This isn’t the chair George Strait sang about!
Today’s post was supposed to be about the other anniversary that was recently just celebrated in the Skipah kingdom. Can you believe it’s been a year since I sent my last online dating message pretty much begging and pleading to go all Abba and “Take a Chance on Me.” Evidently my mastery in all things Swedish dance music paid off because Miss Madison ended gaffing me with a hook that would have befallen Jaws. Phase one of her plan commenced on 7/25/15 and thankfully the gaff wound healed since then. One damn year…. how time flies when you are having fun. Not rehashing all things Miss Madison (unless you click on that link) though, I’ve got bigger fish to fry now!
In case you didn’t know it, Miss Madison is a very accomplished middle school teacher that is about to enter her tenth year of teaching bratty little pre-teens about Lewis & Clark and various other annals of U.S. history. Like many others, she was the fresh-faced, straight-out-of-college rookie that the “elder” staff took advantage of. The story goes in her first year of teaching she had to take the principal’s Lexus to the car wash once a week as part of the hazing ritual.
In year five, as she was moving her way up the teaching food chain, she was forced to take the notorious triplets of young men known to these parts as “The Gatlin Brothers” in her classroom. Even though the Gatlins spent more time skipping class and bartering with John “the wino” to buy them cigarettes at the local convenience store, they were still a daily disruption for her classroom. She persevered through it though and by year nine she was finally done with this secret society of “educator hazing” that has gone unreported for way too long. Her reward for coming into the ninth year of teaching was none other than……drumroll please…. a chair! Not any chair, a chair with wheels!
Since Miss Madison teaches in the public school system, she is always watching budgets get slashed and burned from the statehouse. Indiana is no exception, and I’m not remotely going political here, but her school just doesn’t pass out “nice” chairs to everybody. They’ve got to make sure Jane and Timmy have a nutritional lunch! The first few years of teaching, Miss Madison got to plant her tuchus squarely on the finest in pine products, and is a legend at school for doing to the wood chair boogie when moving her chair. New teachers get to pick their chair from the basement or what is better known as “shit nobody wants.”
She eventually moved up to an old hand-me-down chair after Mr. Vargas’s retirement, but that old bird had worn the wheels down to nubs, and women’s clothing from the 80’s had more padding. Never mind the pneumatic system (that’s the part that makes the chair go up and down) was more worn than baby clothes from a family of five. She excelled despite the adversity her rump had to endure, and finally last year she got her big break.
That big break was after Mr. Moore finally called it quits to go run his Colorado cannabis farm. Miss Madison moved up to a chair with functioning wheels and a padded seat that her Gluteus Maximus (went scientific there) appreciated more than the first pair of Egyptian cotton undergarments she had ever worn. Her ninth year of teaching was magical—she met me, and her students in the 2015-2016 school year showed more improvement than a Hooked on Phonics alum. I would show you the video of her rolling around jamming to the Decemberists with an empty classroom, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy.
Why do I bring up this possibly fictional (I said possibly) story? Because when Miss Madison recently walked into her dojo to prepare for another year of teaching kids how to “Gain a Little Knowledge,” her butt Cadillac was missing! Stolen! Up and vanished like a fart in the wind! Once I learned of this unfortunate series of events, I had to go into Dr. Phil mode to console her. Two days after our one-year anniversary, I shouldn’t be comforting my girlfriend about a damn chair! I don’t have an actual picture of the chair, but I’ve called local, county, and the state police and described it like a 15-year-old boy looking at a Playboy.
I plan on rigorous interrogations of all the staff at her school, and I’ve got a case of Jif and our dog Karma ready to get someone to confess to this. I’ve checked with local parole officers on the Gatlin brothers whereabouts in case they thought they could steal her chair and not face repercussions, but evidently instead of learning about the Civil War in eighth grade they were more consumed with how to make meth out of Drano and Sudafed and are spending 20 years at Michigan City. I talked to the warden there to make sure they haven’t been in the area recently on furlough, and he assured me all their time has been spent dodging the Indiana chapter of the Sisters, and making commemorative Indy 500 license plates.
I’ve made it a personal goal to find this chair for my beautiful blonde-headed intellectual ninja (maybe not so intelligent, hell she’s stuck with me for a year), and will leave no stone unturned! Jefferson County, Indiana is about to become my own personal game of Clue! It is the least I can do for someone that has provided me a year of happiness I never knew existed.
Might have to tone down the selfies this upcoming year!
About it for now, the Indiana bear that is on the loose keeps getting closer to my turf, and I may need to use it in the upcoming interrogation process. Also, I’ve got a lead that the Madison Courier has a mole at her school that could be involved. Blueberry Muffin has even offered her services. What those are, I have no idea, her papa (Hammy) would love a good recon mission like this if he were still with us. Never fear, loyal denizens, Miss Madison’s backside will be sitting comfortably for another year if I have anything to do with it!