A Trip to the Treasurer's Office
I went down to the treasurer, who is old enough to be my grandma (this isn't bad), and I learned the phrase, "I just got screwed and I didn't even get a kiss!"
She gaped at me. No, I haven't heard of that phrase before -- not because I'm sheltered, but because I try not to put myself in positons where I could get screwed. But my principal was in there, and as they both laughed that I didn't know that phrase, I asked him if he knew what a "nibshitter" was.
He had a blank stare. He could easily be my dad, like, if he had me young, you know? Late forties? I don't know.
He didn't know what a nibshitter was and so, I learned one phrase and I taught both of them another. The principal left and Could-Be Grandma Treasurer and I started talking about farts. When the principal walked by the door, we called him back in and I asked if I could use a fart machine he confiscated from a student.
When he found out that I wanted to use it against one of my classes (because they played me with a whoopie cushion and I wanted to get the dumb class back) he laughed and refused to give it to me. At this point, one of the assistant principal's came in asking what we were talking about and I told her:
"I want to use the fart machine!"
"I hate that word," she exclaimed.
"Okay, busters then," I said and up went my legs and I made a fake poot noise.
And yes, this is one of my bosses...
I didn't realize she hated farts. The word. The sound. The smell. She's so consumed with hatred toward the bowel and all its movements that she posted signs in the faculty bathrooms about spraying disinfectant when one was done deficating.
You wonder how I have a job? I don't. I'm fun.
Could-Be Grandma Treasurer exploded with laughter and then she unfurled the epic of the assistant principal and her distaste of butt-noise. She laughed so hard. She said my little "lift my legs and fart" was too perfect, because the assistant principal flew away in an "oh my gawd" panic. Then she told me that the principal, at the end of meetings (nothing serious, I would assume), would grab his stomach and moan. And *whoomp* he would actually use the fart machine that was confiscated from a student.
Are you still wondering how I have a job? Look who's in charge of me...
She gaped at me. No, I haven't heard of that phrase before -- not because I'm sheltered, but because I try not to put myself in positons where I could get screwed. But my principal was in there, and as they both laughed that I didn't know that phrase, I asked him if he knew what a "nibshitter" was.
He had a blank stare. He could easily be my dad, like, if he had me young, you know? Late forties? I don't know.
He didn't know what a nibshitter was and so, I learned one phrase and I taught both of them another. The principal left and Could-Be Grandma Treasurer and I started talking about farts. When the principal walked by the door, we called him back in and I asked if I could use a fart machine he confiscated from a student.
When he found out that I wanted to use it against one of my classes (because they played me with a whoopie cushion and I wanted to get the dumb class back) he laughed and refused to give it to me. At this point, one of the assistant principal's came in asking what we were talking about and I told her:
"I want to use the fart machine!"
"I hate that word," she exclaimed.
"Okay, busters then," I said and up went my legs and I made a fake poot noise.
And yes, this is one of my bosses...
I didn't realize she hated farts. The word. The sound. The smell. She's so consumed with hatred toward the bowel and all its movements that she posted signs in the faculty bathrooms about spraying disinfectant when one was done deficating.
You wonder how I have a job? I don't. I'm fun.
Could-Be Grandma Treasurer exploded with laughter and then she unfurled the epic of the assistant principal and her distaste of butt-noise. She laughed so hard. She said my little "lift my legs and fart" was too perfect, because the assistant principal flew away in an "oh my gawd" panic. Then she told me that the principal, at the end of meetings (nothing serious, I would assume), would grab his stomach and moan. And *whoomp* he would actually use the fart machine that was confiscated from a student.
Are you still wondering how I have a job? Look who's in charge of me...
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