Substitute teacher: "Oh Say Can You Sub?"

By Rochelle Frank

Picking up the receiver by the dawn's early light, I muttered what was supposed to be "Hello?", but it ended up being pronounced more like "hrumm?" I was answered in a foreign language: "Hi, zondarinacackleberry needsan essdeeseasub at ranchoveeayo," the voice advised.

I searched my half-awake mind for a clue as to what these strange sounding syllables might mean, but like other banks in the neighborhood, my memory banks were closed at that hour and my brain doesn't have an ATM.

"Hello?" I said. This time the word came out correctly but I had only faint hope that the calling party understood English. Any call at this early hour must be misdialed from the hemisphere of the world which is already well-lighted by the sun.

"Is this the o-ver-seas op-er-a-tor?" I tried to enunciate each sound so she would understand.

"No," she answered, "This is the sub-sti-tute teach-er tech-ni-tian. I'm trying to give you an assignment."

She could have mentioned that to begin with, I thought to myself. I had recently signed on to work as a substitute teacher and was not yet used to getting the early morning call. Perhaps I should have been flattered to think she was crediting me with a normal state of awareness at that early hour.

"Sorry if I woke you," she continued (she didn't really SOUND sorry). I imagined her wearing the self-satisfied smirk of a person born with the genetic abnormality of being a "morning person", taking sadistic pleasure in jerking blissful slumberers out of their dream-filled repose and into a state of befuddled consternation.

"No, no," In insisted,"You didn't REALLY wake me. Actually I'm only HALF awake. What's an essdeesea?"

"S-period, D-period, C-period. It stands for Special Day Class." She said it slowly and deliberately in a manner usually reserved for the benefit of the comprehensionally impaired. SDC, I knew that! By now she was probably doubting that she had dialed correctly or was at least considering trying to contact someone else who might give the impression of competence.

"Of course, of course, Special Day Class, I said, now trying to speak more quickly to simulate consciousness. "You said it was at Rio Veranda School . . . and what was that 'z' word?"

There was a barely audible sigh. Though it seemed demeaning, hearing the faint exhalation at least let me know that my normal senses were beginning to resume operational status.

"Rancho Viejo School. Ms Cackleberry's class . . . Zondarina Cackleberry."

"Right, right! Got it! Thanks!", I said replacing the receiver and scribbling the information on a notepad which seemed to narrow. Whatever happened to school names like Washington and Lincoln? Whatever happened to teacher names like Miss Jones and Mrs. Brown? Whatever happened to my glasses? Never mind, I don't need them to write.

Soon the morning sun is streaming through the east windows. A brisk shower and a steaming breakfast cup help me feel fully aware and ready to take on the day at Rancho Veranda . . . or was it Rio Viejo?

Oh, no! What does this note say anyway?