Theory 12: Bicycle guys are selfish and make other people late for work.

Readers, I warned you in my first post that I will vent from time to time. Delicious cautioned me not to write this theory because (and she is probably right) I will certainly offend some folks by griping about bicycle guys.  I like to complain in detail, so let me be specific so as to identify who “bicycle guys” are and who they are not. They are the guys who ride bicycles at rush hour, on the road, in school zones, in the way, and make us all nervous and late.  They are not the men and women who ride in parks and on back roads, on weekends or at night, for exercise or pleasure.  They are not the college students who choose frugal speed and efficient parking with bikes vs. cars. 

Hustling to get Sharky to school and myself on to work, I met up with a stranger on two wheels every stinkin’ morning for several years. The original Bicycle Guy routinely showed up on the narrow, two-lane (no shouldered) Lyons View Pike.  Sharky I became so frustrated, I considered penning an editorial piece for the local paper.  Look, I’m a fan of exercise. Not necessarily a participant, but still, a fan. (See Theory 5: Play a sport, even if you suck at it.) I admire people who rise early to work out. But, I wanted this Bicycle Guy to get out of my way! I hated starting my day with a string of menacing moments and thoughts like, “Geez, I want to pass him but what if he turns? Geez, I wonder how much sweat is in those shorts. ”

I never want Sharky or the Gnome to be disrespectful toward grown-ups, but this guy wore us out. When it was safe, I swerved quite dramatically around Bicycle Guy (so he’d notice) and nodded to Sharky, who then yelled out his backseat window, “Grab a napkin, ‘cause you just got served!”

So, cyclists, if you are reading this, please understand and take this message to heart because I really am afraid I’m going to hit you with my car. Not on purpose, of course! I won’t lose mental control and just run you over. I actually have several friends who bike for sport. I love to see their scenic Facebook and Instagram photos from atop Smoky Mountain overpasses and curves of The Dragon. Call me ignorant, and do forgive me. I am just trying, like many drivers, to understand and—what’s that weird bumper sticker I see all the time? COEXIST? (in ethnic hieroglyphics) safely. Bicycle Guy, please consider the following observations, conjectures, and questions:

• Like most mothers, I can never drive with two hands. When the Gnome screams for a French fry, I must deliver. When Sharky smarts off, I pinch him. When Gnome drops his sippy cup, his book, his toy, his blanket, I lean back and reach blindly (eyes on the road) and sweep the crumb-y gooey floorboard until I retrieve all the above. Heck, I serve dinner in my car, affectionately named Big Red.

• You are putting a lot of trust in strangers and their vehicles. My year 2000 SUV is running on love and duct tape these days. Once I even held the driver’s side door on the car, in the rain, for several miles to a service station.  That door was like a 9-year-old’s loose tooth, hanging by one strong wire. My arm was sore for days. Last year, Big Red and I survived three winter months sans wiper blades.

• Drivers and their vehicles have issues beyond your control. We have bad brakes, bad alternators, loose belts, slick tires… We could be arguing, reading, eating, drinking, asleep…

• Your outfits are distracting. My old 4^th grade teacher used to sing a song that went, “Keep your mind on your driving and your eyes on the wheel, because the girls are in the backseat with Fred.” I can’t keep my eyes on my driving when your muscles flex round and round in neon in my line of sight. Why do you wear neon in the daytime? Do you wear sunglasses at night? What’s really bad is when your neon top doesn’t match your neon bottom. I’m from Pigeon Forge, but still, come on! Also, what’s up with the padded man Spanx? Are you trying to avoid chafing? Makes sense, but why not cover your man Spanx. Is this an aerodynamic goal? How much time can you really shave off with that get-up? If you bike to work, does that mean you walk into your office sporting man Spanx? You’ve already made countless people late for their jobs, and then you expose your colleagues to a middle-aged body bulging out of sweaty Speedo shorts first thing in the morning. If I saw that, I’d drop my donut!

• Do you stink all day? You must be physicians, because banks don’t have showers and there is no way a teacher is going to take his clothes off at school. We hope. Is this how we get staff infections from minor surgeries?

• Your bike weighs around 25 pounds. Big Red weights 4,164.  You do the math.

• Why does your hat have a tail?

• Why don’t you ride on greenways and mountain trails? This is East Tennessee! Think of the views, the hills that could build those thighs and glutes, the wildflowers… Be a man! At nine years old, I stood up and pumped my maroon and silver bicycle all over The Crippled Beagle Farm, balancing her through rutted pit and tar roads dotted with box turtles and American Bullfrogs. I dodged sunbathing beagles and cow patties. I grazed barbed wire fences to avoid Delicious’s ever-threatening tetanus shot.  My skillful steering and command of the two-wheeled vehicle took me to shady spots where I would lie on a beach towel to enjoy my Swiss Cake Roll, Coke, and Sweet Valley High book. I just don’t understand why you have to absorb a whole lane on Lyon’s View or Kingston Pike or Cumberland Avenue. 

