Mr. Gibson

I am getting old.

Today, I had my first day of substitute teaching. What a rush! I received the 911 call at 7:01 this morning, with un-detailed instructions for my day's work. After a pro-longed shower and a quick bowl of cereal, I grabbed my bike out of the garage and hit the road. The time was 7:48. It was a cold morning, around 26 degrees, and, combined with the wind, the weather was very successful at brutalizing my face throughout my morning commute. But, I didn't feel all that bad, especially since I was passing child after child walking to school; it made me feel better to watch them suffer, all lonely and cold on the sidewalk (I know this sounds terrible, and you're right, it is, but do not fear, I get what's coming to me). The school I was heading to, Baranof Elementary, was the furthest away from my house, maybe a 10 minute bike ride. I arrived with a few minutes to spare, parked my bike in an inconspicuous place, and waltzed right into the main lobby. There I was greeted by two smiling ladies behind the desk, who, upon clearly noticing that I was a substitute, asked me who I was filling in for and what class I was supposed to teach. I responded that I was there in place of Sue Ross, who had a baby sick at home, but sends her greetings all the same. This statement led to an eyebrow raise from both women, and I was then asked a second time what class I was teaching. I responded that I was going to be teaching PE...

As the acronym "PE" left my mouth, I realized I had just revealed to these two ladies, and the world, that I had been homeschooled, and knew nothing of standard, public education. Elementary schools normally don't have PE, they have recess. So unless Alaskan elementary schools have military style recess, I was at the wrong school. My confident expression immediately fell, my face turned bright pink, and sweat began to build beneath my hairline. The two sweet women behind the counter, upon realizing the predicament I had gotten myself into, smiled, and said that they thought I was supposed to be at Blatchley Middle School (which, also starts with a "B" I might add), which was located a cold, windy mile back towards my house. As I sprinted back outside I checked the time: 8:02. My first day as a substitute, and I not only was going to be late, I had completely showed up at the wrong school (which is obviously inexcusable in Sitka, considering there are 4 schools in the entire district, and only 1 middle school)! As I peddled nervously, I thought about all the ways a principle could let a substitute know he was fired. But, before I could bog myself down with these thoughts too much, I was fortunate enough to swerve around some dog-excrement on the sidewalk, collide into a telephone pole, and jam my breaks into the spokes of my wheel. As I picked myself up from the cold, frozen ground, several cars, filled with the very middle schoolers I was about to teach, drove by; laughing and pointing from behind the windows, like I was unicycle clown or something. Upon a quick analysis of the damage, I realized the brake was so mangled around the tire, I couldn't ride my wounded means of transportation. So, I picked the bike up, threw it over my shoulder, and started to run down the sidewalk. This supposedly easy commute to my temp. job had quickly turned into Armageddon. I ran, with my bike over my shoulder, for the last half-mile; arriving at the school amazingly at 8:06.

Through the main doors I ran, right up to the front desk, panting, sweating, and looking like I had just had a cup of tea with a grizzly or something. The lady behind the desk was not at all as friendly as the two women that had been at the elementary school. So, upon hearing my story, and that I was here to sub. for Mrs. Ross, she referred me to the assistant principle (while also rolling her eyes at least 4 times). After a quick introduction to Mr. "2nd in Command" I was pointed towards the gym, where Mrs. Ross' office is located. At that point I was just praying for the apocalypse, because in the short hour I had been awake, I was convinced I had lived long enough. But, thankfully, the fate of the world is not in my hands, because, I was greeted in Mrs. Ross' office by beautiful, detailed instructions for everything I was to do in the day. The even greater relief though, was that my first class did not start until 9:27; I had time to breath (and drink a lot of water). The rest of the day was wonderful, especially considering it was my first experience in a public grade school, ever. We played ultimate frisbee, they called me Mr. Gibson, and I put on an exaggerated southern accent. It was a good day. And I dominated in ultimate.

I am going to sleep very well tonight...