Assumptions

This happened to me last summer. Like, seriously, dude? Why would you buy me a drink if you thought that? Whatever, thanks anyway. It doesn't matter my hair length or anything either. I've had people ask me these same three questions with really long hair and with really short hair, with very different styles of dress. Oh well.


[repost]

Other Substitutes

As a substitute teacher, it isn't always easy to identify the other substitutes. Perhaps when I walk in a room they will assume I am the teacher who I am covering for, or maybe they will in some other way exude the doubt and confusion inherent with the position. Sometimes I will run into them in the office, signing in in the morning, and once I've worked at a school long enough, I begin to know which teachers belong in which classrooms, and I know a sub the way all the other teachers know me.

A lot of the time, I hate working with other subs, because they have their own way of doing things, I have my own way of doing things, and neither of us are inherently right. It becomes somewhat of a power struggle, with the winner being the person who assumes they sub in that building most.

Sometime last week, I was asked to cover a period in this room I've subbed in a lot before. They said there was only a TA in this room, so they wanted to have a teacher in there as well. I had no problem going there, as I knew this particular TA; he's a really nice guy and the students respect him. Unfortunately, when I arrived, he wasn't there. In his place was some other guy, presumably a sub, sporting a black tie with a pattern of neon splashes. We quickly identified that we were both substitutes, and then discussed briefly the need to fill out a time sheet when covering for a TA. I don't do it. I subbed for a TA once, and never got paid for it. When I called and found out why, they sent me a time sheet, and I just never filled it in. A lot of people owe me $40. I'm just too awkward to bug them for it.

So me and splashy tie, it turns out, are both in the same position in grad school. Apparently, he subbed in this district last year too.

"I just felt so honored when they sent me that letter over the summer asking me to come back," he said. I suppose if it was your first time subbing and this was the only district you're in, then maybe you would take too much compliment from such a form letter. Or maybe he is just quite the character. Either way, every school district you substitute in will send you a letter seeing if you're coming back. It isn't because they think you've done a nice job; it's because it is easier to keep the same subs than to go looking for new ones.

Seriously?! Should I have bragged about the fourteen letters that I received?

Friday I subbed in a school I sub in a lot, and there were a bunch of teachers out. A man of such an age that it seemed he might be actually employed rather then subbing was in the room next to mine, chatting with a teacher I've seen many times before. During my lunch period, I walked over to my door to shut it and shut off the lights. That teacher was walking out of his door too and took the opportunity to walk into my room and chat with me. We spoke of school, and employment (noticing a trend here?) and he shared how he usually works in the high school, but figured he'd give the middle school a shot, just to test it out. He said he had been too lax with his morning classes, and he was going to try to be stricter with the afternoon ones, anticipating the crazy that would surely erupt once kids had had a few subs for all of their classes. "Do you know Chris and Keith?" he asked.

"Um...Chris is a really generic name," I said.

"Oh, you'd know! They're a duo; they're quite something," he said. Then he offered to help me out if I needed it, as he had apparently earned the students' respect, specifically one individual student who liked him.

After lunch, my classes were pretty small. When there are only three students in the room, and the office sends you another sub, it is pretty easy to keep the kids on task. I had a studyhall and sent a few of the kids to the library and then threatened the rest of the class with referrals if they talked. Needless to say, they stayed pretty quiet. The other afternoon classes weren't silent, but their talking was mostly about the assignment at hand, and I kept the door open for the whole afternoon. The other sub's classes were quite loud, as he had predicted, and he stopped in at the end of the day to say how quiet my classes were.

I think people make assumptions about me, perhaps based on my appearance. This guy had never seen me before, as I had never seen him. He doesn't know my relationship with that school, and with the students. He doesn't know my style of classroom management, and from the way he offered assistance, it seemed he thought I couldn't handle it. But look who couldn't handle it in the end!

Sometimes when I talk to other subs, I learn things that I need to know, such as the fact that long term or building sub positions don't come with such benefits as health insurance, or perhaps that you can collect unemployment during the summer. Sometimes another sub will have just the right words to soften my heart about something.

So I guess other subs can be OK, if their advice is warranted and given with respect. They can be OK if they aren't wasting my time trying to convince me to buy their drink supplements. Other subs are best interacted with outside of a class we're responsible for.

Don't Cry Over Spilled Milk.

Yesterday I went to the Farmers' Market. I wanted to get some pea shoots and milk. When I walked in, the people selling milk were right inside the door, and I felt funny walking up to them in that way, so I went and looked for pea shoots. It seems they were only available for a limited time. I went back to the dairy stand and exchanged them my empty glass bottle and $3.25 for a filled glass half-gallon of their whole milk- creamy stuff. I started walking towards another stand to double check about the pea shoots and as I walked, I went to drop the bottle of milk in my bag.

