Sweatshirt

I began working at a middle school last week. That, in and of itself, will be fuel for a forest fire of awkward stories. Brace yourselves.

My coworker and I observed the PE class. Fifty students meandered around the track like sheep without a collie. They circled two hen-house soccer games, complete with cock-fighting and scrambling around.

As I gazed upon the proverbial barnyard of middle school gym students, I noticed a figure sitting on the track, wearing a sweatshirt like a backwards cloak. The hood covered the figure's face. The sweatshirt's body and arms rested on the figure's bundled limbs as it curled in an upright ball.

What in the world? Does the gym teacher see that kid? Why are they sitting on the track? I mean, I know it's bright out here, but really?

My coworker and I proceeded to converse with one of the gym teachers. As conversation progressed, he began to talk about the causes of the Old MacDonald-style gym class. Apparently, one of the other gym teachers took a personal day.

"The substitute came in, and she looked so frantic. She kept saying 'Shedule? Shedule?'... I don't think she really speaks English. The kids can't understand her, so we decided to do this today," he explained.

"What is she doing now?" I asked.

"Oh. She's over there." He pointed to the cloaked woman on the track.

I gasped and stifled a snicker. I'm positive that all sorts of expressions danced across my face.

We watched the animal farm a few minutes longer, and then continued inside.