Lacks originality

A kid walks out of my classroom the other day and leaves his binder on the floor. I open it up so see who it belongs to, and inside I see an assignment the kid’s gotten back from another teacher. The teacher has taken off a few points because of this laughable piece of grading criteria: “Lacks originality.”

I didn’t bother to look at the assignment, because I can barely be bothered to grade the meaningless shit I assign without wasting my valuable daydreaming (or internet surfing) time reading the crap this kid wrote for another teacher. But the “lacks originality” part got me thinking, which is something you don’t have to do very often in this job. I thought back to our very first day of school this year, the day the teachers come back and begin a week of the most mind-numbing, enthusiasm-quashing meetings imaginable.

We convened in the cafeteria for the introductory welcome-the-fuck-back meeting. Let me recount some of the life-draining lines that were tossed out by this group of unoriginal drones who have the gall to write “lacks originality” on a kid’s paper.

Our principal introduced the new staff members, and then for some reason she wanted each of us returning teachers to stand up and introduce ourselves, which was the first pointless exercise of the day, as the veterans all know each other, and the new teachers aren’t going to remember 70 new faces and names. But still we proceeded.

The head of the Business department stood up and said, “I’m Nancy Anthony, and I’ve been teaching here for 63 years!” Now, that’s not a damn bit humorous, but I give her credit for trying to lighten things up. She was making a “funny” about being a teacher for so long. Of course, our much-too-easily-entertained staff just roared. Had you just walked into the room during the laughter, you’d have scanned the room for a riffing Chris Rock.

So this original group of crackerjack jokesters picked up on a theme, and every other veteran teacher would say hilarious things like, “...and I’ve been here 126 years!” and “I’ve been here 148 years!” This was the best they could come up with–increasing the number on the same joke. It was like listening to a bunch of second graders at a slumber party:

“You’re a poopy head.” (Ha!)

“Yeah, well you’re a double poopy head!” (Hahaha!)

“Well, you’re a six poopy head!” (Stop or I’m gonna–choke choke, gasp gasp–die!)

When it was my turn, I was tempted to stand up and say, “My name is Ned Bitters and I’ve been here...INFINITY!” Then I’d do my best Al Jolson and drop to a knee, stretch out my arms and do a big toothy, head-shaking grin. The only reason I didn’t was because I knew that this pathetic group of humor-tards would not be laughing at the sarcasm but at the non-joke itself. (“Ohhh, that Bitters is a riot!”)

On and on it went. One person actually said, “I’ve been here 399 years!” Screamingly funny stuff, huh, and full of “originality” to boot! But wait, even that sidesplitter could be topped. The librarian actually said this next: “My name is Bernice Garrow and I’ve been here 75 thousand million years!” Hilarity ensued. So did the onset of my latest ulcer.

These quotes are verbatim, by the way, because I was taking notes. How is it that Lorne Michaels hasn’t snatched up these wondrously witty wags to write for Saturday Night Live? Come to think of it, I’ve seen a few recent episodes - maybe he has.

One gin-soaked old queen of a man at least tried to vary the joke by making fun of his alcoholism, saying, “My name is Preston Mellon, and I’m preserved!” No Preston, you’re pickled, you sot. And yes, those three D.W.I.’s you’ve gotten over the years are fodder for comedy gold, Lushman. Maybe next year you can bring down the house by cracking wise about breast cancer.

Of course, each time someone upped the ante on the years of service, people just fell out all over the place. I swear I saw one panicked veteran ask a math teacher for a “funny number” she could say as her turn was approaching.

If any teacher reading this is offended, all apologies. I’m only trying to be “original.” Please give me some extra credit points. You know where you can stick them.

Ned Bitters teaches high school and dreams of one day seeing one of his former students on stage at a strip club. You can contact him at teacherslounge@hobotrashcan.com.