BitterSweetLife

I walk through the "teachers' lounge," which is more like a "teachers' really long closet with some tables and a coffee machine." The coffee machine is inexplicably nice. It uses swiss K-cups and creates hot cups of coffee to the tune of "Ethiopian," "Chocolate Macadamia Nut" and "Columbian" - for just 25 cents. Someone in upper management clearly had their priorities straight: Drab room, uncomfortable furniture, first-class coffee machine. Push-button joe has never been better.

Against the wall, I recognize a "fellow" sub cozied up with a couple of Real Teachers. However, he is betraying his calling as a substitute through shameless obsequiousness. At the moment, he is regaling the Real Teachers with a story of a dog-sitting assignment gone awry: "I was watching this guy's Boxer, a huge dog, who was real pleasant until I took him home. Then he got mean instantly. The neighbor was standing there with me, and the dog jumped up and bit off his nose..."

I am listening in because one of the Real Teachers is Coach Jim Hinrich, father of former Jayhawk great and current Bull's superstar Kirk Hinrich. Hinrich, sr., responds with a couple of appreciative grunts. He is, in fact, culpable for this story because he was just explaining that he'd be flying out to Chicago later today to watch Kirk's dogs. Two of 'em. You guessed it: Boxers. At the moment, Hinrich is probably thinking, I was just mentioning a weekend visit to see my son. Is this story over yet? Darn.

I leave the ladder-climbing sub to his power play and head back to my class room, Macadamia Nut coffee in hand. I am not a commodity. I'm in this profession for the students and the cash and the weird stories. But at least my sometimes-shameless colleagues contribute a few of the the latter. Out.