Sometimes, the gods smile

[rhiannon_black]

Quote of the day: We're rotten to the core
And my congratulations no one likes you any more
Bad guys, we're the very worst
Each of us contemptible, we're criticised and cursed
We made the big time, malicious and mad
We're the very best at being bad
(Bad Guys, Paul Williams)

Got to class late last night, well, actually Wednesday night. Late to class, isn't that a shocker. I didn't get away from the house in time to stand a realistic chance of finding a space close to five o'clock. So I just aimed for six-ish. Pat was well into her intro to casting; the toddlers sat in rapt attention. So far, so good, no obvious drama queens or whiners. Almost the first thing I saw as I approached the door was a pile of flattened cardboard boxes on the corner of the table. I soon discovered why. Sandi and Karen were occupying themselves with emptying the boxes and putting our supplies away. I set down my stuff and went to work.

Before setting the little ones (they're so cute at that age) loose 'til next week, Pat made sure to introduce us to them. I think she wanted to forestall any misunderstandings like Jamie's of last term. He thought we were just a bunch of middle aged moochers.

After the little ones had scampered off, Pat asked us if we wanted to work. Nobody was really in the mood, but I could have motivated myself to stay. I can always get fired up, given a few minutes of play. Instead, we sat and talked and ate the mixed fruit Pat had brought in and caught up. We, sort of, didn't intend to stay and yet we did, comfortable with each other. Not perhaps the deepest of friendships and yet a real friendship nonetheless.

And none of us managed to impale the others with those long wooden skewers we used to pick up the fruit. Quite the feat, I'd say. The honeydew was excellent and the cantaloupe gave it a run for its money.

I need to write the following in script format, so here goes.

Pat: This is yours, Sookie.

Me: Um, no, I took my drill press home.

Pat: Oh, okay. What shall we do with it?

Karen: Set it outside the door there, that's what I do with stuff I want to get rid of.

Pat (showing me another drill press): Well, this is yours.

Me: No. I took my drill press home.

Pat: But your name is on the box.

Me: Yes, but I didn't write it there. I took mine home. No, mine isn't a dremel one. No. I didn't say I wouldn't have a dremel one, I have nothing against dremel, it's a foredom one. I wanted to make sure it worked with the flexshaft. No, it's not mine. Look at it, it's old. Mine is new. It's at home. I know where the box is.

Sandi: Yes, but is anything in the box?

Me: Yes. And this one is old. Look at it. It has a piece of wood added to it.

Karen: Where'd it come from?

Pat: Where does anything like this comes from--Daniel. It's junk.

Karen: Hey, what happened to Daniel?

Pat: Over the summer they didn't need him in here, so to stay on, he had to work in the mailroom. Now, to come back over here, he was told he would have to work under Terrence somebody and there's a major chemistry clash there.

Sandi: That Terrence somebody is pretty weird.

Karen: Oh, yes he is.

Me: Who's Terrence and why's he so weird?

All three, variations on a theme: He's anal, controlling, weird.

Me: Um, Pat, I'd thought of approaching dance and theatre teachers about sketching stuff, classes and rehearsals and such, sounds like I'm not going to be able to.

Karen: Nah, just talk to anybody but than Terrence.

Me: Pat.

Pat: Hmmmm.

Me: I have an idea for a new enameling project (*snort* like I've finished the old ones yet)

Pat: Oh, yeah? What's that?

Me: A geishalope.

I just don't know. Sometimes it seems really hard to phase Pat anymore. Maybe she takes tranqs before she comes in. She seemed quite pleased with the idea. She mentioned a friend who has traveled extensively in Japan and who gave Pat a beautiful book on kimonos. She's going to bring it in to let me look through it.

I really don't have the art of wigging out Pat down to a science.

This will make more sense in a minute but works better here.

Sandi: What do the gorillas do?

Me: They wear our jewelry.

Sandi: What do we do with after we take them out of the display?

Me: Store them with our pieces.

Let's see, we didn't actually make quota, I think we missed by one, but Alora told Pat not to worry about it. (Monday night's Fabrication class is supposed to be full and some of our class might have wanted that one. Some, at least, had no idea what casting is.) Miss H--- did not sign up--yeah, I cried, too. I'm so cynical about Miss H---, I said, that I thought she'd talked to Pat to give her the opportunity to say, "oh, no, don't bother paying, I want you to come back, we want you to come back, you're special." We talked some about how we could boost interest and enrollment. Pat mentioned something about getting pictures or something onto the Visual Arts page and I said we needed to get photos of our best work put together as a slideshow. I brought up the idea of "guerilla" shows in the display window and asked how we could get our stuff displayed in one of the more secure displays. Hmmmm, this needs pondering.

Who knows.