In Various

An Open Letter to My Son’s School

One of the staff members at my son’s elementary school was very rude to him and I this morning. I’m actively trying to control my temper, especially in front of him, so rather than acting out of emotion, I resorted to going home and writing her a nice email. I’ve decided to withhold her name, so in this entry she will be appropriately referred to as Mrs. Dumkhunt.


Dear Mrs. Dumkhunt,

Let me first say that I hope this letter finds you in high spirits and at optimal health.

This morning, my son and I found ourselves running a bit behind. You know, one of those mornings in which your alarm clock just isn’t loud enough, your clothes just aren’t fitting right, you miss one too many traffic lights, etc. We’ve all been there, and I personally find little use in stressing over such episodes. Life happens to all of us, after all.

Upon our arrival at school, my son gathered his things and prepared to enter through the office as is standard procedure in the event that you arrive after the bell has rung. Being a concerned parent, I thought I might tag along with him just to ensure everything was on the up-and-up. And let me tell you, I’m certainly glad I did, because that, madam, was the fortuitous moment in which I had the pleasure of making human contact with you.

You see, the thing about children of a young, impressionable age is: they’re all horrible creatures. Their very existence is designed in such a way that makes our lives – that is, those of us on the more evolved side of the human spectrum – as weighted down and difficult as science could possibly permit. Granted, this is just an opinion, and while it might not be shared by many, I can state with the upmost confidence that you – the astute, self-actualized woman that you are – also know this to be true.

That having been said, I must commend you for your field-tested, pristinely executed approach to dealing with these prepubescent plagues on society. As the saying goes, if you give them an inch, they’ll surely take a mile, and considering they’ve yet to learn how to properly calculate units of measurement, one can only conclude that the extent of their selfishness is potentially boundless. Not being physically capable or of legal age to operate a motor vehicle is by no means an excuse for tardiness. Moreover, having absolutely no concept of time does not excuse lacking an acute sense of urgency. This, Mrs. Dumkhunt, is where you so clearly excel beyond the others in your profession. While your peers remain vulnerable, falling time and time again for the tricks of innocent smiles and cheerful dispositions, you stick to your guns, greeting each six-year-old offender with the charm of an SS officer, whom with a flick of the thumb dispassionately sends the next poor soul in line to either immediate death or a short, dreadful life of starvation and slave labor. That hardened, unrelenting attitude is the cornerstone of the public education system.

Mrs. Dumkhunt, it is my belief that you are grossly under-appreciated in your place of business. Sure, it might be the actual teachers who have a hand in shaping the young minds of our nation’s future, but it’s you who has been appointed the thankless task of coordinating the hot-lunch menu month after month, school year after school year. I ask you, is that not just as important? In your absence, how on earth would the kitchen staff know whether to prepare pizza or burritos on Wednesdays? “Oh no! It’s Wednesday,” they’d panic. “Quick! Does today’s meal come with orange juice or chocolate milk?! Oh, if only Mrs. Dumkhunt were here to valiantly step in and solve this quandary!” Fortunately for them, that will never happen, because you take your job very seriously and have yet to fail at your post.

The very notion that your courageous contribution to our planet could possibly go unnoticed is – excuse my language – completely bananas! This is why I humbly propose that you seek honest work in a field more suitable for a woman of your stature. May I suggest the DMV? Police dispatch, perhaps? Maybe even the city morgue – where you’re sure find the clientele much more relatable. To aid you in your attempts, I’ve taken the liberty of collecting the necessary applications, which I will include in my son’s homework packet this week. I’ve also forwarded a copy of this email to the school principal, just in case she has anything to add. Whatever decision you make, know that I praise your efforts as a impassioned almost-educator, and I thank you for your undying service and commitment to the cold, capitalist machine that is the United States of America. God bless you.

With love,

The tattooed guy you assumed never went to school

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