Enough, Ashley! or...Enough OF Ashley!

Further evidence that it's all a matter of perspective.

My viewpoint:  Having still not mastered the precarious art of backing up a "big" truck, I carefully parked Titan yesterday morning and, as usual, threw myself bodily out of the vehicle, bracing myself for the four foot drop to the ground. When I landed, I noticed something colorful peeking out of the snow that was rapidly accumulating so, curious (like a child or a raven), I picked it up to discover a lanyard with a staff id and keys attached. Great. I glanced around to see if anyone was nearby to witness my tossing them back from whence they came. Drat the luck...too many possible witnesses. So I carried this burden into the school, stomping down the corridor grumpily to see my colleague racing towards me. I swung the lanyard out, hoping to "accidentally" strike her with it and snapped, "I suppose you're looking for this."

Ashley's viewpoint:  There I was...in the darkest pit of despair. What-oh-what was I going to do? I had lost my id and keys. And with this great loss...so too, would I lose my livelihood. I searched high-and-low and then, as I glanced out my classroom window in desperation, I realized...the snow! With the white-out conditions, I realized that finding my keys in that snow desert of a parking lot would be like finding a needle in a haystack. But still, I had to try. I raced down the corridor to see my colleague hurrying toward me, smiling her usual bright smile of welcome. In her hand, she waved a beacon of hope. I sighed in relief as she swung my lanyard to me, saying kindly, "I suppose you're looking for this."

And that's not even the END of the story!  Oh no...Ashley couldn't just let it go:

The next day...

As a group of teens gathered in my classroom after school ("Mrs. Mosiman, can we hang out for a little while?" "Yes," I growled, "as long as you don't talk to me."), Ashley suddenly entered the room. She set a Pepsi and king-sized Snickers bar down in front of me. "I just wanted to thank you," she said. I stared at her dumbfounded. How on earth does the ENTIRE world know that I drink Pepsi and snarf down Snickers bars? "Ashley," I hissed ungratefully at her, "it was no big deal. You would have done the same for me." "I know," she replied cheerfully. I resisted the urge to punch her...opting instead for a verbal slap. "Yeah," I pointed out, "but the only difference is...I wouldn't have brought you a thank you gift." She laughed, waved and disappeared out the door.

"I HATE her," I screeched, startling my shocked teens. "Why," they asked, "she brought you a Pepsi and a Snickers." "Isn't it enough that she's pretty and kind and creative and the most amazing teacher EVER," I yelled stomping around the room like Rumpelstiltskin, "that she also has to go around giving me unwarranted gifts to reward me for begrudgingly being moral?" I collapsed, exhausted into my chair. "This is so stressful," I muttered only to hear one empathetic high school say softly, "Have a Pepsi, Mrs. Mosiman, you'll feel better."