Wednesday, May 09, 2007

Another Conspiracy

There is a conspiracy afoot. I can feel it in my bones. Yesterday, I showed up to work bright and early, at the stroke of 7:35 a.m., much like every other day in The Conspiracy-Riddled World of Mrs. Hillbilly Mom. I was greeted with a giant black trash bag full of trash. (Duh! Why do you think they call it a trash bag?) I had feared something like this might occur, since there came a hurried, jumbled announcement just as I was dashing out the door for Basementia. I did not hear the mention of my room number, but I nearly tripped over a giant 4-pack of paper towels, and a large black duffel bag. They were piled right outside my door. I knew that the Paper Towel/Duffel Bag Fairy is really just your parents pretending to leave you paper towels and duffel bags, so I didn't think they were a gift for me.

In the trash bag was a bunch of pizza boxes and plates and napkins. The trash bag was taller than my desk. I did not feel like sitting there inhaling the aroma of Yesterday's Garbage, so I drug the enormous bag into the hall. And there I left it, because HEY, it wasn't my trash, and I am not a custodian, no matter how many evil eyes I may get from some who would like me to be. I then busied myself baby-wiping the desks, because there were a myriad of crumbs. I collected my pencils that were strewn willy-nilly about the room. I gathered the used napkins from within the desk compartments. I straighted the desks back into rows, which earned me a sliming of the first order. It was some gooey white stuff under the edge of a desk. I'm thinking along the lines of frosting for Cinnasticks, though one of my classes though it was something more sinister, which they stopped just short of naming, but the gagging sounds were enough to give me the drift. That little bit of business required the Fantastik. That stuff is fantastic, you know.

So I was not in a very pleasant mood, what with that start to my day, taking valuable time away from taunting the World Map which had remained clinging to the wall overnight. Oh, but there's more. I went to prop open my door, and THE DOORSTOP WAS GONE! Doorstops for teachers in that building are like crack for crackheads. They are a necessity. We obsess over them. We write our names on them with Wite-Out. We lock them inside our rooms overnight. We have to buy them, you see. (Unless we have a special friend like Mabel, who deals in contraband such as doorstops, attendance-slip clips, ceiling hanger-thingies, and VCR cables.) There is not a doorstop fund. And those doors will not stay open without a doorstop. The door will hit your a$$ on the way in if you let it. I am on my 4th doorstop since moving in to that building. Or I WAS on my 4th one.

I interrogated one of my students, who was at the grand pizza extravaganza. He sang like a canary. I found out who gave out the pencils, who left the crusts, who sat at the sticky desk...but not what happened to my doorstop. I told him, "Well, I'm thinking that maybe one of the kids kicked it as he left, and then it got kicked down the hall and is long gone." But no. Tweety sang this song, "No. I was the last student out. It was still there when I left. And the lady in charge was still here. But there WAS another lady messing with the doorstop. She works here, but I don't know who she is." He described her. It was not as bad as the time a student described a svelte, tanned teacher as 'the black stick', but it did not give me a lot to go on. The kids guessed, too.

Was it the secretary?
No.
Which end of the building is she in?
I don't know.
Was it the counselor?
No. I know the counselor.
Was it that lady just down the hall?
I don't think so.
The librarian?
No. I just can't think of where I've seen her.
Is it the social worker?
No.
The speech lady?
No. I remember...the one that's always in (edited so as not to incriminate the guilty).

OK. Now I had a suspect. But I would worry about that later. The first order of business was to get my hands on a doorstop. Mabel had offered me a used one upon hearing my sob story. I turned it down. I thought I knew where I could get my hands on another one. I dashed off a note to send down the hall. But not to the suspect.

Dear Ms. Doodah,

Please take time to read my tale of woe. My doorstop, "Stoppie", has disappeared. The kids have been telling me all year that you have a doorstop with my name on it. I did not really care. In fact, I grew tired of hearing about it. But now that my beloved "Stoppie" has gone missing, I need his older brother, "Stopper", to come home.

Could you please return "Stopper" to me? I know you do not want to be responsible for breaking up a family. To fill the hole in your heart, perhaps you could adopt a new doorstop from Mabel. She has one that is physically challenged, but in need of a home.

Mrs. Hillbilly Mom*

Ms. Doodah denied any contact with "Stopper". She said that she had not seen him, but that I was welcome to any doorstop that she had. That's the catch. According to the message-bearer, much like Old Mother Hubbard's dog, she had NONE. So I sent the note to Mabel, with a simple question: "Can you hook me up?"

Always the Go-To Gal, Mabel sent me TWO doorstops. OK, so they're kind of like Brokeback Doorstops. They are spineless. They are differently-abled. It takes two of them to tango, if you get my drift. One has to ride on top of the other to keep my door open. They are a good team. They work like a charm, together. Alone, neither can cut the mustard. I'm not sure what to name them. I'm thinking 'Pete' and 'Repete'. There was a real kid on that MTV show Two-A-Days named Repete. If it's good enough for him, it's good enough for Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's little helpers.

Just when you think this tale of woe is over...the plot thickens. I uncovered some new information today.

But you'll have to come back tomorrow to find out. You too, Mabel. All fingers point to...

Hey! I said TOMORROW!

*The information in the note is approximate. Mabel kept the actual note, and Mrs. Hillbilly Mom's memory is not what it used to be. Some days, she can hardly remember where she parked her Rascal.

3 comments:

Stewed Hamm said...

I'm with you here. I can see conspiracy encrusted all over this sordid affair, HM. Clearly this is all a plot concocted to get us to believe Mabel exists.

I swear, any day now there's going to be videos up on YouTube featuring some guy's grainy camcorder footage purporting to be Mabel, and his douchebag buddy saying "back and to the left" eighty-seven jillion times.

MrsCoach2U said...

I had planned to be "sick" tomorrow but now I have to come to work, I can't go the whole weekend without knowing what happened. Eh, there's always next week to be sick.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Stewedhammtheory,
Are you in cahoots with Lantern? Of course MABEL EXISTS! She is not nearly so elusive as Bigfoot.

Mrs.,
That's my new slogan:
'HM, the Employer's Friend'.

I get a kickback on each slacker that I can bring in to work. ;)