Close Encounters of the Third-Grade Kind

by Phillip Done

  The last session of the day took place in the grand ballroom. There were about a hundred teachers. The room was full (rumor had it that the instructor hid door prizes under the chairs). I sat at a round table with my colleague Sandy and eight others. I was the only man at the table. There was nothing under my chair. Sandy slapped me when I tried to see if anything was under hers.

  “Okay, everyone,” our instructor Barbara said, “for our first task, I’d like you all to do a quick-write about your most embarrassing teacher moment.” The crowd chuckled. “You’ll have about five minutes.”

  Everyone started writing. Except me. Not because I didn’t have anything to write. I have plenty of embarrassing moments. The problem was that I had too many to choose from. It was like trying to select something on a menu when you’re starving and everything looks good. Immediately I started going through the slide show of embarrassing moments in my head.

  Slide One: Teacher notices wasp on inside of classroom window. Teacher grabs dictionary and slams it against glass. Window cracks. Wasp is fine.

  Slide Two: Teacher stops car at red light while singing at top of his lungs with windows down. Teacher looks left. Teacher sees his student and student’s mom sitting in next car.

  Slide Three: Teacher loans Austin a die to play board game at home. Teacher writes reminder on board. Austin’s mom walks into classroom and sees “Austin — die!” written on whiteboard.

  Slide Four: Teacher plays National Geographic video in class about cheetahs without previewing it first. Midway through movie, cheetahs start “going at it.” Teacher grabs remote to skip segment. Instead of hitting Stop button then Fast Forward, teacher presses Fast Forward. Students watch everything in fast motion.

  Slide Five: Teacher returns tie in Macy’s that Sophie gave him for Christmas. While standing at counter, teacher spots Sophie with whole family. What are the odds? Teacher screams at clerk to hide tie, grabs shirt off return pile, and pretends to buy it.

  Slide Six: Teacher greets students as they enter classroom at start of school. Christina’s mom says, “Have a good day, sweetheart.” The teacher, who mistakenly thinks that Christina’s mom is talking to him, smiles awkwardly, and says, “Uh… thanks. You, too.”

  Slide Seven: Teacher runs to bathroom in between two parent–teacher conferences. On way back to classroom he cuts across field. Halfway across grass, automatic sprinklers come on. Teacher does next three conferences soaking wet.

  Slide Eight: Teacher plays tag with class on play structure. Teacher hears loud ripping sound. Teacher looks down, sees boxers through ten-inch hole where seam used to be in pants. Teacher orders two children to hand over their sweatshirts, ties them around his waist, and teaches like this for rest of day.

  Slide Nine: Teacher steps out of shower at gym and hears familiar voice call his name. Teacher turns and spots student. Teacher cups hands over front, grabs towel, and runs to locker.

  “Just a couple of minutes more,” Barbara sang in the microphone.

  I looked around the table. Sandy was already finished writing. So were several of the other teachers at my table. I still had nothing on my paper. Then all of a sudden Slide Ten popped into my head. Bingo. I started scribbling.

  Barbara walked around the tables one more time then asked us to wrap it up. I continued writing. “Okay,” she announced. “Now I’d like you to turn to the person next to you and share what you’ve written.” We all laughed nervously. Quickly, I finished up my last sentence then turned to Sandy.

  “You want to start?” I asked.

  “No,” Sandy said. “You go first.”

  “Okay.” I sat up, cleared my throat, and started reading. “My most embarrassing teacher moment. One day I was in a huge hurry to get to work. I grabbed my lunch sack, threw in a drink from the fridge, and raced to school. When lunchtime rolled around, I sat down in the staff room and started chatting away. As I was talking, I pulled my lunch out of the bag. Audrey tapped me on the arm and said, ‘Hard day?’ ‘Why do you say that?’ I asked. She stared at my can. I followed her gaze. ‘Ahhhhhhh!’ I screamed. I grabbed the can and threw it back into the bag. It was a Budweiser.”

  Sandy started cracking up. I could feel my face getting hot.

  “You’re blushing,” Sandy said, in between laughs.

  “I know.” (I turn red faster than a thermometer stuck in boiling water. Can’t control it.)

