On Wednesday, I was subbing at Churchill Junior (again) and the teacher I was working for had "Lunch Duty." Although Subs are not normally required to do a teacher's "extras" (coaching teams, teaching their cheerleaders quasi sexual moves,LUNCH DUTY, etc.,) she mentioned that the kids were extra "difficult*" and that Deb, the lunch lady, could really use my help.
*she defining difficult as "sometimes kids who have not paid for a lunch steal milk."
WTF. Is that all you are worried about, Ma'am? Those naughty super-rich east side kids steal the milk?** I'm sorry, but last week, when I was working in Kearns, the Secretary informed me that if the kids started acting out, I could hit a button on the wall and "the school law enforcement would come and assist me." And you, my dear, are worried about spilt, er, ahem, stolen milk.
** Look, I know, it is bad to steal, especially if your mom sends you with a 20 for lunch every day, but really, this is what we are concerned about?
Moving on. I decided I would go help Deb out. I would like to say I did it out of the kindness of my heart, but really I am just super OCD about things and have an insane need to please people. I went down during lunch time, and asked for Deb.
Deb: "Now hey there sweetie, what can I do for you."
Me: "I'm Mrs. Neurotic's sub and I came to help with lunch."
Deb: "You're her sub, I thought you were one of the students who forgot their lunch ticket."
Me: "Nope, although it is not the first time I have been mistaken for a Jr. High School student."
Deb: (defensively) "Well you do look about 14!"
Me: "Thanks, what can I do to help?"
Deb: Go stand over there by the door and make sure nobody takes food out of the cafeteria."
Later, while standing by the door, the janitor comes up to me. She says hello and I smile politely.
Janitor "Are you new?"
Me: "No. I'm just a sub."
Janitor: "Oh I thought you were a new student!"
Me: Grimaces, politely.
My babyface features are one of the myriad of reasons I named my blog the way I did. (Another key factor is my belief that anyone who meets her husband at age 19 and gets married 8 months later is just that, a Mormon Child Bride.)
Fortunately though, my 25 year old husband looks much older than me. Two weeks ago, he ordered a car part from a store, and asked me to go pick it up. The store had misplaced the part, and the salesperson asked me to describe my husband, who had been in earlier to make the order.
Me: Um, Brown hair, 5'8', uhhhh
Salesperson: (calls back to another employee) "Hey Frank! You seen a brown haired person come in here asking for a fuel pressure regulator!"
Frank: Some kid came in here asking for one. Looked about 15 or 16, maybe...
Me: That's him
Salesperson: That little boy? That kid! That's your husband!
Me: He's 25!
Salesperson: "There is no way that little kid is 25!"
Me: "Okay. Did you find the part"
( There was no further point in arguing.)