Does P.E. stand for "Pretty Easy?"

Today I went to what’s becoming my new fave hangout—the VW dealership. I arrived wearing track pants, a wife beater, a grey hooded jacket (which Frank calls my “Kelly Taylor Jacket”) and running shoes. I wondered what Mike the valet guy thought I did for a living. Sure, we all know this is my writing uniform but he must have thought I did something quite athletic for my job.

Perhaps he thought I was a P.E. coach. I’m okay with that. I always thought that looked like a pretty good gig. And the wardrobe is only the beginning.

Just like teachers, they get summers off, spring break and two weeks at Christmas. But unlike teachers they don’t have to grade papers, deal with the same kids all day or even teach, really. Yes, they probably have to make lesson plans but how hard is that? Look. I just did a P.E. coach’s lesson plans for the week:

Monday: Dodge Ball
Tuesday: Open the doors, let the kids run around outside for 45 minutes
Wednesday: Jumping Jacks
Thursday: Dodge Ball
Friday: Teacher In-service Day—do lesson plans for next week.

At lunchtime they get to eat in the school cafeteria which is as delicious as it is affordable. And they get to cut in front of the kids. They do all this while wearing a comfy plastic workout ensemble. I think they can even wear visors.

In sixth grade I had this mean P.E. coach—Coach McMillan. Whenever a kid would approach him and complain of feeling sick, he would say, “What are you sick of? Sick of ice cream?” I hated it then but I have to say I use it on Frank and I’m pretty sure our kids can expect it too.

One day Coach McMillan made us run the mile (eight laps around the Landolt track) in the rain. How cruel! We were all “sick of ice cream” that day. So later some of the kids in my class approached me with a proposition:

“Elsa, we need you to write up a petition about why Coach McMillan should be fired for making us run in the rain. Then we’ll get everyone to sign it and we’ll take it to the principal.”

Natch, I was chosen because of my kick ass spelling skills (see blog from Thursday). So I wrote it up and tried to make it sound really legal-like with big words like “appalling” and “pneumonia” and “constricting” (to describe his ill-fitting coach’s shorts). Everyone signed it. And then I think I chickened out and didn’t turn it in. I’m glad I didn’t go through with it. I would feel awful if my persuasive legal jargon was the reason someone had to leave such a cool job.

Back at the VW dealership they interrupted my P.E. coach daydream to tell me my car was ready. “Are you off to work now, Mrs. Simcik?” they asked me. I told them, “Oh, no. We’re off for Columbus day. But I need to rest up because tomorrow is non-stop Dodge Ball. And by the way, the name's COACH Simcik.”