Only it didn't quite make it there.

It dropped on my toe. It dropped on the tiled floor. It smashed into a million pieces.

Milk everywhere. All the milk. Spilled. I wanted to cry, but you aren't supposed to cry in this situation.

When you're in grade school and someone drops a tray, the whole cafeteria always breaks out into an accusatory "OOoooooooo!"

When you're in the farmers' market and you break a milk bottle, the whole place breaks out into a sympathetic: "Oooohhh!"

I start walking towards CVS in a daze, thinking that maybe they'll have a mop. Before I get there I find myself explaining this to someone who informs me that a janitor has been called. An older gentleman suggests that we try picking up the large pieces of glass. After we get all the big chunks, I'm scraping milky tile with my hand to get the smaller chards. I know this is a stupid idea but I don't know what else to do with myself.

The man whose stand I spilled milk near has a large push broom and is standing and keeping the milk puddle away from his sacks of potatoes. After a while he tells me that a janitor is coming and that I can go. I've been standing next to him apologizing to people since I finished picking up the glass pieces.

I thought about running out of the place, but now my toe started to feel numb and running was no longer an option. I decided that I did need milk, and I was going to have to pay another $2 bottle deposit somewhere, so I might as well just go pay $5.25 for a new bottle. As I walked up to the milk stand, the girl walks out to me with a new half gallon of whole milk. I open my wallet to give her the $5.25 and she says "Just two, just the bottle deposit, that's fine....I feel your pain."

I thank her profusely and share that the pain is indeed in my pride but also in my foot.

Good business practices are good for your business.

Patronize Gumaer Farms. Their milk is delicious.

The value of telling the truth

I believe I rambled about my issues with getting this new car. Perhaps I mentioned the big dent that appeared between the time when we said we'd take it and when we came to sign the papers and pick it up? Russ, the guy who was selling us the car had insisted that the dent must have been there, because *he* drove the car from the K-mart parking lot back to the dealership.

I know 2 things: 1) A dent can happen to a car when no one is inside it. 2) My dad has the eagle-eye when it comes to car exteriors. I wouldn't have even noticed something on my car, and when I pull up into his driveway, he'd yell out the window: HEY! What'd'ya hit?

So, to appease my family, Russ said that we could make an appointment with the "dent doctor" and at that time they'd also re-detail my car (it hadn't been done well at all). So when I finally called to make the appointment, I talked to the receptionist (who asked how she may direct my call): "Yes, I recently purchased a car from your dealership. I worked with Russell Frost. When I picked it up, there was a new dent and Russell Frost told me to call and make an appointment with the dent doctor. Russell Frost."

She decided to redirect my call to the body shop, who didn't answer, so I left a message: "Hi, yes, Russell Frost told me to call and make this appointment yaddah yaddah Russell Frost."

About an hour later, I get an angry call from Russell Frost, who essentially conveys to me that he thinks I'm an idiot.

"You need to call ME for that. I'M the one that sold you the car."

Dude, like I know how a dealership works. I shouldn't even need to be doing this. GAH.

"How's 2 on Wednesday?" he inquires. Did he ask me when I was available? No.

"Um...how about 4," I reply, and he agrees.

When he first told me about this, he said it would take about 2 hours. I decided that since I was going right after work I would just bring a book and sit in the waiting room for that time. It wasn't really enough time to try and get someplace else. Also, the weather was crappy. At 4, when I walked into the dealership and handed him my keys, he says: "ok, you're dropping this off?"
"Nope, I'm staying here." He repeats this in a slightly-concerned manner. He tells me he'll be back soon.

I settle into the waiting area and it isn't even 20 minutes before he calls me over to a desk. "Alright, so they've taken a look at your car, and now we just need to make an appointment for the dent doctor."

"WHAT? This WAS my appointment with the dent doctor!!" Can you feel my tension rising? This would have been two whole wasted hours had I dropped it off!!!

"Yea, but the dent is too big to do in-house and it's too late to get the professional today. When are you available next week?"
He asks this as he dials the phone. I scowl. "...um, anytime after 4, but just not Tuesday.."

As he speaks to someone on the phone, he turns to me and says: "How about 3?"

"No, absolutely not. I can't do that." What the heck dude? SERIOUSLY? Are you trying to make it so I can't ever work, so I can't pay for this damn thing?

"Can't you drop it off before work and pick it up after?" By this point, he has told the person on the phone that he will call her(?) back.

