3/21/13

The poor little teacher versus the mountain of papers

The poor little teacher stepped onto the treacherous white mountain. The ground was slippery and unstable, as if she were stepping onto a mound of typing paper, and that, of course, was because she WAS stepping onto a mound of typing paper. With each step forward in her stalwart clogs, a page would come loose from the pile and flutter with ugly conviction to her feet. There, it would cut into her sad, exposed heels, leaving paper cut after bitter paper cut. The poor little teacher cried.

Still, the teacher walked on. The papers lashed out at her.  They taunted, "In these Untied States," and "In order to asses this program," and "Americans believe in life, liberty and the pursue of vapidness." The teacher covered her ears to silence the atrocities. She started to run. She had to get over the mountain! She had to! But the papers said, "You will not pass us--I mean, you WILL pass us. Like, literally, because this class is, like, really important to our major--BUT you will not get over our mountain because we are, like, way too POWERFUL and it's not like you have tenure or anything."

Tears welled up in the poor teacher's eyes. She had to cross the mountain. Her very livelihood depended on it. She mustered every ounce of courage, ever ounce of stamina she had left and made one more desperate attempt up the hill. An shiver of laughter ran through the papers, sending each page shuffling in evil glee, and with sudden force the papers rose up before her. They shackled her ankles. She turned, desperate. Would someone save her? Anyone? The papers rose higher. They coiled themselves around her legs and arms. They pasted themselves to her torso. She screamed. "No! No!" But soon her scream was muffled by the sheer weight of the paper as it landed on top of her, smothering her, killing her, erasing her with nary a smudge from existence. The poor little teacher was no more. The poor little teacher...never would she asses anyone ever again.

12 comments:

Ms M said...

Maybe the teacher should have called upon a goddess for help. Here's one for teaching:
Aife (also Aoife) – goddess and queen of the Isle of Shadow, goddess of protection, general knowledge, and teaching.
Here's another one that could be helpful:
White Lady – goddess of death, destruction, and annihilation.

Shell Sherree said...

Dang. I've been addressing my mail to the US incorrectly all this time. I'm surprised anything ever arrived.

Olga said...

Sounds like quite the nightmare.

Desiree said...

One poor little teacher can't take on the institutional inadequacies of an entire system.

Hush now, there, their, they're.

Bec said...

Wow . . . I can relate. Only in my story, the poor little teacher has a newborn baby strapped to her back. I had THREE papers this quarter where it talked about a business and its "costumers." And, they weren't costume rental businesses.

Kim Stcharles said...

Having been there many times before, I feel your pain! I hope that there is light at the end of the tunnel soon!

Pasadena Adjacent said...

Would you like a coca cola. Everything goes better with coke

altadenahiker said...

Take heart -- I just gave this an A.

Margaret said...

Ms. M. Thanks. You found me a goddess!

Bec: That's a good one. Here's to costumers everywhere

AH: I am a slave to grades. So that does help.

Petrea Burchard said...

Nice work, Ms. M.

Desiree, you made me laugh.

I think the poor little teacher knows how to make sure this never happens again. But it's not much help at the moment. I seem to remember some goddess or other who kicked through a lot of stuff. Maybe you could lend her your clogs and she could make a path for you.

Alison said...

I'll bet there are many teachers out there who share that nightmare!
Alison xx

Susan Campisi said...

I once considered being a teacher but decided, no way, those kids and those papers will eat me up. Good thing your poor little teacher is a goddess, so I'm sure she conquered that mountain.