  Just then Barbara walked by our table and put her hand on the back of my chair. “Looks like you two are having a good time over here.”

  “You’ve got to hear Phil’s story,” Sandy said, wiping her eyes.

  I shook my head broadly. “Ohhhhh no.”

  “Come on, Phil,” Sandy prodded. “It’s funny.”

  By now the others at my table had stopped reading and were listening to us. I shifted in my seat.

  Barbara leaned over my chair. “I have an idea. Why don’t you share it with the whole class?”

  “Yeah!” Sandy said, patting me on the back.

  “No way!” I refused.

  “Come on!” another piped in.

  I could feel my face turning redder. I turned to Sandy. “The only reason you want me to read it is so that you’re off the hook.”

  She laughed.

  All of a sudden one of the other women at my table started chanting. “Phillip! Phillip! Phillip!”

  “Stop that!” I whispered through gritted teeth.

  The others joined in. “Phillip! Phillip! Phillip!”

  The last time I was in a pickle like this, I was on a cruise with a group of friends. They pushed me up on the stage during the karaoke competition and I was forced to sing “Ain’t Nothing But a Hound Dog” to half the ship.

  “Oh all right!” I grumbled. (This had to be easier than singing Elvis.) Sandy started clapping. I shot her a look. “I’ll kill you later.”

  “Okay, everyone,” Barbara said, excitedly. “Please listen up. Listen up, please.” The room became quiet. “Phil is going to share his most embarrassing teacher moment.” She handed me the microphone.

  I stood up slowly, looked out into the audience, and gave a half smile. “Is my face red?”

  A hundred people answered, “Yes.”

  Then I took a deep breath and swallowed. “Well,” I said staring down at my paper. “Uh… this really isn’t my most embarrassing moment anymore.” I looked up and paused. “I’m having a whole new one right now.”

  LUNCHTIME

  When I was in third grade, I asked my mom if you have to be a lady to work in the cafeteria. She said no. “Good,” I responded. “Because when I grow up I want to be a cafeteria man.” I used to love eating in the cafeteria. The lunch ladies made cinnamon rolls and large, soft, uneven peanut butter cookies from scratch. Every St. Patrick’s Day we had chocolate cake with green icing. The day before Thanksgiving, they always served turkey and mashed potatoes. I told my mom that hers was as good as the school’s.

  I don’t eat in the school cafeteria anymore. The food is sent in. At lunchtime I usually drive to a little Mexican restaurant down the road and grab a burrito. If I time it right, I can get there, order, and return to school just before the bell rings.

  One afternoon I had just picked up my burrito and was on my way back to work when I heard a loud noise behind me. I looked in my rearview mirror. Blue and red lights were flashing. Dang! I pulled to the side of the road, parked, and rolled down my window. I was right beside the school.

  “Hi, Officer,” I said meekly as he stepped up to my car.

  He removed his sunglasses. “Do you know why I pulled you over?”

  I shook my head.

  “You were doing thirty-five in a school zone.” He pointed to the campus. I decided to not tell him that I worked there. “May I see your driver’s license and registration please?”

  I reached into the glove compartment and handed him the papers. As he walked back to his car, I glanced at my watch. The bell would ring in five minutes. Please hurry. If I didn
’t get back in time, my kids would not let me hear the end of it.

  Suddenly I spotted children walking down the sidewalk. Eek. The kindergartners were out. They were walking home with their mommies. I grabbed a paper off the floor, slid down in my seat, and covered my face. Please, don’t anyone recognize me. Please no one start waving at Mr. Done.

  I glanced at my watch again. Two minutes till the bell. I shook the steering wheel. Hurry, Mr. Policeman. Finally, the officer walked back to my car. He was studying my driver’s license. When he reached the window, he pointed to the school and asked, “Do you work there?”

  How does he know that? “Uh… yes.”

  All of a sudden his face broke into a giant smile. “Are you Mr. Done?”

  My eyes grew big. “Uh-huh.” Immediately I started flipping through the Rolodex in my head. Is this guy one of my former students? Is he the officer who spoke to my class at the Bike Rodeo about safety on the road?

