The Devils wear Praaaadaa
Once upon a time it was the month of Maarch in the city of Chicago, which was still, saaadly, located in the sorry, scandal-ridden cheapskate state of Ill-A-Noise, as well as the increasingly corrupt county of Crook.
Some people had begun to think of county government as an extension of jolly old Englaand, given the propensity of progenitor as a prerequisite for a prodigious and perpetual pay- check.
As a matter of fact, as several of the membersheep of the CTEwe ruminated on the news of the day, they were heard to remaaark that current Crook county government was like the Old Days at the Big Baaad Bored of Education, where it wasn’t WHAT one knew, so much as WHO one knew.
Of course, if WHAT one knew was juicy enough, it could propel him or her from a position of abject disgrace at Camp Beverly to a totally undeserved position as a department head quicker than you could say “Who does HE know? And WHAT does he know about Him?” But, as they say, that is another story for another day.
Meanwhile, baack at the schools — oops, attendance centers — the Big Baaad Bored was making a giant profit by staying open during the famous global-warming season of February. Hideous sub-zero temperatures, snow, sleet, ice, freezing rain vicious wind chills, and power failures made it increasingly difficult for the membersheep of the CTEwe to get to their schools.
“No problem,” said the Bored spokesman when people inquired about school closings. It was becoming increasingly evident that no one cared whether or not the teachers could get to school. If they arrived, great. If not, even better, because that would cost the employees a sick day, or even better than better, in case they had already used up all of their days, they would forfeit a day’s pay. Baargain for the Bored!!
“Where are the substitutes?” asked the parents of the children who were slogging valiantly through the snowbanks.
“No problem,” said the Bored spokesman, who was becoming bored with the questions. “We have about fifty of them on active duty, and I’m sure they’ll be eagerly awaiting our calls,” he said, unaware of the irony, as well as the fact that many of the subs couldn’t get where they wanted to go, either. Of course, no substitutes equaled no substitute pay. Another Bored baargain!!
“Where are my kids, anyway?” some increasingly agitated parents wanted to know, following media announcements that students should simply go to the nearest attendance center — oops, school — for the day. Timing being everything, the Bored announcement was made well after the children had already mushed off into the wild white yonder, causing unnecessary anguish all around.
“Waddaya want?” squeaked Li’l Richie, DaMare, coasting along in a cloud of congratulations, having been recently reelected to his 27th term of office. “Dis is winter in Chicago. Evvyboddy knows dat. We can’t just close da schools. Who would baby-sit all dose kids?” he proposed in his particular prose style, while simultaneously revealing the extent of his respect for the membersheep of the CTEwe.
Calls made to the opulent riverfront offices of the CTEwe went unanswered, except for a pre-recorded message from Pammy Pretty, which was largely unintelligible, due to volume levels so extreme that the machine couldn’t cope.
Someone, somehow, had managed to retrieve a text version, which stated: “all members of the CTEwe leadersheep team are currently attending to other matters and cannot answer your calls at this time. Your call is very important to us. Please stay on the line until you hear the beep, and then leave your name, phone number and question. Estimated date of our return is May 1st.”
“Whaaat?” bleated the membersheep, many of whom had contracted severe frostbite of the hooves while attempting to trudge through the snow to their respective schools.
“Where is our ewenion when we need some help?”
Nancy Naive, darling of the Pee-Yu caucus of the CTEwe, had an answer for them. “It’s all the fault of that cheesy Debbie contraaact,” she repeated. “There are no snow days. No snow days!!!”
“Cheesy?” queried Millicent Militant.
“You know. Full of holes. Like that Swiss stuff.”
“You know,” said Millicent, “I was just wondering how it is that you aren’t a field drip by now, since you know the contraact so well.”
“That just shows what you know,” Nancy retorted. “I am much more useful out here in a school, where I can report what’s really going on.”
“Like a spy?” asked an astonished Ewenice, who was still Toonice for her own good.
“Like an observer.”
“Oh. Did you observe that we got a really nice raise — the biggest one in a long, long, time, and that veteran teachers got extra sick days?”
“So?? She probably stole that idea from one of us. But she never demanded snow days.”
“Wait a minute,” interjected Scott Skeptic, journalism teacher-in-exile, who had just arrived for a visit with his old friends. “There are lots of ways this could be addressed: for example, we have staff development days where there are no students. We could easily make those into attendance days when the weather improves. And there is one more grade pick-up day, which we could probably utilize, too.”
Nancy started to say something, but Millicent fixed her with her special patented laser teacher glare. She closed her mouth and sat there quietly.
“And I am old enough to remember all the goings-on with our previous few contraact. If you think this is one is Swiss cheese, try Limburger to describe to describe the others,” added Scott.
“Hah. Limburger isn’t even a place, like Swiss,” nodded Nancy knowingly. There was some eye rolling after that.
“You know what’s odd, though?” asked Ewenice. “I tried calling the CTEwe several times, and always got a strange-sounding recorded message.”
“Me too,” added Clara Clark, the clerk. “It was all garbled, like the way they used to announce the stops on the subway. You know — ‘this train will now be express to !+_)(#*&T$)()#$@ street’. Remember that?”
