Mr. Warford is a Fraud

Dump the body in the dumpster behind Burger King.
It's Friday.

So, as I have hinted, I had an observation day on Wednesday of this week.
I got to go to a shop class.
I listened to a chapter of The Outsiders.
Though I have to say, it's just not the same if Harold Stanford isn't reading it to you.
For those lucky few who know Harold Stanford, imagine his voice saying:
"Stay gold, Ponyboy."
Kirk and I still talk about it.
H'anyway.
I'm trying to get used to calling teaching peers as 'sir' or 'miss.'
It's an adjustment.
These people are, for that day, your co-workers.
You know their first names.
Or, at least, you know that they have first names.
But as soon as you leave that staff room you have to say, "Hello sir."
Or, "You got some ass on ya, miss."
Now I'm being called 'sir.'
Or Mr. Warford.
It feels out of place.
Like I'm at the bank all day long.