How the first day of school actually went.

It always happens that you glance over your shoulder once the story ends, and find your memory has been busy -- that the things you hardly noticed the first time through have, while you weren't looking, grown heavy and ponderous with new importance.

I don't know where to begin, except by relating that at one point in the early afternoon, I left the high school class room in silence only to hear nine teenagers burst out laughing as soon as I'd closed the door. Not the best feeling in the world; notice it managed to get left out of the first attempt to plot out the events of the day. Or maybe I should actually introduce the misadventure by revealing that the entire high school at Holden Village rose up and decided to play a prank on me my first day as their Teacher's Aide. But, like so many good pranks, it retained the potential to go horribly awry, and -- as things often play out -- go awry it did.

The terms of the prank were simple. After lunch, the students returned to the room early, checked their e-mail at the computer bank, played some music before it was time to buckle down for a US History lecture -- all normal activities as I understand it now. Only that day, someone had a CD of Sesame Street Songs, and they set it to a track where Cookie Monster sings about leaving his cookie at the disco or some God-awful thing like that, and they set it to Repeat. And waited. What will she do?

So. The things that went wrong.

They hit play too soon, for one. They had to listen to the song six times before I even got there, and couldn't do anything about it because they were so keen on looking nonchalant they didn't want to be anywhere near the CD player once I got to the school. For another, they counted too heavily on the notion that I would need to hear a Sesame Street song more than once to get annoyed. Ah, wrong. So I walk in, note the choice of music, briefly debate about being the "heavy" that takes away their one opportunity to express their individualism, and proceed to tune out the damn cookie song. Effectively.

For half an hour.

The kids don't want to say anything; they're still waiting for their big reaction. Finally I get up to visit the copy room, and on my way out the door, pause, and cast a side long glance at the menacing little boom box still shouting Sesame Street music -- which side long glance I'll have you know they got to doing impressions of later -- and leave the room collapsing in on itself in laughter while someone finally pounces on the CD player and puts them all out of their misery.