. . . tell me when you use the last tissue. Or when you notice the tissue box is empty – even if you don’t need a tissue yet or may never need one all year.
. . . stop using your sleeve. . . . or snorting the stuff back into your nostrils. The sights and sounds are making me just a little bit sick.
. . . realize the tissues will not materialize from the sky – they are always in short supply. I’ll need to ask the custodian later. Meanwhile, I’ll probably end up bringing another box or two from home. Again.
. . . go to Mrs. ___ next door or Mr. ____ across the hall and see if you can borrow a few. Which they probably won’t have, because no one told them when they took the last tissue, or when they noticed the tissue box was empty.
. . . think back to the first day of school, when I asked every student in my homeroom (and in any of my classes who felt so inclined) to bring in one solitary box of tissues, hoping for tissues from at least a few of you. Remember the little picture I drew on the Homework board of a nose dripping unmentionables? It sat there for at least a couple of weeks. And how we discussed allergies, and colds, and how both would be visiting our classroom in the very near future? Nope – most of you didn’t deliver.
. . . tell me, while you’re at it, that you have no pen today, or even a pencil – in other words, absolutely nothing at all to write with – instead of waiting until somewhere in the middle of the lesson or when we’re starting a quiz to suddenly have this epiphany? Or, if the work is online, tell me that your Chromebook isn’t charged right away, instead of somewhere in the middle of the lesson or when we’re starting a quiz, when it will now detract from the time it takes you to get one and log in and my ability to get things started?
. . . let me know, too, when you’ve used the last pen from those offered free of charge in the container on my desk. Or when the post-its I’ve given you are used up. Or when you notice the hall pass is missing. Or when one of the loaner Chromebooks isn’t working.
. . . blow your nose. Here. These are my personal tissues. Take them. Use them.
. . . PLEASE.
One thought on “#31 – PLEASE . . .”
So funny . . . and so true!