“Well,” said Nancy, “I happen to know all about that.”
“The subway, or the CTEwe?”
“Silly,” she snapped. “If you don’t behave, we can put another letter critical of certain people —” she glanced at Scott — “in the next issue of the CUD.”
“Doesn’t Veronica Vicious resent them using her name like that?” asked Scott.
“You don’t think she wrote that, do you?”
So, once upon a time, most of the membersheep weren’t surprised to hear that all of the CTEwe leadersheep, with the exception of Teddy, the Obsequious Toady — who had been rather forcibly convinced by none other than Pammy Pretty that someone had to stay behind and take care of things — were vacationing in the Bahaaamas while the worst of winter ravaged the rest of the city.
“No ,no,” laughed Teddy nervously when queried by reporters from the Scum-Times and Scabune came to ask about the Bahaaamas. “They are at a very important conference. I can as- sure you that it’s no vacation to be down there. It was very stressful for them to leave their work here and disrupt their busy schedules. Aabsolutely not a vacation at all. Nope. No siree.”
“And when can we expect them baaack in Chicago to address some important issues?” persisted the peskypencil-pusher.
“It — ummm — depends,” he mumbled, clearly not prepared to joust with the journalists.
However, once in a while the fickle finger of fate enters the equation to provide answers to a mystery, just when it is least expected. Millicent and Ewenice and Clara and Scott and LesIzmore were watching the weather report on the special TV set in the faculty lounge, when the program was interrupted with a news bulletin.
Saadly, it was another update from the Bahaaamas, regarding the unfortunate demise of Anna Nicole Smith, and all of the wrangling about burial and paternity suits.
“Look at that!!” said Ewenice, jumping up and down, pointing at the screen.
“What??”
“Look! I don’t believe it!!”
Millicent was growing annoyed. “What is wrong with you? This is tabloidism at its worst — I don’t believe it either,” she said, clearly amazed.
“What do you see?” asked Scott.
And once upon a time, right there in prime time, in front of the world, stood the entire flock of CTEwe leadersheep, burdened with boxes of duty-free items, decked out in tropical outfits, sipping drinks garnished with little umbrellas, awaiting a break in the weather baaack in Chicago, where they were to make a connecting flight to Paaris.
“They are holding tickets for Air Fraaance,” observed Ewenice.
“Are you sure?”
“Aaabsolutely. I can see the red white and blue logo, just behind the Ewenited Airlines tickets,” she observed. “See?”
“She’s right,” agreed Scott.
“That’s HDTV at its finest. You can almost make out the individual printing.”
“That’s odd. Why would they be going to France? Why aren’t they just coming back to the CTEwe offices?”
“Hmmpff,” snorted Nancy in a supercilious manner.
They turned to look at her.
“I just happen to know where they are going, and why,” she announced proudly.
There was silence for a bit, occasionally broken by sounds of thumps and laughter as the students hurled snowballs through the largely deserted corridors.
“Tell us, tell us!!” exclaimed Ewenice impatiently.
“Well, alright. But it’s a surprise, so you can’t talk about this to anyone else, OK?”
They all nodded in solemn agreement.
“It’s so exciting!” Nancy added, clapping her hands together in anticipation.
“Well?”
“They are going to the spring fashion shows at all the couture houses in Paris.”
“Why?”
“So they won’t ever be mistaken for teachers and clerks?”
“No. You are wrong. You will feel very sorry when I tell you what they are doing for the CTEwe. You will be ashamed, and you will have to apologize for thinking mean thoughts about your elected leadersheep,” she concluded, while Millicent made gagging motions.
“So?”
“They are ordering strike outfits for us,” Nancy announced proudly.
“Whaat?”
“We have to make a good impression on the public, and we certainly can’t be walking around in ratty old clothes with cardboard signs. It’s so — ugh— twentieth-century.”
“Wait a minute,” said Scott. “Do you mean to tell us that the CTEwe leadersheep flew to Paris, after the Bahaamas, and that it’s coming out of dues money?”
“Of course. Isn’t that what it’s for? What paart of b-u-s-i-n-e-s-s trip don’t you understand?”
Ewenice was jumping up and down again, pointing to the television once more.
“What’s wrong?”
And as they gaped in amazement, they saw a minor riot, with many of the CTEwe leadersheep clearly visible among the pushing and shoving mob.
“What’s going on?” they wondered aloud, just as the announcer explained the video.
“Riots broke out at one of the leading couture houses this morning,” he intoned. “Evidently some clients from the United States took exception to the samples they were being shown, and things got totally out of control due to their typically rude behavior.”
Once upon a time, there they were, stomping around, with Pammy Pretty herself holding up dress after dress, all beautifully embroidered: each and every one read “Chicago Cheaters Union”.
“Lost in translation?”
“A typographical error?”
“Is that what they call a spoonerism?” asked Clara Clark, the clerk.
“Nope. That’s what they call the truth,” answered Scott.
“Oh, I see,” they said.
“O.I.C.”
