Not My Best Moment

I had a fight with another teacher this week… in my head

That’s right, ladies and gentlemen, the entire argument was imaginary.

It’s not the first fight I have fought within the confines of my cute little brain. In the world of figmental fracases, I am a contender for the heavy-weight title. But this time, for this delusional duel, I was in rare fighting form.

The source of contention was a computer lab, THE computer lab that my yearbook princesses need during 4^th hour every A-day. The other teacher, Mr. X, had already made himself very comfortable in the afore mentioned lab, prompting some of my less than charitable qualities to rear their ugly heads.

I imagined presenting my problem to Mr.X. I visualized his response, and came up with an impressive counter argument. Then I anticipated what he would say next, and came up with several well-thought-out retorts. And so it went: He will say this, and I will say that. He'll argue this, I'll argue that. And so on and so forth.

During the thirty-five minutes it took me to change the screen resolution on 17 of the lab’s computers to teensy tiny (which was only a slightly passive-aggressive act because teensy tiny is the setting recommended by the yearbook site), I did my best mental Don Quixote impersonation, titling at 35 minutes worth of windmills. 

After thirty-five minutes, I came to three realizations. First, because the powers-that-be at my school love me best, the computer lab was as good as mine. Second, because of Mr.X’s class schedule, there really wasn’t any conflict or competition for 4A at all. Third, this fight, the fight that I had been rehearsing in my head for the last 35 minutes was NEVER EVER going to happen. Like ever.

So you would think, at that point, I would smack myself on the back of the head for being silly, change the resolution on the other three computers my yearbookers would need, and go on with my life.

But you would be wrong. Instead, while changing the resolution on the other three computers, I continued to fight the fight that I knew I was never, ever going to have.

A waste of time? Yes. A waste of energy? No doubt.  

But you should have heard my closing line. Assuming Mr. X was still going to fight my rightful claim to the lab, I was going to storm off to talk to those powers that be, but not without getting in the last word… or, in this case, a series of words.

“Well, we may have already picked the yearbook theme for the year, but it’s not too late to change it to Mr. X sucks!”

I’ll admit, it’s not exactly a Shakespearean retort, or anywhere near the level of Churchill’s elegant verbal backhands, but in junior high world, that is one heck of a dis.

Which is why I should spend a little less time with junior high kids.

And maybe a little more time with a licensed therapist.