bitterdiva

Polymers, dyes, and synthesis oh my!

My expertise in computer related matters called for me stuffing binders this morning and all throughout the afternoon. Note that not one relates to the other, as per usual of the current professional affairs. Alas, the summer workshops are now half over with the worst one being completed yesterday. As I opened the box of binders that familiar nostalgic smell hit me, plastic coated binders – the exact smell that triggers panic in my brain. The scent I refer to is educational supplies and as I look into the advertisements in the Sunday paper, I realize that summer is also half over and colleges are gearing up for another expensive season.

My love for the polymer goodness developed at an early age when my mother would take us three siblings out for back to school shopping. For my sister and I it was the equivalent to pirate booty simply for the fact that we both attended catholic schools and were required to wear a uniform. My brother, attending a public vo-tech high school, missed out on the booty and received clothes instead. After all, not much in the way of school supplies you can buy for a raging electronics geek other than the assortment of wires, pliers, LEDs, and power tools of which my father had in his disheveled workroom that was 75% of the basement. After returning home from the shopping excursion, I would dump all my booty on the floor of my shared room and enjoy the smells of the plastics, the colors of notebooks, and the feel of pencils.

My faintest school memory has to be either the E.T. or Animal (from the Muppets) canvas tote I had. I remember putting all my school supplies in them and bringing them to school. I also remember the pictures my parents required us children to take on the first day of school all in our best outfits (as best you can get with a plaid jumper, white blouse, and some stupid crisscross snappy tie). Those are the best pictures of me since well, I was cute at the nice impressionable age of six. The only day I looked forward to in the entire school year was the day before the last day of school – when we had to clean out our desks the entire classroom so we would all wear whatever, bring rags, brillos, and muster all the elbow grease we could. Now that I’m thinking about it, that was sort of cruel and unusual punishment to subject a six year old.

Actually, what’s cruel and unusual and certainly grounds for some type of suit these days is the shenanigans and actions of my first grade teacher. I’m certain that I related the story of how she subjected me to my current bathroom traumas with her denial and ridicule of using the lavatory when needed. This woman must have been a Jedi because she mind trick the first graders to submit to her and rub her back, and the kids looked forward to pleasing her. It was a reward for the day; if you made her happy and were good, you were a shoe-in to give this woman a back rub. She also had children at recess trail behind her and hold onto her makeshift train that was her quilt.

The other peculiarity this woman had was the distaste for wasteful lunch food. I recall a story my sister told me when this woman was her teacher. My parents had apparently mixed up my siblings’ lunches or they had some brain fart – probably were too busy dealing with me at the time. My sister as a child detested ham sandwiches (who doesn’t?) and threw it out at lunch because as a kid who cannot be around the most disgusting sandwich in the world, it’s the best thing to do. The woman passed by a trashcan with said sandwich, pulled it out and handed it back to my sister. After politely explaining the situation with the garbage rummager, she refused to accept my sister’s side of the story. She gave sis the ultimatum: either the recess or the sandwich goes. She chose recess. I don’t blame her one bit, with the choice of eating a discarded, garbage-touched , disgusting ham sandwich or losing one’s recess, I’ll take sitting there with the sandwich staring back at me for 30 minutes.

One of my classmates at the time had this annoying habit of throwing up on his desk once a week. After a while it became commonplace and I looked forward to the interruption of the class. The janitor would come in (and I actually can’t place his face since I saw him quite often) and douse the desk in that disgusting green powder to help soak up the vile stomach contents. It mostly occurred in the morning and there wasn’t much in the bootage – mostly liquid. The kid had some nervous problem, perhaps separation anxiety from his mother.

04:15 PM

Comments

Posted by: texasyankee at July 31, 2003 09:59 PM

Posted by: bitterdiva at July 31, 2003 11:35 PM

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