2/25/22 Sandwich Girl

 Sandwich Girl

In the small classroom filled with four year olds, screaming fills the air. Chaos is spun by the children racing around the room, chasing one another and falling to the floor in their pursuit. Childish insults are thrown back and forth between the boys. A girl complains about something another is doing.

The poor teacher stands, handing out pieces for a craft, to the few children sitting calmly at a table, while desperately trying to restore some form of order to the room. It is so loud and no one is listening. Her authority means nothing to them. They are like wild animals released from a cage, untamed and uncontrollable.

A little girl, with a small bun at the top of her head, and a pink dress covering the rest of her body, walks up to the teacher. She grabs the teacher's shirt and gives it a slight tug. The teacher finds some sort of composer and looks down to the little girl.

“Yes?” she asks the girl.

The girl pauses, feeling the stress but quickly ignoring it to tell the teacher her important news. “I just really like sandwiches,” she says happily and walks off.

The teacher stands still, hands in mid air with small pieces of paper. Confusion is written on the teacher's face but is then followed by the struggle to hold in enormous fits of laughter. The teacher lightly giggles then returns to passing out the small pieces of paper.


The End

2/25/22


(Author's Note: This is a true story that happened to me at my work at a daycare.)


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