Look I'm not going to lie to you, teachers get raucous on the weekends. The constant expulsion of gritty emotions during the week drains your very soul. That soul needs to be replenished.
How that gets done depends on the person. I've met a few people, so I've seen it done a few different ways. The point is, that shit needs to get done.
Here are some stories of teachers getting it done.
One friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, got paid one week. This guy was a relatively frugal dude, but this weekend he was feeling more daring than an ADHD-laden preteen who forgot to take his Ritalin. So he cashed his check and headed to the nearest casino, Mohegan Sun, and I rode shotgun.
When we arrived, saw the mind-altering crush of colors shining through the sliding-glass doors, the dollar signs flashing, and felt the cash in our moist gamblers' hands, my friend turned to me and said this: "I'm gunna bet it all." I asked him, "You sure?" He said yes.
He lost it all. We rode home in an awkward silence.
But he got it done.
On another, less spendy weekend, I ate dinner with a close friend outside a library. It was late, the library was closed, and we were feeling adventurous. It was also early on in my life in Connecticut, and I still didn't have a bedside lamp for my nightly reading.
After a lovely meal, my friend noticed a side door to the library was propped open, so naturally we meandered our way inside.
It was very dark in there, the only light coming from the street lamps that illuminated the tall windows. And speaking of lamps, in our moseying I saw it–the perfect bedside lamp.
Now an aside before I go any further: This was in West Hartford, in an immaculate library with zero signs of financial hardship. And picture the state I was in–crying myself to sleep each night because I had to get out of bed and brave the painfully frigid wood floor just to turn off my light after reading. Hopefully you can understand how desperate I was.
So we stole the lamp. From a library. And it was exhilarating.
And we got it done.
One Sunday not too long ago, I ran into four of my students at Subway.
"W! E! M! I! What a pleasure it is to see you guys!" I didn't say.
Instead, I ducked behind a cutout of Jared the Subway Guy before they could notice me. I started breathing fast, my back got sweaty, and I realized I was having a panic attack. I took two deep breaths, told myself that I've rowed a 2k on an erg before and could handle a couple of seventh graders.
So I began to plot my next move as I squatted behind Jared, listening to their conversation.
"This raking leaves business sure is niceee." E's voice.
"I know. I've never had this much money!" W said. "Our next house is close by, 55 Prospect Avenue or something. We should hurry."
Raking leaves huh, I thought to myself. I remember raking my grandma's huge yard for hours without seeming to make a dent in the crush of leaves. The tiny square patches of lawn in this city probably took these little entrepreneurs mere minutes to rake clean. I realized I had an opportunity to teach my students a valuable lesson in work ethic.
I slipped out from behind Jared, plugged that address into my phone and sprinted toward the house. When I got there, it was as I'd expected: a few leaves here and there, but not enough. I strolled next door and snagged three of those bags that you see everywhere, the ones filled with leaves and sitting curbside, waiting to be trucked away. I took the three bags and dumped their contents at different spots in the yard. I finished just in time to hide the bags before the four boys came around the corner.
"Hello, gentleman. Mighty chilly day to be outside. What are you up to?" I asked.
"Raking leaves," I said.
"Oh? Which house?" I said, looking around at nearby houses like a knucklehead.
"55 Prospect."
"Oh, well I believe that's this one." I pointed to the lawn with far too many leaves than its one tree could have created, and I watched as their faces dropped, pain creasing their foreheads as they realized how straining the coming job would be. "Looks like a lot of leaves, fellas. Better get started; it will be dark soon."
I strolled away, whistling. When I got to the end of the block, I stopped for one final victory glance back. The four of them were slowly putting on gloves and unfolding bags, clearly distraught at what they'd gotten themselves into.
I laughed, knowing just how well I'd gotten it done.
How that gets done depends on the person. I've met a few people, so I've seen it done a few different ways. The point is, that shit needs to get done.
Here are some stories of teachers getting it done.
One friend, who wishes to remain anonymous, got paid one week. This guy was a relatively frugal dude, but this weekend he was feeling more daring than an ADHD-laden preteen who forgot to take his Ritalin. So he cashed his check and headed to the nearest casino, Mohegan Sun, and I rode shotgun.
When we arrived, saw the mind-altering crush of colors shining through the sliding-glass doors, the dollar signs flashing, and felt the cash in our moist gamblers' hands, my friend turned to me and said this: "I'm gunna bet it all." I asked him, "You sure?" He said yes.
He lost it all. We rode home in an awkward silence.
But he got it done.
On another, less spendy weekend, I ate dinner with a close friend outside a library. It was late, the library was closed, and we were feeling adventurous. It was also early on in my life in Connecticut, and I still didn't have a bedside lamp for my nightly reading.
After a lovely meal, my friend noticed a side door to the library was propped open, so naturally we meandered our way inside.
It was very dark in there, the only light coming from the street lamps that illuminated the tall windows. And speaking of lamps, in our moseying I saw it–the perfect bedside lamp.
Now an aside before I go any further: This was in West Hartford, in an immaculate library with zero signs of financial hardship. And picture the state I was in–crying myself to sleep each night because I had to get out of bed and brave the painfully frigid wood floor just to turn off my light after reading. Hopefully you can understand how desperate I was.
So we stole the lamp. From a library. And it was exhilarating.
And we got it done.
One Sunday not too long ago, I ran into four of my students at Subway.
"W! E! M! I! What a pleasure it is to see you guys!" I didn't say.
Instead, I ducked behind a cutout of Jared the Subway Guy before they could notice me. I started breathing fast, my back got sweaty, and I realized I was having a panic attack. I took two deep breaths, told myself that I've rowed a 2k on an erg before and could handle a couple of seventh graders.
So I began to plot my next move as I squatted behind Jared, listening to their conversation.
"This raking leaves business sure is niceee." E's voice.
"I know. I've never had this much money!" W said. "Our next house is close by, 55 Prospect Avenue or something. We should hurry."
Raking leaves huh, I thought to myself. I remember raking my grandma's huge yard for hours without seeming to make a dent in the crush of leaves. The tiny square patches of lawn in this city probably took these little entrepreneurs mere minutes to rake clean. I realized I had an opportunity to teach my students a valuable lesson in work ethic.
I slipped out from behind Jared, plugged that address into my phone and sprinted toward the house. When I got there, it was as I'd expected: a few leaves here and there, but not enough. I strolled next door and snagged three of those bags that you see everywhere, the ones filled with leaves and sitting curbside, waiting to be trucked away. I took the three bags and dumped their contents at different spots in the yard. I finished just in time to hide the bags before the four boys came around the corner.
"Hello, gentleman. Mighty chilly day to be outside. What are you up to?" I asked.
"Raking leaves," I said.
"Oh? Which house?" I said, looking around at nearby houses like a knucklehead.
"55 Prospect."
"Oh, well I believe that's this one." I pointed to the lawn with far too many leaves than its one tree could have created, and I watched as their faces dropped, pain creasing their foreheads as they realized how straining the coming job would be. "Looks like a lot of leaves, fellas. Better get started; it will be dark soon."
I strolled away, whistling. When I got to the end of the block, I stopped for one final victory glance back. The four of them were slowly putting on gloves and unfolding bags, clearly distraught at what they'd gotten themselves into.
I laughed, knowing just how well I'd gotten it done.