  “I’m Laura’s dad!” he announced, patting his chest. I opened my mouth but nothing came out. “Laura loves your class.” I knew that Laura’s father was a police officer but had never met him. He didn’t come to Back to School Night.

  Just then I heard the school bell ring. Lunch was over.

  “Sorry I was going so fast,” I said. “I was trying to get back to school in time.”

  “Oh yes. Of course.” He handed me back my license. “Just watch the speed. Okay?”

  “Yes. Yes. I will. Thank you, Officer. Thank you very much. Nice to meet you, sir.” He started walking away. “Uh… excuse me, sir.” He turned back around. I cringed. “… would you mind not telling Laura about this?”

  He laughed. “I promise.”

  I quickly grabbed my burrito, locked the car, and flew to my classroom. The kids were waiting for me in line. Rebecca spotted me first.

  “You’re late!” she scolded.

  “Where were you?” they all shouted.

  “We’ve been waiting for an hour!” Trevor whined.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” I said, searching for my keys.

  “Why are you late?” several asked as I unlocked the door.

  “Well… I… uh… I… (Ding!)… I was having a parent–teacher conference.”

  TEACHER MODE

  This year for spring break I splurged and flew to Paris. I adore Paris. I went with my good friend Heidi. She is not a teacher. On our first day in the city, we visited the Eiffel Tower and took the elevator up to the observation deck. After about twenty minutes, Heidi said, “Phil, you’re doing it again.”

  “What?”

  “That… that teacher thing.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Well, since we’ve been up here you’ve helped a kid look through the telescope, pointed out a girl’s untied shoelace, picked up litter, and when a boy ran by — you patted your pocket looking for your whistle.”

  I laughed. “I did?”

  “Yes. And when we were waiting in line to get up here and some woman stepped in front of us, you shouted, ‘No cuts!’”

  “Well,” I huffed, pretending to be offended. “I can’t help it. I’m a teacher. And that’s what teachers do.”

  Heidi was right. I was in Teacher Mode. It turns on automatically whenever children are near and goes into overdrive when it senses busy streets, mud, gum, or bloody noses.

  As our week in Paris continued, my Teacher Mode got worse. I played crossing guard at the Arc de Triomphe and nearly fell into a fountain trying to retrieve a boat that sailed out of reach. At the Louvre, my camera was almost confiscated while I tried taking photos of the Mona Lisa. When I explained to the guard that the pictures were for school, Heidi pretended that she didn’t know me.

  One afternoon when Heidi and I were strolling by some souvenir shops near the Moulin Rouge, I spotted some “I Love Paris” pencils in a window. My students would love those, I thought. I turned to Heidi. “Just a second. I’ll be right back.”

  Well, I really should have known better than to walk in there. No one should ever walk into a souvenir shop when he is in La Mode de Teacher. The shop was a teacher’s paradise, packed with a veritable smorgasbord of goodies I could use for school. I grabbed a basket and started filling it up with postcards of Notre Dame, a miniature bust of Napoleon, a map of France, a Monet calendar, a chef’s hat, a Picasso tie, Eiffel Tower sticky notes, Moulin Rouge magnets, the French flag, a beret, and a Paris Metro mouse pad.

  “There you are,” I heard a voice say as I was counting out my “I Love Paris” pencils. It was Heidi. “What’s taking you so long?”

  I pointed to my treasure. “Look at all this great stuff!”

  Her eyes grew wide. “You’re buying all that?”

  “Yeah. Isn’t this fantastic?”

  Heidi made a face and threw up her hands. “Here we go again.”

  “What do you mean — here we go again?”

  “Remember when you came home from Boston?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You brought back everything short of Paul Revere’s horse.”

  My mouth fell open. “I teach American history.”

  Heidi knelt down and started rummaging through the basket. First she held up a mug. “How many of these do you have?”

  “None.” She looked at me like I just told her the dog ate my homework. I snatched the mug out of her hands. “Well… none with the Paris Metro.”

  Next she pulled out a stack of bookmarks shaped like baguettes. “Why do you need so many of these?”

  “They’re for my students. I can’t go to Paris and not bring back something for my kids.”

  Heidi shook her head and reached into the basket one more time. She pulled out a shot glass and gave me a look.

