moon class

Each elementary class has a spacey minimalist name on the door - Sky, Moon, Star. The Moon class is cursed, it seems.

The Wednesday of one week, a commotion charges up. I leave my Star room and smell the problem out - the little white fashionista pooch one girl brought in left a DONG!! on the Moon floor. I retreat wondering why no-one else expected this to happen.

And the Thursday, the very next day, more drama.

I'm teaching in Sky, when the 40 something teacher comes in, begging me to use the fire extinguisher she's clutching. Oh shit - I grab it and run, she can't open it, I step into Moon and see my doom >

Smoke is frantically choking the place up. It's billowing from the lamp-like electric heater at the back of the room. 40 something had turned it on and now it had struck. All the kids she was teaching were shooed away, and the other teachers are standing outside the room waiting for me, the sole male in the establishment, cock of the roost, to put out this disaster.

Shit, I can't open the extinguisher up either.

Woosh,

the heater's now up in flames, a big ball of carnage. The smoke is blinding, I'm yelling for someone to call the brigade instead of just waiting for me to fuck up and the school to burn down.

The boss runs in, short snappy thing who only never shouts at me, the white guy. She's followed by a father who was downstairs filling out an application to send his kids here. The saint knows how to open an extinguisher, already armed with one, a real hero on his way! Day saved.

The funny thing is, the blaze was very indirectly my fault.