"How'm I supposed to get to work?"

"Can't someone bring you?"

"No! I live in Troy, I work in Troy or Schenectady, my parents live in Saratoga, they work full time, they've got their own thing going on. No."

Then he mentions that they're going to need the car for two full days.

"You said this was going to take TWO HOURS!"

At this point he tells me to calm down, that we're going to figure this out.

"I'm sorry, this has just become a huge hassle."

"But it's got to get done, so when can you do it?"

"Can you please just acknowledge the fact that this has become a huge hassle?"

"Fine. Yes. It has."

He is being very short with me, and is clearly annoyed with the exchange. I have resented this guy since he wrote down the trade-in value for my saturn ($100). I hate him.

"How'm I going to get to work those days?" He does not offer any sort of help on this. Saturn of Albany always drove me where I needed to be when they were working on my car. "Well, maybe I can drive my Saturn. It's a good thing I didn't trade it in He starts telling me that this is impossible, as it doesn't have plates. This notion is false. My Saturn is sitting in my parents driveway in Saratoga, just as drivable as it was two weeks ago. Then he remembers putting new plates on the suzuki. Also, he does not understand why my parents can't just drive down and drop off a car, yadda yadda. I'm not just going to make plans and ASSUME my parents are going to be available and willing to follow through, and I REALLY don't appreciate someone else making plans for me with that same set of assumptions.

"Also, it has been very difficult to work with you. You've been treating me like you don't respect me at all."

Somehow, this personal attack was biting enough to change his demeanor. He takes out a business card and writes "Maria" on it in sharpie. He apologizes and says he didn't realize that I'd felt that way, and if I wanted to just call her and not have to deal with him anymore, then that would be fine. I tell him I just need some time to talk to my parents and discuss what will work for us. I call my mom. Her schedule is certainly not wide open. My uncle is coming to visit from Utah next week. I think they usually let him use one of their cars. She says she'll help me drop off the car on Sunday night so they can work on it Monday. I go back into the dealership to tell him this. All of a sudden, he is offering to have me pick him up, drive him to Saratoga, and he will drive one of the cars back to Albany.

"That's OK, but thanks." We make the appointment, and I bring him outside to show him the place in my car where it looked like much soda was spilled and never cleaned up. The problem with fold out armrest cup holders is that they can be hidden and left a mess. I tell him that the bit of dirt not vacuumed up didn't work me up much, but that armrest thing was completely disgusting and unacceptable. He agrees. "It certainly is disgusting." He explains that at these sales, they sell such a quantity of cars in such a short amount of time that some quality, especially in their already-crappy detail department, declines. I share my year experience as "detail technician" at Hoffman's Carwash. "This would have gotten me fired," I say.

This is a hyperbole. It would have gotten my hours cut down so I was forced to quit.

He asks what he could have done differently to do right by me, and where he went wrong. I try to be vague when answering him, but he pries for specifics.

I recount the phone call where he was mad at me for not calling him directly. He does what you shouldn't do when apologizing: tries to defend himself. He starts explaining that he was the one who sold me the car so why would I talk to anyone else yadda yadda. (Back me up here. If he was the one fixing the dent, then I would understand his frustration. But he is just the middle man.) I explain to him that though I mentioned his name a million times, I was connected to the body shop. "Ohh, so it was a receptionist..." he ponders. As though someone else typically answers the phone? I tell him that quite frankly, even as early as that Monday, when-I-absolutely-couldn't-spend-time-doing-anything-but-my-school-work and yet I was made to go to the dealership, I was pissed. He explained that he had remembered about my paper but my father had told him it was OK.

"It was conveyed to my parents that the car absolutely had to be picked up by Tuesday, and Tuesday I had a doctors appointment and Literacy Volunteers training and we couldn't do it earlier."

Though I stated that in that way to not blame him for anything, he starts rambling that he was the only one who ever talked to my parents, and that picking it up Wednesday would have been fine, it was only important that it was out by the end of the month. Now he is calling my parents liars. Smooth move.

He explains to me that most of the sales reps only last for three months, and he has been there for three years, and he doesn't want me to think he's a sleazy sales guy (he's a different kind of sleaze...he had his sleeves pulled up during this interaction and I could see his painful tattoo). I told him that he'd remedied the situation, and that I'd drop the car off on Sunday.

I called my mom on the way home. "He said WHAT? There's no way! Wednesday would have been better for us too!!

So even if he is some sort of a sleaze or an idiot, I'm no longer so angry at him. Instead of violence or screaming, it is really effective to directly state the truth. I find this also works with students. Some people need to hear that their actions truly do effect others, and watching someone's face drop (in this situation) is really really satisfying.

