The rainclouds had largely passed over Sixticton at last, and though there were sporadic showers still here and there they were mostly affecting farmland and the farmers were definitely not complaining. The sun hadn't quite broken through the cloud cover yet, but the day had been much brighter despite that, and now as evening drew in there was a freshness to the air and a sense of joyousness about the day that had been missing earlier in the week. The small car-park outside WrongStart was overfull already and even though the teachers knew that they had to be the last to leave, it was somehow disheartening to see your car blocked in like that. The parents were still arriving and the street outside was double-parked and congested, and when Emma came in with the coffees from Tim Horton's she reported that the congestion went out for at least a five minute walk. The teachers descended on the coffees and pastries like hungry wolves on a bleating lamb just as the Headmaster walked in. "Aren't you diabetic, Mark?" he said to the woodwork and agricultural master, who was carefully eating an apple-filled churro. "We've got nearly four hundred parents in," said Mark, one finger carefully collecting powdered sugar from around his mouth so he could lick it clean. "I need all the energy I can get." The headmaster nodded and tried hard not to sigh. "Let's get this done then," he said, leading the teachers out to the playground where the parents were assembled.
"We've asked you all to come in today to talk about the pick-up," said the Headmaster. There was a susurration of worry from the parents. "When you signed up we were, unfortunately, slightly unclear about what time you needed to collect your child. This was due to a minor legal issue where Jenny's mother -- where are you? yes, Jacqueline, over there in the puce raincoat everybody -- contested that we are obliged to look after the child for eight hours from their arrival at school, and not the eight-hour school day. That was only resolved four days into the school year, and while we did send out a clarification to all, by email, snail-mail, letter sent home with each of your children and feral-cat post, not all of you appear to have read this." "That's because their kids read better than them for most of this lot," muttered Emma. A parent stood a little too close gave her a sour scowl. "So, I am hereby announcing, that children must be picked up by 16:30 at the latest. Any children left here after that time will be donated to either the Salvation Army or Sixticton's Army Corps, probably at random. On my left, in case you are hard of hearing, Stephen is providing both Canadian and American Sign Language versions of what I have just said. Are there any questions?" "Is Stephen single?" came a voice from the crowd. The Headmaster looked at Stephen with a distinctly surprised expression. "As far as I know, yes," he said, and appeared to be choosing his next words with care. "I believe he has a dating profile on SixtictonSingles.com if you're that interested. I mean, if you're actually interested. I mean, if you're interested. Are there any serious questions?" "Will the Salvation Army give our children back?" "Yes, though they might be slightly more holy than when you dropped off." "How about the Army corps?" "Yes, though in this case they might be slightly more holey than when you dropped them off." Emma sniggered, which tailed off as she realised that none of the parents appeared to have spotted the difference. "Thank-you all for coming," said the headmaster. "Please take at least one child each home with you as you leave."
Greg - ah, this setting is so much fun. I can almost see you smiling as you type it out. I think Emma and the parents are my favorite parts of this one :)
2 comments:
The rainclouds had largely passed over Sixticton at last, and though there were sporadic showers still here and there they were mostly affecting farmland and the farmers were definitely not complaining. The sun hadn't quite broken through the cloud cover yet, but the day had been much brighter despite that, and now as evening drew in there was a freshness to the air and a sense of joyousness about the day that had been missing earlier in the week. The small car-park outside WrongStart was overfull already and even though the teachers knew that they had to be the last to leave, it was somehow disheartening to see your car blocked in like that. The parents were still arriving and the street outside was double-parked and congested, and when Emma came in with the coffees from Tim Horton's she reported that the congestion went out for at least a five minute walk.
The teachers descended on the coffees and pastries like hungry wolves on a bleating lamb just as the Headmaster walked in.
"Aren't you diabetic, Mark?" he said to the woodwork and agricultural master, who was carefully eating an apple-filled churro.
"We've got nearly four hundred parents in," said Mark, one finger carefully collecting powdered sugar from around his mouth so he could lick it clean. "I need all the energy I can get." The headmaster nodded and tried hard not to sigh.
"Let's get this done then," he said, leading the teachers out to the playground where the parents were assembled.
"We've asked you all to come in today to talk about the pick-up," said the Headmaster. There was a susurration of worry from the parents. "When you signed up we were, unfortunately, slightly unclear about what time you needed to collect your child. This was due to a minor legal issue where Jenny's mother -- where are you? yes, Jacqueline, over there in the puce raincoat everybody -- contested that we are obliged to look after the child for eight hours from their arrival at school, and not the eight-hour school day. That was only resolved four days into the school year, and while we did send out a clarification to all, by email, snail-mail, letter sent home with each of your children and feral-cat post, not all of you appear to have read this."
"That's because their kids read better than them for most of this lot," muttered Emma. A parent stood a little too close gave her a sour scowl.
"So, I am hereby announcing, that children must be picked up by 16:30 at the latest. Any children left here after that time will be donated to either the Salvation Army or Sixticton's Army Corps, probably at random. On my left, in case you are hard of hearing, Stephen is providing both Canadian and American Sign Language versions of what I have just said. Are there any questions?"
"Is Stephen single?" came a voice from the crowd.
The Headmaster looked at Stephen with a distinctly surprised expression. "As far as I know, yes," he said, and appeared to be choosing his next words with care. "I believe he has a dating profile on SixtictonSingles.com if you're that interested. I mean, if you're actually interested. I mean, if you're interested. Are there any serious questions?"
"Will the Salvation Army give our children back?"
"Yes, though they might be slightly more holy than when you dropped off."
"How about the Army corps?"
"Yes, though in this case they might be slightly more holey than when you dropped them off."
Emma sniggered, which tailed off as she realised that none of the parents appeared to have spotted the difference.
"Thank-you all for coming," said the headmaster. "Please take at least one child each home with you as you leave."
Greg - ah, this setting is so much fun. I can almost see you smiling as you type it out. I think Emma and the parents are my favorite parts of this one :)
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