Yesterday, I read a news story about a small town in South Africa. Seems a river runs through it, and rather than attracting Brad Pitt and his fly-casting rod, this river attracts crocodiles. The town school is on one side of the river, forcing the children who live on the other side to cross aforementioned croc-infested river to get to school.
All was going well until someone stole the town's only boat. I imagine there's a special place in hell for this person. Now, the children have to swim across the river, or use inner tubes and inflatable rafts, or their parents have to carry them across. Whatever method they choose, they still have to dodge crocodiles.
As I read this story, I thought, "Their teacher must really be something, because I just don't think my students would swim through crocodile-infested waters to get to my class." I related the story to my students and they confirmed my suspicions. One said, "If traffic is bad, I turn around and go home." So, maybe he'd swim the river if it wasn't congested with crocodiles. Though, if the river was chock-full of crocs, my student could do that James Bond hop-skip-and-jump on their heads to get to the other side. Another student wanted to know how big the crocodiles were. I'm guessing his commitment to the class and the crocodile size are inverse proportions: big crocodile = small commitment. A few students did chime in with, "No, we'd swim the river for you." So, I'm tempted to fill the campus pond with crocodiles and test their commitment.
In other pond-related news, my students are registering for summer classes. They all have a gym requirement, so they've been discussing their options. One option is Fishing. Isn't this more of a hobby? Really begs the question: Why have a gym requirement if you're offering classes that don't require any physical exercise?
Friday, March 28, 2008
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Dryer repair
The dryer repairman just left. He was one of the strangest people I've ever encountered, and I used to work in mental health. Apparently, he's been working in dryer repair for 34 years and that might explain his eccentricity.
I'm not sure I can adequately describe the fellow's weirdness. When I opened the door, he stood on the threshold and held out his hand, "Hello," he said, speaking quickly, "I'm [insert name here]. I just want you to know who's entering your home. Thank you so much for inviting me in." He then wiped his feet furiously on my welcome mat. I'm a little surprised that he didn't produce sparks.
He referred to me as "my friend" over and over. "Well, my friend, if you'll show me where your dryer is, my friend, I'll get started, my friend." I showed him where the dryer is, and sure enough, he got to work. He continued his narration as he got underway, "My friend, I'm going to put a quilt on the floor, my friend, so I don't cause any damage to your floor, my friend." And, true to his word, he did put a quilt on the floor and got to work - after he suited up with knee pads and fingerless, knit gloves that looked a bit like leg warmers on his arms. With his back brace belt thing, he looked like he'd prepared for quite a battle with my dryer.
He soon discovered that the new drum was more warped than the old one. He explained all of this to me, looking at me through the dryer drum that he'd lifted off the floor. "You see, my friend, it's oblong. Look here, my friend, it's longer across here than here, my friend." He confirmed that I wanted the drum-of-lesser-warp put back in the dryer, sealing the deal with an "amen." So, he reshaped the old drum and put the dryer back together.
After a few more "amens" and "my friends", he left, leaving me with good wishes for me, my home, and my family as he went out the door. He was a pleasant sort and seemed to know his way around laundry appliances. In the end, the dryer is quieter and shouldn't bang any more. If it does, I can call and have "my amen-ing friend" come back.
I'm not sure I can adequately describe the fellow's weirdness. When I opened the door, he stood on the threshold and held out his hand, "Hello," he said, speaking quickly, "I'm [insert name here]. I just want you to know who's entering your home. Thank you so much for inviting me in." He then wiped his feet furiously on my welcome mat. I'm a little surprised that he didn't produce sparks.
He referred to me as "my friend" over and over. "Well, my friend, if you'll show me where your dryer is, my friend, I'll get started, my friend." I showed him where the dryer is, and sure enough, he got to work. He continued his narration as he got underway, "My friend, I'm going to put a quilt on the floor, my friend, so I don't cause any damage to your floor, my friend." And, true to his word, he did put a quilt on the floor and got to work - after he suited up with knee pads and fingerless, knit gloves that looked a bit like leg warmers on his arms. With his back brace belt thing, he looked like he'd prepared for quite a battle with my dryer.
He soon discovered that the new drum was more warped than the old one. He explained all of this to me, looking at me through the dryer drum that he'd lifted off the floor. "You see, my friend, it's oblong. Look here, my friend, it's longer across here than here, my friend." He confirmed that I wanted the drum-of-lesser-warp put back in the dryer, sealing the deal with an "amen." So, he reshaped the old drum and put the dryer back together.
After a few more "amens" and "my friends", he left, leaving me with good wishes for me, my home, and my family as he went out the door. He was a pleasant sort and seemed to know his way around laundry appliances. In the end, the dryer is quieter and shouldn't bang any more. If it does, I can call and have "my amen-ing friend" come back.
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