3 People and a Postoffice

I had the most delightful 40 minute wait in line at a post office this afternoon. I needed stamps. I had things to mail. The line was long...but it had to be done.

After everyone already in line had recovered from my overly loud "holy cow" when I first walked in the door (yes - several people in the back half of the line did turn, stare at me, and start laughing), I stepped up and got in line. It really was a long line.

So anyway, I was behind this tiny little Asian lady who was wearing a thick red-white-and-blue knit toboggin. I noticed the hat primarily because she barely came up to my elbow and kept looking up at me from under the edge of her hat. She was waiting to mail a box to her daughter - international mail, I gather. I became her unofficial plastic white chair (those of you from Baltimore will understand this one). She kept dropping out of line to look at things and bouncing around the office, coming back to ask me questions about the prices and what the various signs said and meant.

Meanwhile, there was a taller gentleman with a deep, vibrating voice, sharp-cut sideburns, and his own jet black toboggin, standing behind me. He was, and rightly so, bemoaning the lack of planning that meant he hadn't brought a book to pass the time. Instead he was practicing some stretches that looked vaguely martial arts-ish, discussing the importance of stretching to keep the blood moving and the body limber, and joking about how he should have brought a white plastic chair with him to both save his seat and to sit in.

And behind him, popping around his height and length occasionally, was a very short, stocky, older woman with her hair pulled back in a wild and wooly bun. Her daughter was waiting for her out in the car. And she held forth a discourse on how the post office could solve the unemployment crisis by hiring more people to work the windows. (Have I mentioned yet that there was only one person working the window. At lunchtime. On a weekday. Right.)

Four complete strangers stood around on a Tuesday afternoon and talked to each other about all sorts of strangerish things. And it was good.

Favorite commercial right now?

It's the one with the teacher who is contemplating his tie. The class guinea pig has apparently given up the ghost and the students are all concerned. In the first scene, the teacher is completely apathetic - "I saved the receipt." In the revised version (brought on by drinking some juice or other), the teacher becomes a superhero, miraculously rubs two balloons against his head, and restarts the guinea pig's heart with the static electricity.

Brilliantly funny. I laugh every time I see it. It's morbid and FUNNY.

But, it occured to me today, that it also stands as a representation for how people view teachers. Superhero or apathetic. Why does teaching have to be either of those extremes? But when, in our society, did teaching become this extreme representation? (Don't get me wrong, I don't mean to overburden the commercial - it's just a funny commercial that provoked a thought.) To hear all the news reports, articles, and professional development themes, most teachers are either superheroes or they're lousy. Can we come to some sense of balance here? Please?