• Speaking of Lyon’s View, you know there’s a country club on that road, right? I suggest you coast through its parking lot when you have extra time. You will see an inordinate number of white-trimmed blue squares framing stick men in wheel chairs. These handicap spots take up half the parking lot. Hmmmm. An elderly man gets up at 6 a.m. to walk his 20 heart-healthy minutes on the country club treadmill. He then enjoys some cottage cheese and peaches with decaf coffee. He gets in his giant Cadillac and pulls his cataract glasses from atop the visor. And, BAM! You meet. Bicycle Guy, you are putting a lot of faith in geriatric peripheral vision. Is that why you wear neon? Does in glow in the cataract dark?

• When you exit Lyon’s View and head down Kingston Pike toward campus, do you realize you are in West High School territory? Does the term “Drivers’ Education” mean anything to you? You are basically playing Frogger on wheels with high school freshmen. I teach freshmen. When a student tells me, “Mrs. Bug, I’m getting my learner’s permit today,” I gulp and pray. For all of us. Trust me, you are safer on the greenway.

How Sharky rolls

• Do you avoid the greenway to avoid other exercisers? Are there greenway hogs? Walkers, joggers, women behind baby strollers? Dog walkers managing unpredictable runaways? Can’t we all just get along? There must be some rules, some exercising etiquette.  Ladies, make room for the cyclists, please.



I told my dear old friend, Mutah, who is an active mountain biker and often makes 70 mile trips through the mountains about this post and he told me that he and his friends have been “spit at, cussed out, passed way too closely and even hit by cars!” He has a license plate that reminds people to share the road. He explained, “One bike rider was hit by a full 16 oz. Dr. Pepper bottle.” He warned,  “I hope and pray your blog does not make you sound like one of these redneck idiots, but tells people to share the road… the law states that they have to be three feet away from the cyclist.”

I’m just going to have to say to all you bike riders, “Look twice for Big Red and thank God for her brush guard.”

Cyclists, I do admire your courage. I admire your tenacity. I admire your commitment to physical fitness. Actually, often, I admire your physiques, from a safe three-foot distance, of course. Now and then, though, as I check out your toned thighs and big calves, I get an up close shock when I realize you are actually female, which reminds me of Theory 13: As people get old, they morph into the opposite gender.

See you next post. Until then, think outside the barn!

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Theory 11: The only thing worse than teacher fashion is substitute teacher fashion.

A few years ago, I faced reality: the recession. Forced to leave daily domestic bliss behind, I opted to avoid returning to my old career—retail banking—and opted to test the waters of public education. I “signed up to be a sub” in my hometown (not the district where I now teach).

In last week’s post, Teachers are the most entertaining people on the planet, I explained the ways in which teachers engage their audiences. One crucial element in school performance is wardrobe, thus today’s theory regarding fashion. Teachers try. They really do. But keep in mind that ours are not the most lucrative paying careers. And, subs, per day, gross around half what first year teachers do, which ain’t much.

I sat through a long day of substitute teacher training in the top of a “high rise” downtown. The old building appeared to have run out of bricks. When I stepped off the elevator into a 7-foot-tall-hallway, I felt like Gulliver.  The Lilliputian trainer explained that subs grossed $67 a day and that, after taxes, I’d net about $50. Plus (yay me), paychecks fell on the 25^th of the month following the month of the day you subbed. For example: Work August 1-3 and gross $201. Net $150 on September 25.  Really? I felt my soul leave my body and hover over the Target-shirted, Belk-capri’d, Yellow-Box sandaled crowd. The tiny man then explained how we needed to dress professionally. He warned that we might have to rush out the door to a job so he advised we lay out our clothes the night before. Then he forced us to watch a gruesome video on blood born pathogens. I assume—and hope I don’t offend anyone by saying this—that many subs come to the job because they need money. I certainly did. I spent $72 on a drug test, background check, and fingerprints. I heard “professional” and I saw “blood born pathogens” and I thought about my substitute teacher wardrobe “keep it covered and keep it cheap.”  I called Delicious (who taught for 34 years) to gripe. She laughed and advised, “Just go to Wal-Mart and get two pair of black britches. Make sure you wear comfortable shoes. Bug, think about what your old teachers and subs used to wear!”

The past: Let us recall some of our favorite teacher duds from days gone by.

