What teachers say when they can't say what they want to say . . .

Out here in farm land there is a lingo that teachers have, one that I was not aware of until recently.  Today, as I sat in the teachers lounge drinking stale coffee that I don’t even like anyway, just trying to get away from some kid named Tyler who was intent on telling me his life story in five minute chunks between all of my classes, (I swear if I had to hear about his cross eyed cousin or his ninety-four bunnies anymore I was going to strangle him).  I came upon a non-descript leather bound book, a tomb really, for no other reason then the fact the word tomb is kind of cool.  There was no title, and it had definitely been leafed through quite a bit as the leather was worn, and the clasp, like one you would find on a diary, was broken.  Well, I opened it, and inside I was introduced to THE RURAL TEACHERS GUIDE TO WHAT YOU SAY WHEN YOU CAN’T SAY WHAT YOU WANT TO SAY.  And while I might be hung by my big toes if word gets out that I am doing this, it was just too good to keep to myself,

So,

Monday Night at the Farm presents:

The Indiana Students guide to what a teacher says, and what he/she really means.

The teacher says:

Okay it’s time for silent reading.

The teacher really means:

I went to the bar last night and had fourteen shots of Tequila with some guy named Bubba who owns an El Camino, if I hear so much as a whisper I’m going to hurl all over my desk.

The teacher says:

Chad, please sit down at your desk.

The teacher really means:

You smell really, really bad, have you ever heard of deodorant, go away and I’ll buy you a bar of soap for Christmas.

The teacher says:

Zack, you better keep your homework from your dog from now on.

The teacher really means:

Stop eating paper

The teacher says:

Open your books to page 263

The teacher really means:

I’m going to give you a really boring, busy work assignment because I don’t feel like teaching today.

The teacher says:

I have to go make some more copies, everyone sit quietly.

The teacher really means:

I know you are going to go nuts and throw things, but I don’t care because me and (The teacher next door, the janitor, the secretary) are going to go make out in the copy room.

The teacher says:

I have to go make some more copies, everyone sit quietly.

The teacher really means:

I don’t care what you do because I ate a bad raccoon last night and if I don’t go to the bathroom right now . . .

The teacher says:

I’m leaving for a minute but I told Mr. Pembergast next door to listen to you, so you better stay quiet.

The teacher really means:

I’m making an empty threat with the hope that you might fall for it and actually stay in the room.

The teacher says:

Okay kids it’s time for recess.

The teacher really means:

You are way too hyper to teacher and I don’t feel like trying anyway.

The teacher says:

Okay kids it’s time for recess.

The teacher really means:

I hope that you all get lost in the woods.

The teacher says:

Sit down and shut up

The teacher really means:

Sit down and shut up

My favorite part of that whole thing, Mr. Perbergast, I wish I knew a Mr. Pembergast, what a great name.

My favorite new annoying teacher trick:  Answer every question with another question, even really silly ones that would be easier just to answer.

“Can I go to the bathroom?”

“I don’t know can you?”

“What’s your first name?”

“What is the square root of 284?”

“What page are we on?”

“Do I look like a clown?”

“Do you own Applebee’s?”

“If I owed a successful restaurant chain would I be a substitute teacher?”

or (Pointing to  my name on the board) “Is that how they spell Applebee’s”

or “Do you own Applebee’s?”

etc.

This week’s best way to make it seem you don’t live alone on a small farm in rural Indiana:  Buy Bulk.  Of course even this can backfire.

I went to Meijers today to get some more dog food and macaroni and cheese, and ended up spending 73 dollars on bulk super deals.  When I left I ran into a friend who knows that I live alone.  He saw that I had twenty-four rolls of toilet paper, 85 plastic garbage bags, concentrated tang powder enough to make 36 gallons, and twelve rolls of double thick paper towels.  It took me fifteen minutes to convince him I wasn’t running some sort of terrorist training camp.  I guess it doesn’t help that I’ve been making a lot of running trails in my woods . . .

My favorite stupid commercial is the Reisen ad, it’s like a bad Mentos commercial, or a worse Mentos commercial, lets put it this way, it’s the worst Mentos commercial. 

A guy approaches these three young men leaving a movie or something, and offers them a Reisen.  Then, like they are totally making it up, one guy says, “Umm, chocolaty,” another over chewing, “great chew,” and the third, “but not too sweet.”  Yeah that’s believable.  I think that ad should be more like Dudley Moore would make it.  “Reisen, not just your grandpas hardass, nasty candy anymore.”