I fear there is a rogue Goldilocks on the loose. I don't have any concrete clues, but I have circumstantial evidence. To whit: stuff in my room appears to have been tampered with. There. I said it. I'm letting the crazy out for all to read.
My fellow hall-dwellers know that I'm a persnickety old gal. I like my things JUST SO. Don't go moving my cheese. Neither a borrower nor a borrower be. But if you want to loan something to me, that's fine. I'm not a sharing kind of person. Not that I didn't try. Once.
Years ago, I left a pencil in my mailbox. Because you never know when you're going to need one while in the teacher workroom. It was a unique pencil, maroon, with some kind of at-risky quote on it. I picked it up at a conference at Tan-Tar-A. That communal pencil lasted all of two days. So I set a trap to catch the thief. I taped an identical pencil to a sheet of paper with a message. "Have you seen my brother? He looks just like me. I miss my twin. Please let him come home. Please." I found that one lodged in a particular teacher's mailbox the next day. I snatched him back. And told my colleagues that Peter Peter Pencil Pilferer was the reason we couldn't have nice things.
This morning I arrived to find my room in disarray. Not so anybody else would notice. But I did. A spare chair behind my desk that holds a carboard box of textbook accoutrements was pushed against the table that holds the printer, phone, sound box, VRC, and DVD player. Normally, there is a twelve-inch gap. Not that I measure it. A tile is twelve inches, you know. And the spare shoes that I keep under that chair, in the event that I want to slip into something more comfortable through the day, were jammed all the way past the chair, and under the table! But that's not all! I think I'm feeling faint. My red Sharpie had the cap placed on the end! I never do that. Sharpie is always ready for slashing.
But the most disturbing discovery was my BIC Wite-Out pen. NOT THERE! I had just used it the previous afternoon. I searched high and low. Perhaps it fell off the desk with nobody around and no wind and no earthquake tremors. Perhaps I had put it in my bag. Perhaps it slid to the back of the pencil tray. No. I checked all those places. But I did find my very old Liquid Paper correction pen. I much prefer it anyway, but it's so old that it doesn't work well. Since I needed correcting STAT, I shook. And shook. Because it was so old that the paint stirring metal ball thingy was not even clicking. I whacked it on the desk and commenced to shaking again. When I tried to correct, that runny pre-correction fluid dribbled out. That stuff is clear. So I had to let it dry and go back over it a few minutes later. I placed the replacement pen in the front pencil tray built into the desk drawer. Right where I had put the BIC yesterday. I'm a creature of habit, in case you haven't heard.
I ran up to the workroom to make some copies. I only had five minutes to spare. At the bell, I told a down-the-hall colleague about my experience. She rolled her eyes. We go way back. She's the kind of teacher who wouldn't even care if another came and took her laptop to use on a day when she was absent. I know! I sometimes think I need to check her pulse. Nobody can be that laid back.
I started class. We had a short discussion of yesterday's lesson. I went over today's lesson. I gave the assignment. I busied myself with some busy work while they completed their papers. I reached into my desk drawer for the anemic old Liquid Paper pen, and HE WAS GONE! But even stranger, two slots back, was the BIC Wite-Out pen!!! Just like he never left.
I know someone is messing with me. Those are two totally different correction pens. The BIC is white and yellow. The Liquid Paper is white and green. Their pregnant belly shapes are different, too. The BIC is thick and clunky. Liquid Paper is more streamlined and easy to squeeze.
My mom says the mind is the first thing to go. I say somebody's been sitting in MY chair. And helping herself to my correction pens.