Never Trust a Wet Jellybean

I like to think I'm a good person. Growing up, I was a good teenager. And despite getting strapped twice, having three detentions and being a C grade average student, I was a "pleasure to teach" when I was a kid. Which is why it might disturb some of you to learn that I have done naughty things. So here's a brief rundown of the most shocking:

1. When I was 9 years old a house in our neighbourhood was being pulled down for a new building. I snuck onto the property with a couple of kids from my class for a nosy. Wandering over to a pile of rubble, I found myself picking up a brick - just to see how heavy it was. Then the devil and I had a conversation. I tried to resist him but I was 9 and the devil pulled a gun on me and literally FORCED me to do it. So I had no other option than to hurl the brick at a window, smashing it into a zillion pieces, before legging it home leaving the boys in my class to cop all the blame. It was their own fault really. Turns out they were there to steal the copper pipes so they had intentionally gone there with criminal activity in mind, whereas I was just innocently being held hostage by the Tempter.

2. I had an older sister who was 7 years older than me. She didn't like me very much but occasionally she found that I had my uses. Every now and then she would have me legging it to the corner shop (known in NZ as a "dairy) to buy her lollies and Crazy Joe Cola iceblocks. Incidentally, it took me ages to find a picture of a Crazy Joe. I was starting to think I'd imagined them, but I finally found proof that they did exist:

Anyway...as I said, my sister didn't seem to like me very much and when I would return full of hope that she'd share the goodies, she'd simply snatch them from me and walk off munching, leaving me empty handed. I may have been 7 years younger than her but by the time I was about 6 years old, it eventually occurred to me that I was being taken advantage of. One day I was a little keener to run her errand than usual. On the way home I made a tiny little hole in the Crazy Joe wrapping and sucked that cola taste out of that pinprick hole with all my strength. It was stolen cola taste and it was fabulous. Next I moved on to the .20c bag of jellybeans. I carefully sampled each one, ensuring that my teeth made no contact with their sweet yumminess before spitting them back into the bag. It may have been puzzling for my big sister to find that Walls had now started manufacturing Crazy Joe Colas in white with no taste and I imagine that she would have been equally surprised to find that all her jellybeans were sticky, but she ate them all the same and never said anything about it. Not that I mean to be unkind but I don't really think she was firing on all spark plugs. I'm not suggesting that she forgot to pay her brain bill but being outsmarted by a 6 year old might imply that she'd been playing too much without a helmet...

Actually, there are a few dairy stories I could tell. The lady behind the counter was called Mrs Sands and she had tattoos all the way up her arms. The cool thing about Mrs Sands was that she used to give kids a free bag of lollies if it was their birthday. I say "used to" because it didn't take long for Mrs Sands to grow weary of us all having a birthday at least every week.

3. Then there was the offering money my mum gave me for Sunday School. Each week I had every good intention of putting that money into the collection plate. But the devil...well...you know...he planted a dairy en route and...you know....he pulled a knife on me and made me buy lollies - against my will I tell you!

There are plenty more misdemeanors I really should confess but I'm a Baptist and we don't do Confession...or dancing...except at the Sunday School mid-winter disco...

I confess...I dance like a chicken

Wouldn't trade my job for anything...YET!

A while back the NZ Police had an recruiting campaign, urging potential applicants to Get Better Work Stories . I have to say, I was tempted. As you all know, I have a penchant for dressing up and the idea of a police uniform in my closet is a huge draw card for me. But with cats, a dog, chickens, children and Beloved to consider I ended up getting a job at a high school instead. It's great. Every day is different. I work with a fabulous team and there's always something exciting going on.

I love my job. At least, that's what I kept telling myself in Technology class yesterday. We have a particularly "feisty" (for want of a word that I can't print here) class of Year 9 kids that just can't seem to leave all those lovely power tools alone. A request was made for Teacher Aide support so Smiley and I tossed a coin. When it wasn't going my way, I suggested the best of three. When Lady Luck smiled I felt guilty. So Smiley and I ended up going to the class together. When I had to stop a kid from shoving a large, pointy object up another kid's nether regions, I began to wonder if the Police Force might have been easier. Both Smiley and I needed a strong cup of tea and quite possibly a lie down after that little session.

So today I was blessed with another riotous group for Art class. Actually, it wasn't too bad today. Three of the boys had been stood down so it was just minor pandemonium as opposed to chaotic anarchy. Apart from a couple of boys (who suggested I should make a vocational change to Exotic Dancing - not sure whether they meant it as an insult or a compliment), things were going pretty well and some good work was beginning to happen. It even got quite peaceful when the boys who suggested the career change legged it out the fire exit.

The thing about an Art classroom is that there's a lot of interesting stuff about the room which to a bunch of hyped up kids, is overwhelmingly tantalizing. The teacher told them to leave the driftwood, the branches, the bone...they just wouldn't listen. Before long, two boys had shoved the bone over their heads. Just between you and me, it looked pretty good on them. Purpose-made. It even had eye holes and ear flaps. Just quietly, I was impressed. Even so, I spoke up:
"Boys! Put it down. Leave things alone!"
Naturally I was completely ignored. So it gave me extreme pleasure to give them a little anatomy lesson.
"Do you have any idea what you've been putting on your head?"
The teacher and I exchanged a knowing glance and tried (unsuccessfully) to stifle some giggles. After a few guesses, the kids were able to work out that the bone came from a big animal, most probably a cow. Clever kids.
"So...which PART of the cow do you think it is?"
I had to spell that bit out for them. but in case you're wondering, here's a clue:

 

Not sure if Carmen was meant for this either!

Heh heh...I LOOOOOOVE my job!

I would say it was just as well that the cow was dead at the time of head insertion. Otherwise, the poor bovine creature would have had the shock of its life.

Surprised (but disturbingly happy) cow

I told my friend R this story and she found it so "amoooosing" that she was "moooooooved" to tears. Come to think of it. It's probably not a good idea to surprise a cow at all (as illustrated in the following dramatization)...............

So, even on a bad day, I love my job. And if there's anybody out there who doesn't love their job, just remember that it could be worse. MUCH worse. Next time I have to rescue a kid from a chisel up the jaksy, I'll spare a thought for this guy: