Suburgatory (10 page)

Teacher Says What She Actually Thinks,
Infuriates Parents

Suburgatory, USA—A local teacher, fed up with the media and the public attacking her profession and union, has stopped sugarcoating things, infuriating parents with her brutal honesty.

“These parents think teachers have it sooo easy? That our union is not much better than a bunch of public-sector gangsters?” says fifty-six-year-old teacher Lily Peterson. “Well, I have two words for them and they start with an F and a U. It's high time they hear exactly what I think of some of them and their precious babies.”

And so the weekly PTO meeting was replete with stories of the teacher's disturbing candor. Instead of being told to schedule more outdoor activities for her son, Missy Carter was asked, “Are you really going to let Blake eat himself into type 2 diabetes?”

Sarah Martin admits that her son has had a few behavioral incidents, but offers that “the cat healed up just fine.”

She was flabbergasted when, instead of offering strategies for encouraging appropriate behavior, Peterson simply told her, “Hide your knives, and lock your bedroom door at night.”

Alexandra Petit, whose son is an outstanding student, but also a loner and an obsessive “deep thinker,” also got some troubling honesty. Peterson told Petit, “Your kid's either Bill Gates or the Unabomber. It could really go either way.” Petit says, “I'm really clinging to the Bill Gates thing and trying to forget the rest, so can we just not talk about it?”

Her comments were also a mixed bag for Tracy Heffernan and her daughter Erin, as described by Peterson.

“Yeah, I told Heffer that Erin is an annoying tight-ass, but she's super bright and bossy and I wouldn't be shocked if she was another Hillary Clinton. I'd probably vote for her but she's still kind of a stuck-up tool.”

Heather Lee says her daughter Bella is a lovely child and that she was never told anything of note other than that Bella is “very anxious to please, no matter the consequences.” At the latest teacher's conference, Peterson clarified what she meant: “She's going to be the girl giving group blow jobs at frat parties if you're not careful.”

But Peterson is quick to point out that she loves many, if not most, of the kids, especially Vincent Stone. Peterson says Vincent is “unusually mature.” When his mother—whom Peterson describes as a “no-good slacker”—said thank you, Peterson shot back, “You deserve exactly no credit for it.”

As is the case with Stone's mother, Peterson notes that it's largely the parents she has the problem with, not the kids.

Robin McIntyre—another parent irate about the teacher's decision to be honest—wouldn't reveal what was said to her, though Peterson was happy to oblige. “Oh, I'll tell you exactly what I said to her. I said, ‘I know you're hungover and tired from banging that sleazy boyfriend of yours, but get your kid's ass in here on time.'”

Peterson sits back, looking both satisfied and energized. “Maybe I shouldn't retire after all.”

Family's A-Ha Moment: All Uniquely
Devastated by Oprah's Departure

Suburgatory, USA—Each member of the Houlihan household, in their own unique way, is devastated by the departure of American talk show treasure, Oprah Winfrey.

These days, at 4:00 p.m. two-year-old “Little” Cathy Houlihan walks around the house, listlessly looking for Oprah, and banging the TV. “Black Mommy? Black Mommy? Where's Black Mommy? When Black Mommy coming? Is she coming back?”

“I know it's awful to watch, isn't it?” said Cathy's mom, “Big” Cathy Houlihan. “But at least Little Cathy has hope that Oprah's coming back. I have to live with the knowledge that she's not!”

Big Cathy explains Oprah's impact on her life. “Oprah taught me everything I know about being a white lady! I mean, that didn't come out right at all. She taught me what it meant to be a mom in America. A mom who lives in her own truth and has a sassy black friend to give her the kind of down-home Southern advice she needs. And sometimes that advice meant accepting things I wasn't raised to approve of. I did what Oprah told me, and I'm a better person for it,” Cathy said.

“And thank God, I mean, thank
Oprah
for that,” said Houlihan's now openly gay teenage son, George, who's also in mourning for Winfrey.

“I might have killed myself had Oprah not made my mom believe that it was OK for me to be gay. FUCK those people who pick on Oprah. FUCK. THEM.”

His dad, Ian Houlihan, has his own reason for bemoaning Oprah's farewell, but at this point it's a secret. “I'm gay, too, and I was hoping she would do a few more of those shows on closeted gay husbands to, you know, help ease the blow to Big Cathy. “The Wrath of Cath,” we call it, it's a scary scary thing. So, no hope for coming out anytime soon. Thank god for gay porn. I'd probably kill myself if it wasn't for gay porn.”

Ian's father, Walter, who lives with the family, is apparently the only straight male in the household, but the ladies he prefers are the black ladies. “I can't believe my Ebony Goddess is gone.”

Did he have a problem with her weight? Walter was nonplussed. “In my day, youngster, women were a lot . . . roomier, like Oprah. Boy, I used to love watching her, imagining all the wonderful zestful steam baths I might have had with her, her dark black gorgeous flesh glistening with sweat. . . . that smile lighting up every afternoon with her wit and beauty. . . .”

