Subbing for Dollars
September 20th, 2006The call came late last week.
Was I available to sub Monday at The Teenagers’ school?
I was torn.
We could use the income. But their high school?
Do I dare thrust myself onto the heretofore exclusive turf of the almost-eighteen year old and the sixteen year old?
A mother among the dudes and dudettes?
A fifty year old parent, given to occasional outbursts of sick-goose-honking laughter and swine-like snorting, loose among the is-there-any-food-between-my-teeth adolescents?
And what, God forbid, if I’m assigned to cover for one of their teachers?
What to do?
Flashback to last week.
Ah yes. That special feeling when I saw my car’s gas gauge on one eighth of a tank. For the second time. Same infraction, different teenager. That poignant memory of The Teenagers’ verbal love fest to determine the guilty party.
Fortutunately, clarity was only a menopausal moment away.
The look on the sixteen year old’s face that morning when she saw me covering for her consumer ed teacher?
Good for two snorts and a honk.