Every time I step into the building, everybody's hands go up

I have a system.  I developed this entirely in my own head about a year ago.  The question was: how do we get 2,500 newspapers to 2,500 students in an hour? It starts with the idea that they all have to eat lunch, and that they are all in classrooms near the time when they eat.  Find out when they are in the classrooms, and you can get the papers to them while they are contained that way.  Find out who has students at that hour of the day, when those kids eat lunch, and how many kids are in which rooms at what times, and you can start to build the plan.

I start with a listing of teachers.  I determine when they eat, and put that information together with the number of kids they see during that class period.  The papers are counted.  If you are teaching 28 kids and you eat the second of three lunches, you get 28 pre-counted papers handed to you during the first lunch period.  You can give them out whenever you think is the best time.  Your classroom; your call.  The three lunch periods are referred to by letters.  The first one is A, the second is B and the third is C.  My class has B.  We deliver papers to everyone who has B and C lunches during the A, then we eat, then we deliver the remainder in C.

It's remarkably efficient, and it gives the kids on the newspaper staff a great feeling to personally hand their work to teachers in classrooms.  They get into it.  I get into it.  We ended our distribution today with a playing of the DJ Khaled song, All I do is win.

True story.  All I do is win, win, win- no matter what.  Got money on my mind, I can never get enough.  And every time I step into the building, everybody's hands go up.

And they stay there.


I hit up happy hour after work today.  Cas was there before I was, and we stuck around for exactly two beers.  A friend of a friend brought a date.  An aggravating date.  We left- mostly because the lady was a complete drag.  She was honestly doing the best with what she had.  She had her little boobies hanging out and her miserable squeaky voice kicked up to top volume.  She was making her very best effort to put her very best self on display, but honestly, her best self was not all that great.

Cas and I left as still more people were arriving.  We walked across the street to a different place and had a better time without the group.  Rather than sitting across from a lady who was a drag, we sat next to someone who was in drag. I was quite puzzled. This fella wore a wig and dangly earrings. He had on a blouse and a pair of dangerously short Daisy Dukes. He was in full makeup and heeled sandals. What he didn't do was make any effort to talk, walk or sit like a lady. Picture a slender, tall white man in lady clothes with a deep, James Earl Jones voice. When he left, he had the most manly walk you could do in a heeled sandal. It was bizarre. I know I am supposed to refer to people who are physically male but who present themselves as female by feminine pronouns, but this was such a "he" that I can't bring myself to say "she."

Either way, I had Cas with me. I was glad to be with him and not the lady who was a drag or the lady who was a man in drag. Cas is pretty good company.  I felt like I was winning.  I felt like every time I stepped into the building, everybody's hands went up.

And they stayed there.