Even the children's live-in nanny is missing Winfrey. “Just to be clear,” said Elvira Martinez. “I don't like the blacks. Even the rich blacks. Especially the rich blacks. But Oprah gave me one whole hour every day of peace and quiet without this whole house of babies needing something.”

SHOUT OUT

Act Like
Grown-ups
at the Drugstore

Eliot Dubin is a concerned pharmacist at the Bartlett Pharmacy on Cabot Street.

I had hoped I would not have to take to the public Shout Out forum to address certain behaviors we are witnessing at the Bartlett Pharmacy, but the health of our patrons and the dignity of our workers must take top priority.

First, calling in prescriptions you don't pick up.

Now I know that Maria Osnos really can't predict when her nervous collapse will occur and when it will ease. I know that Bill Sanford sometimes looks down at his painful toes and thinks, “Well, as the youngest person ever to have gout, maybe I should do something about both my lifestyle and this excruciating pain.” But then Maria's nervous collapse goes away after a half-dozen glasses of wine, or Bill decides he just can't rouse his fat ass out of the house to pick up his meds. But all of you should know that when our pharmacist rushes to fill orders that you never pick up, he is putting aside the needs of others. I can only assume that John Maron was able to get the erection he sought without the help of the medication that he ordered because he never picked it up. I give a hearty guy-to-guy
mazel tov
to that, but please, be considerate of our time as professionals.

Second, cutting ahead in line.

Melissa Henry, I understand your urgency in getting your medication last week. I know better than anyone, except perhaps a prostitute, that a vaginal yeast infection requiring prescription medication is quite “a situation” indeed. But to stride so aggressively to the counter that you knocked over Millie Wexler's walker? It is true that Millie uses the pharmacy counter as a place to socialize now that those worthless piece of shit kids, Bob and Sheila, have decided to forget they have a mother and leave her to us. But that means Millie is practically a member of our family now, and no yeast infection, no matter how itchy, steamy, or smelly is worth disrespecting her. At Bartlett Pharmacy, we simply won't tolerate it.

Third, yelling at us because your doctor didn't refill the prescription.

When you are hopelessly addicted to painkillers, like Daniel Chelmsford, it is hard to keep your head about you. When things go wrong, you blame the wrong people. You need to remember, Daniel, that it is the doctor, not us, who has control over your stash. You want your meds? Knock over the store after hours like the rest of you criminal drug seekers, but don't scream at me during my shift.

Fourth, spying on people's medication.

Now this one I really am the go-to expert on. Of course you're spying on what other people are picking up, Jessie Borden. It's completely natural to sit there and use your iPhone to Google the name on the bottle Greg Silver is holding, only to discover that he is picking up medication to block his unstoppable cravings for alcohol. It's human nature! But it is the divine right of pharmacists to know this information and no one else. And we don't even need to Google the stuff, it's all right in our noggins! We dream in medication names!

I hope this clears up some of the poor conduct we've been seeing at Bartlett. We're all grown-ups here. Let's start acting like it.

Child Convinced Being Disabled Rocks

Suburgatory USA—An area child is convinced being disabled “rocks,” despite his mother's best efforts to explain the struggles that disabled people face.

“Why can't we park right in front of Starbucks, Mommy?” said five-year-old Mikey Purcell.

“Because that's only for people who have disabilities—who can't use their legs, let's say, as well as we can. It's so they can use the store just like we can,” said his mother, Sandy Purcell.

“Hmmmm. That sounds pretty good,” Mikey said as he and his mother entered the Starbucks and asked to use the bathroom. The barista told them the regular one was occupied, so he gave them the key for the handicapped restroom. Mikey had never seen one. “Mommy, this bathroom's huge! And so clean. It smells like, like, rainbows and miracles and fruit punch.” Sandy began telling him this was because the handicapped restrooms aren't used as much as regular ones.

As Mikey thought about this, he said, “I wish I was disabled.”

“No, honey, you don't. Disabled people are people just like you and me, and they matter a lot, just like you and me, but life can be pretty hard for them. It's no walk in the park.”

“I know that. You just told me they can't use their legs,” said Mikey. The boy and his mom returned to the car and made their way to the Edgewood Elementary School.

“What I'm trying to tell you, sweetie, is that it's not an easy life. If you were stuck in a wheelchair, you could never walk to school with your friends,” said Sandy. “But I never do that now,” Mikey pointed out. “We go to Starbucks, get your iced chai latte, you play with your phone, and then we ride to school. Hey, if I was disabled could I ride that super cool bus with all those ramps and buttons that go ‘zzzhoooop'? The floors move up and down! Those kids are so lucky. Being disabled rocks!”

Sandy Purcell grew somewhat exasperated. “I don't think you're getting it, dear. It's not a cool thing. It's not like being Justin Bieber. I mean, there's nothing wrong with being different and we all have struggles, but it's not something to wish for. You might not be able to talk, like we're doing right now . . . ”