PsychoTeacher

Friday, March 31, 1995

In the faculty lounge--where yesterday Miller the Okie proclaimed that he was afraid of earthquakes since the high-speed Santa Ana winds we’ve been having denote "earthquake weather" where he comes from... I didn't ask which planet--I was accosted by Hamm who needed different information. Actually a piece of software. The disc that held the little Warrior graphic that I had used on some of the WASC material.

"Like I said yesterday," I told the Hammer, "it's at home."

"Sheeeet."

"Why?"

"Well, Johnston needs it. And I kinda told him that you could get it to him."

"When does he need it?"

"Oh, like yesterday."

"That's good." At that point, Johnston and crew came into the lounge. "Hey, Bob... so this Viking logo thing you need... when did you tell Hamm you needed it?"

He smiled at her. He knew where this was going. So he played it up, knowing I'd follow his cue. "Aw, shit. You know, I told the Hammer here two days ago I needed that stuff. You didn't tell him?" He faced off at her.

And I kicked into gear. "Two days ago. That would be...let me get this straight...Wednesday, right?" Bob nodded. "Ah, I see, now. And you needed it when?"

"Yesterday?"

"Right. Yesterday. So when she tells me about your request FIVE MINUTES ago, that really doesn't do you a shit-load of good."

"That would be correct, Bill."

Aimee started to giggle. There was this runaway train, she was tied to the tracks, and there was nothing to do but laugh.

"But you know what, Bob, I should have known. I really should have. Because Aimee here was working under the incorrect premise that I can read her mind. That I wasn't in need of any Dionne-Warwick-Psychic-Fuckin-Friends-Network because I could read her mind, as if there was something in that vast wasteland between her curls that could be read."

Bob and Aimee were both laughing now. Aimee stood up at that point to go. I was relentless, though.

"Aimee, I'm not PsychicTeacher. I'm not psychic. Psychotic, maybe. Psychic, no."

Bob chimed in. "Psychedelic?"

"Maybe. PsychoTeacher, though... that works for me."

Aimee was now ready to leave. "You're all assholes."

Yeah, well, at least we didn't have a little English Ten girl drop her birth control pills in class yesterday. The girls in the front row of Aimee’s class turned twenty shades of red, the student aide (a former English 3 of mine from last year) went into hyena-like fits of laughter, and the boys--duh, what's that make-up compact doin' on the floor--were clueless. I told Aimee that today would be the perfect time for that SafeSex-in-the-Age-of-AIDS lecture...pills--bad, barriers--good.

At least it's Friday and we still have a sense of humor.