Fall in May

~8~ Maybe and Or'sir

"It's not the size of the dog in the fight, it's the size of the fight in the dog." ~Mark Twain

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The Current in Overflow Homeroom C-22

Standing at the door of C-22, I must have lingered a little too long sizing up my first fight. A large dusky colored Leatherhead, who has been eye-boning me hard since I arrived. As the final bell tolls, now even the teacher is looking at me in an almost feral manner. Or what I assume is the teacher. But only because he's the only one standing in the front of the room in a lame sweater vest, almost looking pleased to be present this first foul morning. 

It only takes me one glance at Mr. Sweater Vest to tell this dude is totally not cool. He immediately strikes me as one of those overly muscular little midget men, with a serious short man's complex. The kind of garden gnome that overcompensates for his obvious vertical challenges by attempting to look as midgety buff as possible. He's even sporting a lame beard to try to make him appear older. Unfortunately, it's not a real man's beard, but one of those whispy little boy beards. Almost as if puberty wasn't quite done with him, when it got frustrated with the lack of results and just gave up.

"Are you in this class or just visiting?" The mini-man is quick as a snake to hate me for my height, clearly jealous of my ability to reach the top shelf of the refrigerator.

"This is C-2-2. No?" I loom slightly taller, looking over his head as if I can't quite find the source of the talking noise that is beneath me.

"Classroom C-22." He impulsively corrects my numericals with a clear clarity of disdain for my introductory response to his highly guarded delusion of grandeur.

"Then yeah, like I guess I'm in this class of overflow something?" I glance down upon him as if noticing the mini-man for the first time. 

"So which is it? Yeah, like or something?" Mini man mimic-mocks up at me with a twisted sneer.

I get the distinct sense that this guy is trying hard to bring me down to his level. But sadly he falls well short of the mark, when no one else even seems to care that he tried to make "a funny", most especially me.

"Then yeah, I'm like here only." I drone, repeating the Sleestak signage slogan.

"Let me see your schedule?" He snips, totally betraying his not cool origins with his lame pronunciation of the 'shway' in schedule. Marking himself as one of those fussy little types, who feel the need to constantly correct other people's annunciations, with precision and clear pronunciations. That type of anglophilic pissant that atonally pronounces the lame 'shway' in schedule. In short, he's a "Grammar Nazi", and I seriously hate Nazi's to death ...it's like a thing.

"Seems that you were only assigned this homeroom just this morning." He hands back my shway'dule. "In the future, be in your seat by the time the bell rings. Do not be late again, as I have no compunction against writing up a tardy, even on the first day. Because if I have to be present and prepared at 8:15 sharp? So do you, and not 8:15 and a second thereafter."   

It seems that this school, unlike my last one, clearly has some serious sensitivity issues with time. One that grates against the grain of my "sunshine beach time" lackadaisical approach to learning. My last high school was happy if we showed up at all, at any time. Hell's bells, they practically ecstatic if we came to school almost unarmed. But then again that whole school to prison thing was in full effect at Seaside High. I guess when you don't have to worry about getting shanked in the neck by your students, maybe time becomes relevant again?