The Wilkie Richter Scale
I buttoned my teachery cardigan the wrong way today, and I taught an entire freshman Language & Literature class incorrectly fastened. After class, a student approached me to alert me to my fashion faux pas. She explained that she noticed my error near the beginning of class, but she didn't want to embarrass me by telling me in front of the twenty-six other students. I thanked her, but I also eased her awkwardness by letting her know that it takes quite a lot to make me blush.
Sidenote: It really doesn't. But this is what you have to say.
Later today, I showed a video of Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech. However, I announced the clip as Dr. King's "I Have a Speech" Dream. Hilarity ensued. Although I didn't feel as if this incident topped my list of most embarrassing moments, a student reminded me that "those types of things happen to everyone."
Man, tough crowd.
I discovered, where embarrassing moments and students are concerned, I have an internal ranking scale to which my brain and nerve endings automatically refer. Let's call it the Wilkie Richter Scale.
Wilkie was my high school chemistry teacher and volleyball coach. Sometimes, when trying to balance chemical equations on the chalkboard, he'd get stumped and say, "Nahhhh, that's not right." Then he'd erase his work and start over while we sat with our eyes crossed and our mouths open. He had chronic halitosis; it was so bad that no Lady Bearcat could stand to be part of the huddle. His shirts had neon green pit stains, and he rocked a perpetual wedgie. He often glorified that wedgie by donning knit coaching shorts. And Wilkie was not a thin man. At all. Sometimes people call him Bubba.
One day, in his senior physics class, Wilkie felt something itchy inside his shirt. He reached down the neck to pull out a dryer sheet. He received some laughter from the class, but ultimately, it was no big deal. But Wilkie went back for more. He still felt something inside his shirt. He reached down this time to pull out a pair of his seven year old daughter's Barbie underwear.
That was a 10.0 on the Wilkie Richter scale. My incidents don't even register.
Sidenote: It really doesn't. But this is what you have to say.
Later today, I showed a video of Dr. King's "I Have a Dream" speech. However, I announced the clip as Dr. King's "I Have a Speech" Dream. Hilarity ensued. Although I didn't feel as if this incident topped my list of most embarrassing moments, a student reminded me that "those types of things happen to everyone."
Man, tough crowd.
I discovered, where embarrassing moments and students are concerned, I have an internal ranking scale to which my brain and nerve endings automatically refer. Let's call it the Wilkie Richter Scale.
Wilkie was my high school chemistry teacher and volleyball coach. Sometimes, when trying to balance chemical equations on the chalkboard, he'd get stumped and say, "Nahhhh, that's not right." Then he'd erase his work and start over while we sat with our eyes crossed and our mouths open. He had chronic halitosis; it was so bad that no Lady Bearcat could stand to be part of the huddle. His shirts had neon green pit stains, and he rocked a perpetual wedgie. He often glorified that wedgie by donning knit coaching shorts. And Wilkie was not a thin man. At all. Sometimes people call him Bubba.
One day, in his senior physics class, Wilkie felt something itchy inside his shirt. He reached down the neck to pull out a dryer sheet. He received some laughter from the class, but ultimately, it was no big deal. But Wilkie went back for more. He still felt something inside his shirt. He reached down this time to pull out a pair of his seven year old daughter's Barbie underwear.
That was a 10.0 on the Wilkie Richter scale. My incidents don't even register.
posted by quank at 12:07 AM
3 Comments:
Ms. Cook. I'm sitting in my kitchen reading this, laughing out loud.
Nicely done.
...And then he reached down his shirt and pulled out an egg salad sandwich. And Jimmy Hoffa. And the WMD's. Nope, the true story is better.
Great post Katie...if it had only been the dryer sheet, that would have been enough - his kid's undies just put it over the top. Did you consider that maybe the would be a Spinal Tap 11 on your scale? Just a thought.
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