Adventures with Skye
You may remember my student Skye.
Today, as I was headed to the office (early), I walked past the track (aka "the playground") and I heard my name being yelled. I looked over to see Skye and her roommate Susan, and since I was in no rush and I'm friends with both of them, I went over to say hi. They were basking in the warmth and enjoying their last few minutes of free time before afternoon study sessions... and eating snacks.
"Potatoes!" Susan offered me.
"Chicken!" Skye said, holding out the bag and a long toothpick for me. "Well, maybe it's pork."
I ate some of the meat, whatever it was, and a potato, and we stood there chatting for a minute. And then Skye, being excited about something (imagine that), successfully dumped most of the meat out of bag onto the track. With great lamentation about her broken heart (it's very fragile; I break her heart on a routine basis by doing such horrible things as giving their class homework), she finished eating what hadn't fallen out and we cleaned up what had.
And then tragedy struck. You see, she still had her free hand full of other stuff. A textbook, her phone, her roommate's keys. In true George-Bailey-on-the-dance-floor style, she was standing directly over a two inch wide drainage slot while picking chunks of meat up off the track.
You see where this is going.
Her roommate's keys fell neatly through the slot and hit the bottom of the channel eighteen inches down.
Believe it or not, she became a little less dramatic. Or at least less loud. "Kiki's gonna kill me," Skye said, her eyes wide.
Once I quit laughing for long enough to say anything, I said I'd run back to my apartment and get something. I grabbed a wire hanger and rejoined Skye and Susan at the track; their roommates Kiki (of the unfortunate keys) and Robin had joined them for the show. Without much trouble at all, we fished the keys out -- normally I roll my eyes about the incredibly clunky keychains that students use, but it made our job easier in this case. "You're my hero!" Skye informed me.
Might be time to teach about having standards... or creative problem solving...
Or maybe I'll just let them think I'm a genius for a while.
(Don't worry, it won't last. Yesterday Skye tried to steal my computer bag -- with laptop -- because she was disgruntled that when I said they need to be in a group of four or five I meant four or five, not six.)
Today, as I was headed to the office (early), I walked past the track (aka "the playground") and I heard my name being yelled. I looked over to see Skye and her roommate Susan, and since I was in no rush and I'm friends with both of them, I went over to say hi. They were basking in the warmth and enjoying their last few minutes of free time before afternoon study sessions... and eating snacks.
"Potatoes!" Susan offered me.
"Chicken!" Skye said, holding out the bag and a long toothpick for me. "Well, maybe it's pork."
I ate some of the meat, whatever it was, and a potato, and we stood there chatting for a minute. And then Skye, being excited about something (imagine that), successfully dumped most of the meat out of bag onto the track. With great lamentation about her broken heart (it's very fragile; I break her heart on a routine basis by doing such horrible things as giving their class homework), she finished eating what hadn't fallen out and we cleaned up what had.
And then tragedy struck. You see, she still had her free hand full of other stuff. A textbook, her phone, her roommate's keys. In true George-Bailey-on-the-dance-floor style, she was standing directly over a two inch wide drainage slot while picking chunks of meat up off the track.
You see where this is going.
Her roommate's keys fell neatly through the slot and hit the bottom of the channel eighteen inches down.
Believe it or not, she became a little less dramatic. Or at least less loud. "Kiki's gonna kill me," Skye said, her eyes wide.
Once I quit laughing for long enough to say anything, I said I'd run back to my apartment and get something. I grabbed a wire hanger and rejoined Skye and Susan at the track; their roommates Kiki (of the unfortunate keys) and Robin had joined them for the show. Without much trouble at all, we fished the keys out -- normally I roll my eyes about the incredibly clunky keychains that students use, but it made our job easier in this case. "You're my hero!" Skye informed me.
Might be time to teach about having standards... or creative problem solving...
Or maybe I'll just let them think I'm a genius for a while.
(Don't worry, it won't last. Yesterday Skye tried to steal my computer bag -- with laptop -- because she was disgruntled that when I said they need to be in a group of four or five I meant four or five, not six.)
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