you. If I did, I would be sitting at the same table with you old ladies.
Thank God for Hornsports.