I guess I should have gotten a Ford Fiesta

So I took this extravagant road trip, and my only hope for my car was that it would return me to Troy, NY. It did that, certainly, but along the way....let's say somewhere up the Hollywood Hills I realized that my car was dying. Then, somewhere in Pennsylvania, I realized that my car was going to die soon. Since my car is technically my father's, I let him know this. He didn't sound particularly interested. I tried to convey the severity of it, but his interest still wasn't piqued. Since I can't afford it now, I asked if I could borrow their spare car between the time when my car finally kicks the bucket and when I've saved enough to buy a new one. This seemed fine to them, but somewhere my dad went on a rant about not buying me a car. This was confusing to me, because of course, I never asked him to buy me one.

So I'm not anywhere near ready to think about buying a car, I have only worked one half a day so far, and I need to pay my rent (and soon my Healthy NY) before I can think about such extravagances as...a means of transportation...you know, to work. (Though I could just work only in Troy and walk / ride my bike / the bus.) For some reason, my dad started looking for a car for me. I think he kind of enjoys doing this sort of thing. On Friday, the first day I actually worked this school year, I received a call from my mom. There was apparently some sort of parking-lot-car-sale which I've affectionately dubbed car-garage-sale. When I pulled up, my parents were standing near a 200(6?) Suzuki 4cl Station Wagon. Silver. I took it for a spin around the parking lot, everything seemed fine. As this was a car and a deal that apparently isn't oft found, it was decided to purchase it on the spot. I suppose I'll be making payments to my father. It was assumed that I would be trading my car in, and when our dealer guy, Russ Frost, wrote down $100 for my trade-in, I knew I no longer liked him. When my first Saturn broke in half, a guy name Guisseppe paid me $300 for it, and I think he had to tow it away. Three hundred, and I would have said OK. My car needs transmission work, but everything else seems find.

We discussed when to pick the car up, and I made it a big deal that it had to be after Monday. This shouldn't be a problem, considering that it was just Friday. The reason I needed my weekend undisturbed was that I had to finish my packet for grad school. It was due on Monday, and now that my advisor is in Canada, e-mailing is the only option. So, they never tell you a time Monday, so I figure, before it is Tuesday, earlier is best. After working all weekend on this, I wake up Monday to my alarm clock and my cell phone ringing. I should have been able to get my packet in by dinner time. On the phone was my mother, who had called to say that there was suddenly no option for picking up the car later in the week, it absolutely had to happen that evening. "Are you kidding? I was serious about not being able to do it today?" She promised it wouldn't take too long, and that they'd be down about 5:30 to pick me up.

At like, 4:45, there was a knock on my door. Seriously? Out of all the times I invite me dad to come hang out with me, and he isn't interested, the one time I need to be alone and working, he shows up 45 minutes early. My mom is apologetic. Apparently, she was aware of this, but he wanted to get going. We arrived at the dealership 10-15 minutes earlier than our appointment, and immediately located Russ. He was walking around with some papers to copy, and he said he would be with us in 5 minutes. 15 minutes later, my father went to glare at him. When we sat down, I signed a million papers with gritted teeth. At one point, Russ turned to me: "Are you excited??"

"Quite honestly," I told him "I have a 15 page paper due for grad school, like, right now. I really don't have the time to be doing this today. This is why I said NOT TODAY. So....no, I'm not excited. My mind is elsewhere."

When he went to put plates on my car, he said he had to wait because it was being detailed. I used to work for Hoffman's Carwash, my job title was Detail Technician. I did this for a year. For making us wait so long to bring the car out (like, another 10 minutes)...the car wasn't detailed. It wasn't thoroughly vacuumed, some of the cup holders weren't cleaned out. The part that got us most, however, was the brand new dent. My dad has x-ray dent eyes, and he and my mother had scanned every exterior inch of this car before even asking to test drive it. This dent was new.

So I apparently have to make an appointment with them to suction out this dent and re-detail it. They could just give me $100 and I'd live with the dent and detail it myself. But this isn't the most annoying part. By the time I'm finally able to go home and resume work on my packet, it is several hours later. And I didn't finish until 12:30....which is Tuesday...which means that had I been listened to, I would have been able to finish my packet, you know, around dinner time. ARGH#$*&#($&*#$!!!

And afterward, I watched RHPS because I was too wound-up to go to sleep. Such a good movie.

This is the first time in my life that my car has not existed on the blue-green continuum.

Smaller than I realized

And I wondered why this small size wasn't displayed in his gallery.

This Week Sucked.

