May 5, 2000
The other night I was in a home improvement/gardening/construction warehouse looking at different kinds of herbicides, pesticides, and omnicides. I have to respect the companies who make these chemicals because, with all the pro-environment movements, all the efforts going to save endangered areas and species, not to mention the obvious environmental damage, the diminishing biodiversity, the tons of fish that wash up on beaches daily, it takes guts to thumb your nose at all of that. These companies are saying, "Screw Nature! We’re going to cement the planet and paint it green!" Of course a few wimp out and call themselves "environmentally friendly", but, come on, if they were really environmentally friendly, they wouldn’t be very effective, would they? No, I prefer the ones that promise to kill everything within a one-acre radius, including dirt, the ones that have labels that say, "Warning: Causes Liver Damage If Looked At Directly."
But as I was strolling along the aisle, I came to the section with rodent poison. On every box was the same picture of a timid mouse in a crouching position, his little paws hanging just below his little pink nose, his eyes bright and his ears perky. He was, as much as I hate to use the word, cute. I know they carry rabies and typhoid and the plague, but how could I kill something that looks so much like the hamster I had in fifth grade? How could anyone, with the exception of psychopaths, buy that stuff with the intention of using it? That’s when it hit me: some people have nice lawns and gardens because they have an appreciation for beauty. Others are just deeply repressed serial killers whose manicured lawns mask mass graves of thousands, maybe millions of innocent victims of various species. And who can tell which is which? Mr. Griffiths with his prize-winning begonias might look innocent, but what if one of these days he flips out and buzzes the neighborhood with a crop duster? I can’t offer any answers. I’m too distracted by that lovely scene out my window of wildflowers blooming, butterflies dancing through the grass, and squirrels playing. Yep, it’s definitely time to get out the lawnmower.
Enjoy this week’s offerings.
You Might Be in Education If…
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You believe the staff room should be equipped with a Valium salt lick.
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You find humor in other people’s stupidity.
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You want to slap the next person who says, "must be nice to work from 8 to 3:20 and have your summers free."
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You believe chocolate is a food group.
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You can tell it’s a full moon without ever looking outside.
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You believe "shallow gene pool" should have it’s own box on the report card.
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You believe that unspeakable evils will befall you if anyone says, "Boy, the kids sure are mellow today."
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When out in public you feel the urge to snap your fingers at a child you do not know and correct their behavior.
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You have no time for a life from August to June.
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Marking all A’s on report cards would make your life SO much simpler.
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When you mention "vegetables" you’re not talking about a food group.
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You think people should be required to get a Government permit before being allowed to reproduce.
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You wonder how some parents ever MANAGED to reproduce.
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You laugh uncontrollably when people refer to the staff room as the "lounge."
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You believe in aerial spraying of Prozac.
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You encourage an obnoxious parent to check into charter schools or home schooling.
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You believe no one should be permitted to reproduce without having taught in an elementary setting for at least five years.
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You’ve ever had your profession slammed by someone who would never DREAM of doing your job.
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You’ve ever had your profession slammed by someone with no experience or knowledge in the field but who is "appointed" to be your boss.
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You can’t have children because there’s no name you could give a child that wouldn’t bring on high blood pressure the moment you heard it uttered.
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You know you’re in for a MAJOR project when a parent says, "I have a great idea I’d like to discuss. I think it would be such fun."
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You think caffeine should be available to staff in IV form.
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You smile weakly and want to choke a person when he/she says, "Oh, you must have such FUN every day. This must be like playtime for you."
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Your personal life comes to a screeching halt at report card time.
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You’ve had to listen to approximately 15,000 jackasses who think they’re being funny and original when they say, "Well, those who can’t do, teach!"
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Meeting a child’s parent instantly answer the question, "Why is this kid like this?"
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