I have a really annoying alarm. Perhaps I should say I have a really annoying cell phone. Like most people my cell phone has become my electronic Swiss army knife. And on this wonderful Wednesday at 6: 45 AM my cell phone alarm is extremely annoying. Being the professional snoozer that I am, I have to keep my cell phone across the room so that I actually get out of bed to turn off the noise. Begrudgingly I get out of the most comfortable, warm bed in the world. I stumble across the room and smack my phone until it stops making noise and I glance back towards my bed. Like a siren it’s calling me, but I know better. If I go back even just to sit down the bed will ensnare me and I’ll be trapped. Doomed to sleep for another fifteen to thirty minutes and be late.

I hate responsibilities, I think to myself as I realize I’m opening a brown pack of instant oatmeal. “When did I get here?” I mumble to myself as I squint around trying to remember walking out of my room to the kitchen. I must be really tired. I’m placing the bowl of water and oats into the microwave and begin to make my way back to my room. I look down and notice that I’m wearing flip-flops. “What?” While my brain was smart enough in this sleepy auto-pilot to make oatmeal for breakfast, it obviously didn’t put much effort into choice of footwear. Flip-flops, really? When was the last time I even wore flip-flops? I laugh a little to myself just imagining a zombie like version of myself digging through my closet for flip-flops to wear as house shoes. I’ve made it through the first stage of my morning.

I’m becoming more and more conscious and starting to snap out of my sleepy state. I put on a pair of basketball shorts and tennis shoes, throw on the cleanest t-shirt that I have and begin to leave my room when I remember I’m wearing flip-flops. No need to wear embarrassment any longer. I put on socks and tennis shoes and go to get my oatmeal. The oatmeal is warming and delicious, not a bad breakfast for a minute and a half in a microwave. I scarf down my instant breakfast and run to the restroom and grab a toothbrush. Quickly I go to work, I’m running out of time. I catch my reflection in the mirror and I see myself staring back. This isn’t good. I have horrible bags under my eyes, my hair’s a mess and I’m in need of a shave. I’ll have to shave later because I’m already running late. As I’m staring I begin making a list, like I do every morning, of things that are wrong with me. And like every morning by the time I’m done brushing my teeth I come to the conclusion that I don’t really care. I’ll work out more and eat better. Yup, that’s what I’ll do. I grab my gym bag that I use as a man purse and run out of the door.

In my car I turn on the local am sports radio station and turn it down to a low hum. Trying not to get caught be any lights, I’m becoming more coherent. I begin thinking about how much I hate brushing my teeth almost immediately after eating. What’s the point of eating something with a flavor I like? It’s beginning to piss me off, I paid money for that oatmeal and then I erased it. I could wake up earlier or…not brush my teeth. Neither appeal to me so I guess I’m just stuck with erasing flavor in the mornings. I finally arrive to the school that I work at and fight to find a parking space. They should just give me a reserved parking space, I grumble as my walk to school becomes a slight jog. I get to the office right on time and begin to fill out my paper work. “Who are you today?” the secretary that eerily resembles my girlfriend’s sister asks. “Coach Von Dolen.” I reply. “The shorts gave you away,” she says. “Oh yeah?” I throw in trying to let her know nicely I don’t have time for small talk. “I thought you only subbed for the lower school teachers,” she says waiting for an answer. “No, I pretty much sub for whoever asks me. I actually coach a lot; I’m the only man on the sub list.” “That’s why you wear shorts a lot. I just thought you came here to work out,” she says. Is she flirting with me, I think to myself. I’m horrible at knowing when someone is flirting with me. And I have a girlfriend who is way out of my league that I love. I’d be a fool to mess up the great relationship that I’m in. I don’t know what to say. I thought about, ‘Hey, my girlfriend and I work out all the time.’ But you don’t want to get the awkward “I’m not flirting with you” look. The phone rings and I’m saved. The receptionist picks up the receiver and we exchange a wave.

I’m fully awake now and stress has started to kick in. I’m not all too sure of what is expected out of me today. I pass by a mirror and see a frantic man with barely combed hair power walking with all his might. Mrs. Amanda, who oversees the substitute teachers, gives me a nod as I walk into the lower school building, “Right on time.” I weakly smile and in a last attempt to be presentable smooth down my hair as I’m walking to the class where I have to pick up the kids for P.E. When I get there the teacher of the class, 5^th grade English, smiles at me and says, “Nice jacket.” Referring to the Members Only jacket I had in my car and put since it was a little chilly. “Thanks,” I look down and laugh not knowing to be proud or embarrassed.  In the class the children are all whispering and smiling in excitement. “Put your books up class. Coach Von is out, so today you have Coach Paul.” That didn’t seem like the end of the sentence but at the mention of my name children began to clap wildly and cheer. There was hooting and chanting of my name. And for the first time in this horrible morning I felt good. I couldn’t help but to smile. The 5^th grade teacher looked at me and said “Must be nice to be loved.” Then she pulled out a bell and ringed it. The children fell quiet but they were all beaming with smiles. One of the kids softly said “We like Coach Paul.” I smiled and said, “Let’s go class.” They stood up and began to yell again. And with as much feign disapproval I could muster I shushed them.

I work at a school and overheard a conversation that makes me worry about child hygiene.

Kid 1: Would you eat a bag of Cheetos if it was on poop?

Kid 2: Is it opened?