Putting on My Bib and Helmet

Sarcasm can be a beautiful thing. Aside from exacting revenge upon your worst enemy, there is nothing quite so satisfying as being able to parry someone’s smart comment with devastatingly sarcastic retort. I should not enjoy sarcasm as much as I do, but being a petty male, I do. Sue me. But because I am also a teacher, I have to temper my sarcastic tendencies. Sarcasm in the classroom can contribute towards creating a carcinogenic learning environment, and so I have to be careful when I am teaching. That is not to say that sparing use of light sarcasm cannot play a role in the classroom, but like every other mode of communication, one has to know one’s audience.

Take for example an ongoing joke that I sometimes conduct with my advanced classes in economics. Students in these classes are sharp and confident. Despite their abilities, even these accelerated students slack off at times. When this happens, I tell them to “put on their bibs and helmets,” inviting them to continue to let me spoon-feed them. They laugh, and usually they pick up their academic pace. Sarcasm can work, but I have to use it sparingly; and I also have to be prepared for those times that sarcasm comes back to bite me in the ass.

It is the night before Halloween and my friend, Josh, is throwing a costume party for the school faculty. It is my first year at the school, and being October, I have yet to cultivate any deep friendships. My position as school principal can be a lonely one, and so when Josh invites me to his party, I gladly accept his invitation; and besides, I am looking for any excuse to impress the gorgeous counselor at the school. This means however, that I must attend Josh’s party in costume. To show up to a faculty costume party with only a bottle of wine for the guests would somehow be an underwhelming gesture.

The trouble is, I am going through some weird “mid-life-crisis-in-revers

e,” and I have simplified my life to the point where everything I own – aside from my bike – can fit into seven, medium-sized packing boxes. Question: what in the hell am I going to do for a costume? I could go as Springsteen as he appears on the cover of his Born in the USA album, ripped t-shirt, working boots, and jeans. But then I worry that this, too, would be an underwhelming gesture on my part, and that I would fail to impress the lovely Dana-counselor-lady. What to do?

After a couple of hours of deliberation, inspiration strikes. I have a bright red biking helmet made by the “Specialized” company, a firm that makes all sorts of outdoor equipment. The word, “SPECIALIZED,” stands out in bright, metallic silver, adorning both sides of the helmet. When I bought the damn thing, I thought that red was a very cool, very “in” color. When I wear it now, it feels like I belong in an institution, somewhere that offers comfort to the tragically un-hip. But on this balmy October afternoon, I get the bright idea of blacking out the letters, “IZ” on my “Specialized” helmet. I could then stop off at Walgreen’s on the way to Josh’s party and purchase a plastic baby bib. Dressed with a special-ed helmet and bib, I could be one of my students. The costume would be a slightly creative, but very sarcastic ensemble, and I would appear witty at Josh’s party, and all would be well. This seems like a fantastic idea.

Hours later, I show up at Josh’s party, special-ed helmet fastened tightly about my head and pink, plastic bib loosely slung about my neck. It takes the guests a couple of minutes to guess what I am dressed as, but when one of the guests figures it out, the room erupts with laughter; high-fives all around for the new, “hip” and sarcastic administrator. I even manage to gather up the courage to speak to the pretty school counselor. The evening is a stunning success.

The next morning dawns, and I am preparing for my usual Sunday bike ride. I am radiating with confidence; great evening, great morning - even the weather outside seems to be going my way. As I am on my way out the door, everything falls apart as I realize that I used a permanent marker to black out the letters on my biking helmet.