The Deed is Done

There are 195 students in our choir. Every single one of them needed an audition packet by this afternoon. It would have been nice if we could have made them last night when we were at school until 8:30, but both copiers were broken. When we arrived at school today, only one was capable of copying. Imagine the panic and frustration as every teacher vied for position. By some miracle, once I got the packet in and set it for 200 copies, hardly anyone showed up and had to do the awkward "oh can I interrupt? I mean, I have 75 copies of a 5 page packet to make, but I need it for next hour." I really wonder if someone sent out an email informing the rest of the staff that the audition packets had finally made it in and would not be done for another hour and a half. I wouldn't put it past Spinny. After 4 paper reloads and 1 staple refill, they were finally done, which was a true triumph.
I learned today that the third grader who burst into tears in the middle of class yesterday was apparently upset about "robbers, and bad people breaking in and doing bad things." This sounds suspiciously like my cover for bursting into tears in kindergarten, but could be genuine.
Which, brings me to a story from the past: The art teacher at Kings Park when I was in kindergarten was terrifying. She was mean and short-tempered, at least I thought so at the time. Looking back, she may have just not had as warm a personality as kindergarteners expect out of teachers, and that translated into really scary. Anyway, 1e had just arrived at art class, and a kid asked to go to the bathroom. The teacher was mad, because we were supposed to go beforehand, and she said that kid could go but nobody else (having had to do this exact same thing in my own classes, I now sympathize greatly with this woman. Class is 30 minutes, we had time to go when we walked down the hall, if you let one go every else wants to, etc. It's just the worst). I did not often use the bathroom at school, especially with half-day kindergarten, which is why it is so odd that I had to go sooo badly that day. But I did need to go. So badly that I started crying. The teacher asked me what was wrong, and on the spot I said that I was afraid my dad's plane was going to crash (he was flying back from a business trip that day). The art teacher called Mrs. Ritchie down, and she took me to the teacher's lounge. We talked about my "fear," and had me call home. My mom came to pick me up. While waiting for my mom, Mrs. Ritchie asked if I wanted to go to the bathroom, and I finally got to go. Then, I got to go home early, feeling great because I had gotten to pee and I really wasn't upset at all about my dad's flight. I told this story to my mom many years later, not realizing that she had never heard my side. She said that for all those years, she thought I really had been concerned about Dad. Nope, I just needed to pee.