True story. Fact, you know, is often much, much stranger-and entertaining-than fiction.
Time: Approximately 11:30 a.m., on a Hectic Deadline Day.
Place: The "Journalism Suite," Our Humble High School, Any Suburb, USA
Characters: Mrs. Scribe & Several Spazzy Journalistas
Set Directions: The High School Newspaper & Yearbook offices/classroom, loosely characterized as a "The Journalism Suite" because the 2 rooms are connected. Cheap, moldy carpeting covers previously condemned & partially removed asbestos insulation. 6 work tables, of various ages and design, arranged in no discernible pattern throughout a room also jammed with computers, extra chairs for some reason, filing cabinets, & the Teacher's Desk, which is also a table. TD covered from stem to stern in paper, books, folders, flotsam, jetsam. Teacher's laptop peeks out slightly from this detrius.
Actors' Places, Cues: Telephone rings near Teacher's Desk. Teacher (Mrs. Scribe) reaches over and grabs the plastic receiver, causing several piles on her littered "desk" to cascade to the floor.
Journalism "Cherubs" strategically placed around the room. 2 on computers, apparently doing "real" work. 2 discussing college applications in high-pitched, shrieky cadences. 3 standing in mid-room, furtively gossiping about a "change of command" in a relationship.
Mrs. Scribe (fighting to be Heard above the Hubbub, she answers the phone with something Less Than Decorum): This is Mrs. Scribe!
Cherub #1 to Cherub #2: So then he said I need a safety school, & then I said what for & then he said 'cause you're not going out this weekend til you pick one & then I said OK, Make Me, & then he said...
Voice on other end of telephone line, to Mrs. Scribe (with some sense of urgency): Mrs. Scribe? This is Mr. Counselor. Will you please send So-and-So down to my office right away?
Cherub #3 to Cherubs #4 & #5 (sotto voce): So then she said that to him & then he said that other thing to her & it's really getting annoying listening to them talk without really saying anything...
Mrs. Scribe (acknowledging Mr. Counselor's request): Right-O! I'll send her right down! Turns in general direction of hubbub: So-and-So! Mr. Counselor needs you!! Now!!!
So-and-So pops in from the other office, all Fresh-Faced & Perky, with a look of Sculpted Innocence on her Cherubic Countenance.
So-and-So: On my way! Do I need a pass? Could you sign something? Please?
Mrs. Scribe dashes off a quick note. So-and-So skedaddles down a hallway packed with Lunchtime Revelers. Time passes. Maybe 15 minutes, but who can tell, with This & That happening At. The. Same. Time. Madness! So-and-So returns, leaning into classroom from the hallway, as if trying to determine if "The Coast is Clear."
Mrs. Scribe: What's that smell? Tacos? Enchiladas? Whewwww! It suddently reeks like Taco Cabana in here!
So-and-So bows out of room. Makes an end-run down the hall to the other door of the "Journalism Suite."
So-and-So (gyrating slightly, with hips in search of a Hula Hoop. Starts to sing off-key): Burritos, bur...EEE..toes...I got me some BURR...EEE...TOES!
The Room Erupts. Pandemonium Reigns Supreme. No learning will get done today! Apparently, Mr. Counselor has been making Burrito Runs for his Sophomores.
Would you like Salsa on that Transcript?
Playing along with Candid Carrie & her Friday Foto Finsh Fiesta!