Guiding: Their Town
Welcome Back
With Labor Day comes the mongol horde of the nation’s eighth-graders and we are glad for that, ka-ching.
(Just kidding, I would never do it for the money — I like being harassed by people 1/5 my age.)
There is a certain type of eighth-grade trip leader, the “been there done that” one who approaches the trip as a swaggering, seasoned battlefield commander — Patton eyeing the Sicilian coastline.
He sees the city as if it were a conquered prize strewn beneath his feet: all should make way for his legions as they plunder and otherwise create mayhem in their wake.
I watched one yesterday, walkie-talkie slung about his neck, as he took over the entire bus drop-off area at the U.S Capitol so his regiment of bucket-hat wearing ne’er-do-wells could have their picture taken with the Capitol as a backdrop.
Because students are lined up for the photo op tallest to shortest, he held all 200+ students on the four buses and only allowed them to get off, you guessed it, tallest to shortest.
By the way, what qualifies as “tall”?
The kids seemed to decide on their own as confusion ensued, tying up the entire drop-off area as they got off the bus and were then told to get back on.
“You’re not tall,” the teachers said.
“But, but,” the students replied.
I watched as I waited for my senior citizens to arrive, envisioning them unloading in the middle of the street, walkers and all, a small price to pay as the 8th-grader commander showed his battlefield prowess.
By the way, commander salamander will no doubt demand that all four buses remain together at ALL times during their trip, thus bringing their own crowd to any stop.
“Will it be crowded?”, they’ll ask.
Honey, you are the crowd.
And then imagine waiting on 200 eighth-graders to all be ready to leave a place before you can move on.
While one kid finishes peeing another decides they now have to go, a delay second only to “I left my watch/phone/wallet/belt at the security checkpoint.”
Full disclosure: there are a few guides who like keeping buses together so they, too, can fantasize about the Normandy Invasion on the shores of the Potomac.
I’ve learned to just sit back as I long for the xanax my shrink refuses to prescribe.
All in a day’s work.
Cheers.
