Principal Marston, Pamela Greyson here. The night custodian gave me your cell number when I explained the emergency.
We’ve had another unfortunate interaction with your secretary. When my son—you know Brandon—came to the front office at lunch today to pick his DoorDash delivery (a wagyu beef burger on a brioche bun—great protein to develop those water polo muscles!), he heard Ms. E. mumble under her breath, “This is a public school,” and “I have better things to do.”
We transferred from our private school because of your outstanding academic reputation as well as your emphasis on—what is it you people call it?—oh yes, social-emotional learning. Well, Ms. E. has hurt Brandon’s social-emotional feelings.
On a happier note, thanks for our meeting yesterday. You were so gracious about the misunderstanding with Brandon’s history teacher. Just want to make sure his record has been expunged. He was not cheating on his midterm, just checking his stock prices on his cell. Our little investor!
My husband and I will be donating five computers to your school library! No need to thank us. Anything we can do–especially for those kids bussed from the East Side.
Ta Ta
Principal Marston. Your favorite PTA mom here! So glad the computers arrived!
Thanks for talking to Ms. E. I’m happy to report that she’s been greeting me with a smile! She’s been moving a little stiffly, though, and speaking through her teeth. Perhaps she’s had a small stroke? That happens sometimes to people-of-a-certain-age. Tell her I recommend ice baths. They’re all the rage with Silicon Valley thought leaders. We had one installed in our spa room. Removes toxins and does wonders for the circulation.
Marston, I must insist you speak to Ms. E. Today, when Brandon tried to pick up his DoorDash order (Vitale’s truffle fettuccine with shaved parmesan), Ms. E. refused to reheat it in her microwave! Can you imagine eating those exquisite handcrafted noodles cold? They import their olive oil from their family farm in Italy!
Jeffery Marston. I was shocked when I stuck my head in your office today and you held up your palm and said you had to finish the board report. I assumed you were the type of leader who put families first.
When Brandon tried to pick up his otoro sushi today, Mrs. E. told him to wait in the back of the line. By the time he got to the front desk, he was already late to his entrepreneur’s club meeting. Not a good look for the club president! When Ms. E. handed him his lunch, she said “From now on, bring your own lunch or eat in the cafeteria like everyone else.”
Our family is far too busy for lunch-making. Just last night, Brandon was up until 2am working on his code for robotics and his opening remarks for speech and debate. You should have heard the noise—all those beeps, pops, and roars. Like a war zone! He needs every last second of his morning sleep for that beautiful mind!
Mornings, I exercise and center myself in my sensory deprivation tank. That’s where I plan my vision boards. (That’s how I got Brandon’s father to marry me: a vision board with a gigantic—I mean gigantic–diamond ring and a man in an Armani suit. I tell you, this stuff works. Brandon refused to make a Stanford vision board, but I made one for him and taped it to his bathroom mirror.)
And you know what senior year is like! Brandon’s private college counselor and I have spent hours, I mean hours, writ–discussing his college essays. My role as chair for the PTA grant distribution committee is demanding. (We got your stack of applications. So many equity initiatives. Let’s close that achievement gap! I’d be happy to run a little workshop on vision boarding for our struggling students!)
And cafeteria food? Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy California has decided to provide free lunch to everyone. I’m sure those kids from the East Side appreciate it. But Brandon’s personal trainer and nutritionist have prescribed a diet made with, well, better ingredients.
Speaking of meals, I’ll be having dinner with the superintendent this week! She and my husband sit on several boards together.
Marston, this time Ms. E. has gone too far. Yesterday she actually refused Brandon’s DoorDash delivery. When Brandon said he was going to report her, she answered, “Go ahead, you entitled brat.”
I didn’t learn about the interaction until this morning. Brandon had been out all night. I was sick, just sick, with worry, especially when the tracking app on his phone placed him near that party where some water polo boys were arrested. I hear those East Side kids were tempting our athletes with drugs!
Brandon explained, tears in his eyes, that he was not at the party but near the party, wandering the railroad tracks, contemplating his worthlessness. You should have seen his blotchy face and puffy, bloodshot eyes. Heartbreaking. I begged him to tell me what was wrong. He finally shared the story of Ms. E’s senseless cruelty.
Every school staff member must support our students’ mental health, don’t you think? You don’t want your school in the national news again for any more of those tragic losses at the railroad tracks.
Jeff, Pamela here.
Sorry to hear about Ms. E’s early retirement, but it’s probably for the best. (She probably sent all those cards and flowers to herself. Ha ha.)
Anyway, see you after school at the grant distribution meeting! Your requests are right on top! A tutoring program. Unconscious bias training for the staff. We are committed to uplifting all our students!
At lunch today, just stick your arm out your door to accept Brandon’s DoorDash delivery, will you? From that darling French place. Two and half minutes in the microwave should be just right.
You must try their creme brulee. It’s divine.
Ta Ta.
Little Old Lady Comedy 