Coaching shorts: Coaching shorts made me nervous. There was plenty of polyester around back then. Why couldn’t manufacturers give those men two or three more inches? I lived in fear of my beloved teachers striking The Thinker pose and scarring me for life. 

 Jumpers: If you work with someone who stills pulls on a denim jumper, call TLC’s show, “What Not To Wear.” Please.  Why would anyone lay that much denim across her body? It’s heavy, hot, and flattens all the wrong parts.  And, no matter how hard you try, you’ll never find the right shoes to go with a jumper.

 

Sweaters that Tell a Story: Common Core standards mandate that teachers use informational text in the classroom. Graphic novels stitched onto wool do not count.

The present: When you wear an outfit to school, it is tarnished. Think Seinfeld’s “book in the bathroom” episode. Teachers and subs are surrounded by dust, ink, paint, chalk, toner, throw-up, etc. And snacks on the fly are messy.

When I subbed, I decided to live the experience full force and not spend a dime. I wore cheap flood-length black britches and v-neck long-sleeved t-shirts from a large retailer. The shirts became pajamas.  The pajamas became dust rags. That’s a solid deal for a $7 “blouse.” It’s the next best thing to disposable clothing. I did not wear a vest. You’re welcome. I haven’t evolved much now that I’m a regular teacher, but I have learned some tricks from my peers.

I taught high school with a woman who “supported” every club in school by buying its t-shirts. Who can admonish a teacher who is rooting for the track team and fundraising for the drama club while fighting cancer, Alzheimer’s, and bullies every week? What a giver. She accessorized with a bedazzled lanyard and I.D. badge.

My buddy wears his church clothes to school every Monday. He just lays the whole outfit in a chair. God first. Laundry second.

 A co-worker confessed that she buys no-iron clothes because sometimes she sleeps in them. Teachers are tired folks.

White sandals. Just don’t. Forget about the calendar. White sandals are always wrong.

     

Cardigans with a modest sleeveless top are a must. Students in? Sweater on. Students out? Sweater off. Layers combat hot flashes, cold meeting rooms, and exposure to the elements via fire drills. Most importantly, an extra layer keeps you from over-revealing middle-aged body parts.

No joke. I’d like to apologize in advance to my colleagues for my dull wardrobe and

promise my students that I do wash my clothes (actually, Tall Child does). I do not wear the same pants every day – I just wear the same pants every day.

Here’s my back to school wardrobe list:

2 pair black slacks

2 pair gray slacks

1 pair dark jeans – NOT tight, unless I “over tailgate” on fall weekends

5 solid sleeveless tops

5 solid cardigans

School t-shirt. Go team!

Ah, the mixing and matching. Get excited!

I try to live it up through my earrings but by January I usually wear one of  

    two pair: gold loops or silver hoops.

My $10 watch is gold and silver so I wear it every day. Bonus!

Brown flats (man-made, Earth friendly material) Hey, I’m a giver, too.

Black flats

Crocs. Yes. Sorry. They’re animal print. That counts for something, right?

I’m in the first week of the school year and had some down time during orientation today. So, knowing I had to write this post tonight, I quizzed my freshmen students, “What advice would you give teachers on how to dress?”

Here is some of what I heard:

Don’t shop at an old person store.

Don’t wear too much foundation and no mascara.

Yes, please wear lipstick!

Look professional. Wear skirts.

But skirts don’t go with nurse shoes.

Socks and sandals make me sick.

Don’t mix patterns.

Too many clashing colors look bad.

I had one teacher who dressed like Princess Diana, with long dresses and short hair.

Don’t wear old lady perfume.

Don’t dress like students.

I interrupted, “What about the male teachers?” I heard:

I hate when the men teachers are all baggy. Tuck your shirt in and look proper!

Wear khakis.

And Polo’s.

Don’t wear tennis shoes. Wear dress shoes.

We don’t want to see chest hair. I mean, we can’t see it, but we can see the little dots under the shirt.

I remarked, “Wow. Ya’ll really have high expectations!”

One student consoled, “Well, you should take a lazy day sometimes. You can wear tennis shoes on Fridays.”

Hey, we educators (subs and full-time) are doing the best we can!  Most of us are parents, hustling to drop off our own children and hurry to work in time to care for other people’s children. Looks are not a priority when you are tasked with educating the next generation. Teachers hate tardiness and we are, by nature, unselfish. This brings me to Theory 12: Bicycle guys are selfish and make other people late for work.

See you next post! Until then, think outside the barn.

Let's talk! Find me and friend me!

Facebook: Jody Cantrell Dyer
Facebook: The Eye of Adoption
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Author website: www.jodydyer.com