A Bachelorette Party from the Back of the School Bus

Question: What do teachers do when faced with throwing a bachelorette party for a colleague?
Answer: They charter a school bus!

I kept laughing and shaking my head as I approached the big yellow bus, pumping diesel fumes out of it's back end. I found it impossible to believe that we were voluntarily boarding one of the most miserable vehicles licensed to travel on the roads. (Although this time, a banquet permit had been purchased for the journey, allowing the passengers to transport and injest alcohol while enroute - something that would make field trips to the zoo with screaming third graders much more tolerable!)I took my first look at the bus driver, a large woman with a very serious look on her face as she parked the monster at the top of the driveway.

"Uh, does she know what we're doing tonight?" I asked a friend.
"I think so," the friend responded, uncertainly.

It turns out she did know, and from her opening speech covering "the rules," I knew that she would be contributing to our rambunctious evening.

"We all want to have fun tonight, and I just have a few rules that will make sure everyone has a good time.

"Sometimes, though, people can have too good of a time. If you think you might have had too much fun, please use a bag." A smattering of giggles from her passengers. She holds up a roll of plastic bags at the front of the bus. Someone decides that we may be better off passing a "just in case" bag to all of the girls on the bus.

"The second thing is: all body parts need to stay inside the vehicle. Now, I don't care what body parts you show through the windows, just as long as they stay inside the bus."

This time there's cheering and laughter.

"And lastly, please try not to leave any garbage behind on the bus." She points to where the garbage bags are located, turns back to the wheel, and we're off!

We had several stops scheduled for this adventure. The first was a little dive near our place of employment that we teachers frequent on Friday evenings (and shall remain nameless in this story, for obvious reasons). Several other teachers from our school (male teachers who were not invited on the bus) had arranged to meet us there. The guest of honor got lap dances from several teachers, both male and female, and one from an old guy wearing leather motorcycle chaps. Shots were consumed, drinks were served, and dancing had begun. When it was time to leave, we boarded our bus, said goodbye to the guys (some by flashing body parts at them), and pulled away, leaving an inflated penis balloon drifting down the road in the wake of the bus exhaust.

During our trip to Seattle, we amused ourselves by singing loudly to music, enticing drivers behind us with various body-part-revealing activities, and consuming the alcohol that we had packed. I found it to be very thrifty to drink beer on the bus, which was already purchased, rather than buying it in the bar, so I was stocking up.

About the time we were driving over the bridge, however, that ceased being a clever idea, as the pressure on my bladder increased to an unbearable level.

I was not so distracted by my discomfort, though, that I missed the flabbergasted looks on the patrons' faces at the martini bar as the school bus pulled up with loud punchy women hooting out the windows.

Our next stop, after a few martinis, was another bar downtown. It was after this visit, that we lost our first guest. She fell asleep on the bus and was not able to be roused when we unboarded for our next stop, a very "Coyote Ugly-ish" type bar.

This bar had beautiful women dancing on the bar and a mechanical bull. Needless to say, the patrons of this establishment were having a wonderful time! Our guest of honor got to consume a shot from the crotch of one of the dancers. Myself, I was having a hard time taking my eyes off the dancers, but did manage to watch a few of our party-goers have a round on the mechanical bull.

We lost a few more guests after this visit, our last stop on the trip. We wound up at a Shari's restaurant (those of us who were both awake and not feeling ill - about nine from our initial fifteen girls).

I think the best part of the whole party, though, was that next Monday morning at work, when we laughingly discussed how some of us were still recovering from the rowdy events of the evening, and the difficulty we encountered in removing the penis tattoos (you know, the kind applied with water) from our bodies.

The "End of the School Year" Party

What I need to do today: pay my bills for the month
What I'll probably do instead: go get my hair cut
In the Attic: Thoughts and reflections the morning after The Party

If you're not a teacher, you're probably guessing that I'm referring to the kind of end of school party that teachers throw for their classes. Perhaps there would be some games, yearbook signing, and ice cream...

What about if I told you there was tequila, vociferous music, risque lap dances?

That's right. I'm not talking about my class party. I'm talking about the school staff variety. All across the country, during the month of June, teachers all over our nation are assembling at central locations to pour obscene amounts of alcohol down their throats, to dance wildly with each other, and to use mild amounts of profanity.

It was a great night! I had nice conversations with people that didn't involve school. I got to have an evening out without having to be a mommy. And I got to see the people I work with engage in some very deviant behaviors!

Staff parties coincide with a time of the year when the classroom is sprinkled with all sorts of bizarre student behaviors. Understandably, a teacher needs a little time out right now. For example, I had one student poke another student in the neck with a pencil. Yeah, good plan. Another student thought to come to school wearing a viking helmet and oversize sunglasses. Ri-i-i-ight. And I even had one student stare me down and completely refuse to return to his seat during a science lesson, just before he took his Fiskars to his assignment, crumpled it up, and threw it in the trash.

This is the time of year, that simply making a trip to the bathroom to pee is not a good use of my time. Instead, using every available minute to keep my head above the quickly-rising water level. Firing off one email after the next to detail the recalcitrant behaviors that the little holy terrors are inflicting on the classroom. Returning phone calls to parents to explain why their child, well-below grade level, might stand to benefit from summer school classes. And of course, finding a date to have guinea pigs (yes, guinea pigs) visit the classroom somewhere between field day, assemblies, library visits, spirit days, and *gasp!* end of the year assessments.

Teachers deserve hazard pay for the entire month of June.

Instead, we schedule an end-of-the-year party, gathering around coolers loaded with beer, hooting and cheering on the dance floor, counting down to June 16.

Because after the buses pull away, and the smell of diesel is just beginning to fade, we breathe one collective sigh of relief. And as we walk back through the empty halls, suddenly Alice Cooper's eloquent anthem begins playing over the PA system.

And you thought the kids were excited for the last day of school!