  “For my boss.”

  I bent over the basket and picked up the calendar and the Eiffel Tower sticky notes. “Heidi, just look at all this! Where else could I get this stuff?”

  She crossed her arms. “Target.”

  I threw back the sticky notes and snatched up the basket. Clearly she did not understand.

  “Listen,” she lectured, “don’t ask me to put any of this into my suitcase. And don’t come whining to me when you have to pay a hundred bucks extra because you’re over the weight limit.”

  I hadn’t thought of that. I looked down at all my goodies, pursing my lips. “Well… maybe you’re right. Maybe it is a bit much.” I gave a loud sigh. “Okay, I won’t buy it all.” I reached into the basket and put back the Van Gogh night-light. Then I turned back to Heidi. “There. Satisfied?”

  I REMEMBER

  All teachers have those days when we think the cashier’s position at Wal-Mart is looking pretty good. But then just when we’re about to lose our minds, a student does or says something that reminds us of why we went into this profession in the first place.

  When I spotted Eleanor praying over a dead baby bird by the bike racks — I remembered. When Erin asked if the stars in the sky are pointy like the ones we draw — I remembered. When I asked Carolyn how she came up with the words chestnut brown in her story and she said it’s on her mom’s box of hair dye — I remembered, too.

  When Brianna wrote “I love you more than pancakes” in her dad’s valentine, when Sarah asked me how blind people write Braille in cursive, and when I told everyone to partner up with a buddy for their math game and Jason asked, “Can we have a three-way?” — I remembered.

  When Caleb pinky-promised me that he’d do his homework, when Blake covered his eyes while labeling the states on his blank US map (I had asked him to fill it in without looking), and when Alex wanted to bring me an apple for Teacher Appreciation Week, but didn’t have any at home so he gave me a ripe avocado wrapped in foil instead — I remembered.

  I remembered when Luis called an exclamation mark the excitement point, when Ji Eun scratched her mosquito bite and said, “It inches,” when Jerod thought an autobiography was a story about cars, when Tae Hun called toast “jumping bread,” and when Ri
cky asked me to draw him a horse and I told him I didn’t know how. So he asked me to draw him a sand-blaster instead.

  I remembered when I handed out the multiplication timed tests and Ralph said, “Do you want it fast, or do you want it accurate?”; when I said “Gesundheit” after Vanessa sneezed and she told me her mom speaks French, too; and after Christopher asked why we always have to end a sentence with a period and Trevor answered, “Because it’s a commandment.”

  I remembered when the class broke out into a heated discussion over whether or not girls can be elves, when Michele wanted to know how wine can be dry, when Kohei said the time was “Two o’watch,” and the day Sebastian walked up to me with a bruise on his arm so I took a look. “What happened?” I asked. “I was sucking on it,” he answered. He had given himself a hickey.

  When I asked the class where french fries come from (I was looking for potatoes) and Eric said McDonald’s, when Ronny wanted to know if there is such a thing as a left angle, when Evelyn was shocked to find out that I get paid, when I asked the class to give me a synonym for laugh and Greg said LOL, and when Juan looked at my cuff links and said, “My dad wears handcuffs, too” — I remembered.

  When Aaron thought covered wagons were called station wagons, when Marci asked me how to spell DVD, when I couldn’t get the TV to work and Christopher announced, “Houston, we have a problem,” and when Theresa (a kindergartner) dropped her name tag and asked me to pin back her “price tag” — I remembered.

  When I said I’d like to see “some new hands” in our class discussion so Adam lowered his right arm and raised his left; when a first grader ran up to me on the blacktop and shouted excitedly, “Mr. Done! I have diarrhea!”; and when I passed out marshmallows for multiplication and Skyler announced, “I just love when we eat what we’re learning!” — I remembered.

  When Kyle, unsure if he should write which or witch, pointed to his paper and said, “Is this the good witch or the bad witch?”; when Layla wrote that the main character in her story was tall, blond, beautiful, and lactose-intolerant; when Crystal said that her sister can say all the presidents in a line (she meant in order); and when Isabelle was reading to me about beavers and refused to read dam because it was a bad word — I remembered.