Every December my school busts out their annual Sub for Santa competition. All of the classes and clubs fight against each other to be the ones to earn the most money.
And boy, does all hell break loose.
Clubs sell food in the hallways, teachers let kids skip class to fundraise, and teenagers come giving away every last penny they’ve ever earned.
If the students reach their goal of raising twenty thousand dollars, the teachers hold a crazy assembly where they do a bunch of ridiculous things to reward the students for their efforts.
I knew last week when two student government officers came crawling into my room with that look of pleading in their eyes that I was going to be in trouble.
You see, I have a hard time saying no, and whatever they wanted from me, I was certainly going to cave in.
“Teacher… we were wondering if… for the Sub for Santa assembly… if we reach our goal… if you would get slimed.”
“Slimed?”
“Slimed.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“We pour slime on you.”
“….Like real slime?”
“Well… kind of… yah…”
“Like whole buckets of slime?”
“…Yah…”
Pause.
“Alright.”
I had some weird visions in my head.
And that’s how I ended up scared to tears at 1:45 this afternoon.
I thought about hiding in the bleachers. Pretending I was home sick with the flu. I might talk a big game, but the truth is, folks, I ain’t no good at walking the line.
I showed up to the assembly in my usual fashion. Six minutes late. Unfortunately, they had not skipped over my part. I watched nervously as the wrestling team waxed their legs, the history teachers sumo wrestled, and the counseling department got covered in chocolate sauce and feathers.
“And now, for the slime…. We have, Ms. Martin, Mr. Summer, and Mr. Shell!”
I might have been scared stupid, but you know the first rule about teaching seventeen year olds, don’t you?
Never let them smell your fear.
So I charged out on to the gym floor, pumped my fist, and let out a mighty roar. “ME WANT SLIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!” I know, the line was lame, but how clever can you expect a girl to be when her insides are melting in fear?
The student government ordered us into a kiddy pool. I hid myself in a black garbage bag, covered my newly dyed hair with a Wal-mart plastic sack, and helplessly awaited my fate with the others. Helplessly. Did I mention we were helpless? Completely helpless.
I looked out at the students in the bleachers. My favorite class clown was in the very front row with an obnoxious turquoise Hawaiian shirt. “TEACHER YOU ARE SCREWED!” I heard him yell from the stands. Oh, such a comfort those children are to me.
The ladder loomed over us. We watched as those student government officers climbed each step slowly. Dramatically. Finally I just closed my eyes, looked down, and waited for the mucky goop to cover my body.
It was at that moment that I realized my legs were shaking uncontrollably. Shake, shake, shake, I couldn’t get those legs to stop shaking!
SLURP.
GLOP.
SLOOP.
Which raises an interesting question- what sound does slime make exactly?
But that is beside the point, if we could all just stay focused I would appreciate it because I’m trying to tell a story here! What I was trying to say was the slime covered me, head to toe, and dripped slowly down that little shaking body of mine.
Alright, so it wasn’t that bad. I had a garbage bag and a plastic sack over my hair, afterall. I ain’t no idiot, I came prepared for this shiz! If you really want to know the truth, who we should all be feeling bad for is Mr. Summer and Mr. Shell. They did not come prepared for jack crap. The slime was in their hair, in their pants, in the creases of their face wrinkles. Such fools.
And so you see, there were two very important things that happened at two o'clock this afternoon. The first thing was that I conquered my fear of slime. And the second thing is that students at my school are studs and they earned a whole bunch of money.
Wanna know how much?
Over twenty four grand.
That, my friends, is something worth being slimed for.
And boy, does all hell break loose.
Clubs sell food in the hallways, teachers let kids skip class to fundraise, and teenagers come giving away every last penny they’ve ever earned.
If the students reach their goal of raising twenty thousand dollars, the teachers hold a crazy assembly where they do a bunch of ridiculous things to reward the students for their efforts.
I knew last week when two student government officers came crawling into my room with that look of pleading in their eyes that I was going to be in trouble.
You see, I have a hard time saying no, and whatever they wanted from me, I was certainly going to cave in.
“Teacher… we were wondering if… for the Sub for Santa assembly… if we reach our goal… if you would get slimed.”
“Slimed?”
“Slimed.”
“What exactly does that mean?”
“We pour slime on you.”
“….Like real slime?”
“Well… kind of… yah…”
“Like whole buckets of slime?”
“…Yah…”
Pause.
“Alright.”
I had some weird visions in my head.
And that’s how I ended up scared to tears at 1:45 this afternoon.
I thought about hiding in the bleachers. Pretending I was home sick with the flu. I might talk a big game, but the truth is, folks, I ain’t no good at walking the line.
I showed up to the assembly in my usual fashion. Six minutes late. Unfortunately, they had not skipped over my part. I watched nervously as the wrestling team waxed their legs, the history teachers sumo wrestled, and the counseling department got covered in chocolate sauce and feathers.
“And now, for the slime…. We have, Ms. Martin, Mr. Summer, and Mr. Shell!”
I might have been scared stupid, but you know the first rule about teaching seventeen year olds, don’t you?
Never let them smell your fear.
So I charged out on to the gym floor, pumped my fist, and let out a mighty roar. “ME WANT SLIIIIIIIIIIIIIME!” I know, the line was lame, but how clever can you expect a girl to be when her insides are melting in fear?
The student government ordered us into a kiddy pool. I hid myself in a black garbage bag, covered my newly dyed hair with a Wal-mart plastic sack, and helplessly awaited my fate with the others. Helplessly. Did I mention we were helpless? Completely helpless.
I looked out at the students in the bleachers. My favorite class clown was in the very front row with an obnoxious turquoise Hawaiian shirt. “TEACHER YOU ARE SCREWED!” I heard him yell from the stands. Oh, such a comfort those children are to me.
The ladder loomed over us. We watched as those student government officers climbed each step slowly. Dramatically. Finally I just closed my eyes, looked down, and waited for the mucky goop to cover my body.
It was at that moment that I realized my legs were shaking uncontrollably. Shake, shake, shake, I couldn’t get those legs to stop shaking!
SLURP.
GLOP.
SLOOP.
Which raises an interesting question- what sound does slime make exactly?
But that is beside the point, if we could all just stay focused I would appreciate it because I’m trying to tell a story here! What I was trying to say was the slime covered me, head to toe, and dripped slowly down that little shaking body of mine.
Alright, so it wasn’t that bad. I had a garbage bag and a plastic sack over my hair, afterall. I ain’t no idiot, I came prepared for this shiz! If you really want to know the truth, who we should all be feeling bad for is Mr. Summer and Mr. Shell. They did not come prepared for jack crap. The slime was in their hair, in their pants, in the creases of their face wrinkles. Such fools.
And so you see, there were two very important things that happened at two o'clock this afternoon. The first thing was that I conquered my fear of slime. And the second thing is that students at my school are studs and they earned a whole bunch of money.
Wanna know how much?
Over twenty four grand.
That, my friends, is something worth being slimed for.
 |
| The only pic I got of the slime. Oh, did I mention it was blue? |
