There are certain establishments that I refuse to go to, on the grounds that my students work in them. I prefer, during the summer, to pretend that I am an incredibly wealthy heiress who doesn't know what it's like to work for a living, and it's hard to do that when I go to the movies and six different people yell out, "Hey Ms. Flower!" before the opening credits.
But I can't just refuse to go to WalMart, because that would be impossible. So it was that, last night, I went off to my favorite place to buy some food. And on the way out, I stopped at the little in-store Subway, because: Two-for-Tuesday. You know.
So the Sandwich Artist (that's what they call themselves) was putting my turkey-on-wheat together and then asks, "Do you remember me? From Randomville High School?"
Well, crap. I have taught 150 kids a year, over a three year period, PLUS I taught there for two years when I first graduated from college. If I remember MY OWN NAME, I count that as a victory.
I politely said, "No, I'm sorry," but inside my head I was far less gracious.
"Honey," I thought, "I'm still trying to figure out if you are a girl or a boy."