Back to School Night

Everyone knows that there are only two things in this life that are certain -- death and taxes. Only slightly less well-known is this certainty: regardless of the weather for the rest of the week, Back-to-School Night will always be 95 degrees and humid.  You know, because I'm not disgusting enough by the end of the day... let's throw in some more heat and humidity, and then stick around the building until 9 pm for added flavor. Yipee.

Honestly, I don't mind BTSN. I get to see some of the parents that I like, chat with the students who are on hallway navigation patrol, and I get to eat dinner with some of my teacher friends instead of running out the door at 3:15 every day. It's really not as bad as a lot of people make it out to be, and it's ONE NIGHT out of the year. I can deal.

Anyway, the reason I bring up BTSN is to tell you a little story about a parent that I met. In between the 10-minute periods, I would hang outside my classroom to see if anyone needed help finding a room. This is an actual exchange that took place.

Me (to a parent who is wandering aimlessly up and down a six-foot stretch of hallway outside my room): Can I help you find something?

Parent: Yes, I'm looking for my son's English class.

Me: Ok, what room is his class in?

Parent: I don't know.

Me: Um... who is his teacher?

Parent (getting flustered; clearly I am asking too many questions and not being helpful enough): Ugh. I don't know his teacher's name. My son is Steven.

[What I want to say here is "Steven? Who the hell is Steven? Do you know how many Stevens we have in this school? There are EIGHT HUNDRED AND FIFTY KIDS HERE. I have no idea who your son is, let alone what English class he's in." But I don't say that. Instead, I smile and try to get some more information.]

Me: What grade is he in?

Parent (rolling her eyes because I don't know who her stupid kid is): Ninth grade. He's in Honors English.

[She says "honors" like I'm supposed to be impressed. I refrain from asking her if her son is so gifted then why couldn't he print out a copy of his schedule like the other eight hundred and forty-nine students did for their parents?]

Me: Ok, well if he's in ninth grade then he either has Miss Smith, who is in room 23, or Mrs. Johns, who is in room 8.

Parent (pulling a piece of paper out of her purse): Well I don't know the room numbers but he drew me this map.

[I am not an artist. I am not a cartographer. But if this paper qualifies as a "map," then I am the Easter Bunny. All I see are scribbles and arrows. I pity this kid's English teacher.]

Me: Hm......

Parent: Oh THAT'S where the gym is. I have the map turned around.

[Keep in mind the gym is less than 10 yards away from my classroom door, so I'm not sure how she missed it. She turns the "map" right side up and abruptly walks off in the direction of Miss Smith's room.]

Me (under my breath): You're welcome.