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Teacher shares sweet Halloween treat

October 31, 2008 12:36 am

T HE WITCH IS disgruntled about Batman butting in front of her in line.

Batman is very upset because Spider-Man keeps stepping on his cape.

The Pop Star Diva is all worked up because she spilled chocolate milk on her sparkly spandexy pants.

I get everyone calmed down and headed out of the cafeteria in something loosely resembling a line. It's Halloween; we'll take it.

About 30 feet out of the cafeteria, I look back at a fretting Cinderella tripping over the cascading tulle of her dress. She's all in a tizzy about having lost one of her shoes.

I glance back toward the cafeteria to see one tiny clear plastic high-heeled slipper sitting there in the middle of the hallway. I send Luke Skywalker to rescue it and we turn around to again inch down the hallway.

Snow White has left her tiara in the cafeteria and has to go back for it. Three kids ask me if it is time for the party yet. Another Batman is dancing a little jig because he couldn't get out of his costume on his own at lunch. So I am trying to untie a knot as he wiggles and hops up and down chanting, "I gotta go, I gotta go, I gotta go!"

I'm still doing OK at this point. I got the obscenely large 24 oz. coffee at Wawa this morning in anticipation of the day. I just had a "lunch hour." I can do this.

But then I really start to wonder if indeed I will make it to the end of the day without losing it when Tinkerbell begins to explain that her wings are drooping down and her dad said I would have to blow them up at some point in the day.

I begin to ask myself, as I unplug the little nozzle and begin to inflate, "Is this really my life? No, wait, really--I'm being paid right now to blow air into wings? When did I sign up for this, and, anyway, when did costumes start coming with inflatable parts?"

All this in the two minutes on the way back to the classroom from lunch? I can only imagine what the afternoon will be like.

We settle into the room to get some "work" done. I have to remind the fireman to use a Kleenex for his nose. I look over at the uncomfortable and confused kid who didn't come in costume. I find a zebra mask in my closet.

At this point, I begin to see the whole scene from his eyes and question the whole tradition of Halloween. I snap out of it as the doctor taps me on the hip. We have an emergency. He can't find his stethoscope.

The policeman can't find his whacker. He knows it was on his pants this morning. Apparently, he is talking about the toy plastic nightstick that came with his costume.

Cat's tail is caught up in the neck of her costume. Spider-Man asks when we get to eat the lollipops he brought. Batman has Play-Doh on his elbow.

The cinderblock walls begin to close in on me.

On the way home from school, I replay this 10-minute snapshot of my day.

At the end of a day like this, all I can imagine doing is going home and sitting on the couch and staring forward in complete silence.

I go inside, dump my stuff on the floor, and crash onto the couch. After about 20 minutes I realize I am still wearing my coat and clutching my keys. I realize I got to go to the bathroom once and drank about three sips of water during the day.

I look at myself in the mirror and discover glue in my hair and as I try to get it out, see orange paint under my fingernails.

I peel off my jacket and notice something in my pocket. Cinderella had handed it to me on her way out to the bus. I unfold the crumpled piece of paper to reveal a picture of me, Cinderella, and a jack-o-lantern.

On the bottom she had sounded out something I am barely able to decipher.

"This was the best Halloween ever! Thanks for helping me find my shoe. I love you."