Why? 10 hour days essentially babysitting private school kids....and every kid I've ever disliked (below fifth grade) at that school showed up. A few kids I'd never met before proved themselves to also be annoying, or perhaps annoying and later cute.

Highlights, Lowlights, Things I've Observed:

1. Playing cards with cheat peekers is lame. Peek Sneeker. Pete Seeger.
2. Playing battleship with liars, or kids too little to realize that they are lying is lame.
3. Hungry Hungry Hippos is the noisiest game that does not claim to be noisy.
4. Hungry Hungry Hippos does not fit in its box.
5. I took my favorite kid to help me feed the K/1 frogs. He dumped sooo much food in that the next day one could not make out the frogs through the water. Oops.
6. I can predict what a child will grow up to be based on little things they say (which are essentially direct quotes from the people I know that they will grow up to be like)
7. Electronics out doors is super lame. One fourth grade girl, showing off her fancy new iPod touch seeks shade during playground recess so she could play with her apps. Or watch WALL-E. Oh, the irony.
8. Lame app: toast. Who wants to toast digital bread, add digital toppings, and digitally eat it? Wouldn't it be better to have actual toast? It is cheap, quick, and delicious.
9. One boy, who would become my favorite and the cutest (he is five) kept getting stuck in this part of the playground. I would lift him up and out. One time, he called me "Emmmilly!" 'Stuck again?' I say, and as I get close to him he jumps free of the playground equipment and taunts: "tricked ya, tricked ya, now you've gotta kiss me!"

10. One little girl (4yr old) asked if she could go to her cubby. Another little girl told the first girl that she would be joining her on the walk to her cubby. 'Wait! You have to ask" we tell her. "Oh Sorry!" and turning to the first little girl: "Can I go with you to your cubby?"

11. Guess Who is racist. There is not a single non-white person on the board. Some may disagree. I always thought she was Italian. Furthermore, how many redheads are in this crowd of people? How many redheads are usually? Don't get my wrong, I love me some redheads, but c'mon. (Also, only a handful of women....)


We made bread, hummus, and butter. I almost lost my head at one little girl in particular. She is say....five, and I would do an impersonation of her but I can't bring myself to vlog. So try this: put on your whiniest, most high pitched voice. Be sure to annunciate all your consonants. Now pretend that you are a five year old trying to argue your point to an adult who has already told you 'NO'. Try one of these on for size:

- Why cant we go on the little kids playground?
- But I don't want to make butter. I don't want any butter on my bread.*
- But I want an oompa loompa now Daddy!

*This one really pushed me over the edge. Let me tell you that the only reason bread was made that day (today) was so that there would be something to put the butter ON. If you can't even have the decency to shake the container with the marble, you don't deserve any bread. I just started mocking her and going off:
"ohh, ohh, I hate this, I don't want to do this and Emily sucks and Emily is lame and the activities that she prepared are totally boring and I'll have no part in them" and the other little kids said "Emily, your face is getting all red" while the little girl I was...attacking?...(ohh, no! who am I?) stammered her explanations.

Butter:

Bread:

and when I got home I actually used some of my compost (for the first time ever)

to plant cattle beans.

By the way, the "compost-able" Ben & Jerry's corn cup came out looking the same a year later.

Makeshift band-aid

I cut myself today. With Scissors. Who does that?

Also, whilst procrastinating writing my packet (this ideally would be finished already), I begin to toss around the idea of selling some handmade clothing on Etsy. Maybe I'll make some more tunics. I've got a ton of fabric busting out of chests in my sewing room. But! Would anyone even buy them? Is it worth the 20c listing fee? I just had a few items expire, and since no one buys my stuff anyway, I'm hesitant to re-list. I may just tack all of my stuff to a blanket and hawk my wares on the street. What are the fines for that sort of thing?

Water Tower Mysteries

So once upon a time I wondered how water towers made any sense. Sure, releasing water from a great height will create great pressure, but what about the energy it takes to get it up there in the first place? My first stab at solving this mystery was to ask the friend I always ask the random things I am wondering about. He was unsure, and told me he could make something up. (I appreciate this, as I had other go-to people who simply would make something up, lie about it;....totally lame). So I did what any distinguished intellectual would do in my situation: I googled it. This is my understanding now.

Water flows from the treatment facility to a pump. From the pump, the water goes where it needs to, according to residential need. When supply exceeds need, the excess water is pumped up into the tower. If need exceeds supply (say, during peak times when everyone is showering for work), then the lacking amount is drawn from the tower. Also! If the power goes out, The water tower contains enough water to supply its households for one day (and of course, gravity does not require electricity to work).