One Last Shift in the Kitchen

At the end of a long trek back from Milwaukee, I took the slow boat and wearily watched my phone signal die on the way to Field's Point. Safely back in the Village, I wiled away the afternoon working a half shift in the kitchen, as a way to say good-bye. I came here to volunteer for a year, and I lasted a month. Tomorrow I start my new work for the local school district.

They needed a teacher's aide to do Math and Science for Holden Village at the high school level (yes, we've got a school). More than one parent-set of village students approached me making sure I knew about the opening and hoping I would apply, but I didn't need much encouraging. There's a deep-seated masochism to me that sounded its alarm in response to the job posting: "Ooh, haven't used those parts of me in a while. Sounds like fun."

I still have no idea how I got the job. Really. They tell me the interview went well. Couldn't have. I was a complete asshole. Literally. The principal looked at me and asked why I thought I was qualified for the position and I told her I was a genius.

Actually, I used the word polymath.

Here a week later I stood re-baiting the mouse traps in one of our dry storage lockers when one of the high school students stuck his head in to say hello. I couldn't handle saying hello back without snapping my finger in the trap I was handling. Some genius. I swore, and apologized (although, for snapping my finger in a mouse trap, really, worse words could have come out of my mouth). "I won't say things like that when I'm your teacher," I assured him lamely. "Yeah," he said, wandering off, "'cause it's not like Dave ever says anything like that."

He calls his teacher Dave.

I'm still trying to figure out what I've got myself into.