Earlier this summer, while waiting in line at a local bookstore (I probably shouldn’t say which one) I decided to kill some time by both thumbing through a copy of Pride and Prejudice and Zombies and eavesdropping on a conversation between a mother, her teenage daughter, and the bookstore employee who was waiting on them. Despite the lure of a Shaolin-trained Elizabeth Bennet and a ninja Mr. Darcy, the conversation won out. Here’s why:
Mother: (looking at piece of paper in her hand) Can you help us find these books that are on my daughter’s summer reading list?
Bookstore employee: Sure. What are they?
Mother: Well, the first one’s Native Son, and the second one is . . . (peering closer at her paper) Hamlet.
Bookstore employee: No problem. Was there a particular edition of Hamlet you needed?
Mother: (looking at paper again): The one by . . .Shakespeare.
Bookstore employee: Actually, all of our copies of Hamlet are by Shakespeare. Was there perhaps a certain editor . . .?
Teenage Daughter: Do you have it in English?
At this point the employee (who, I think, should be given that store’s customer service of the century award for keeping a straight face throughout the entire conversation), led the mother and daughter away. (And no, he didn’t take them out back and bludgeon them to death with a copy of Twilight for the good of humanity–or at least the gene pool–because I saw them leaving later with a copy of No Fear Hamlet. Obviously The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Shakespeare was all sold out.)
Later, after I had put P & P & Z back on the shelf ( I already owned it) I started pondering which would be worse–to have to watch your zombified best friend gnaw on her own hand during another interminable dinner with Lady Catherine be Bourgh, or to have to teach the classics to a bunch of high school students. And then I had a little epiphany (see Joyce, James–also in English). A ha, I thought, this is why schools close for the summer. Not to give the students a break. Not to reboot all of the computers. Not to give the maintenance crews a chance to finally steam clean all of the vomit out of the kindergarten classrooms and update the graffiti in the bathrooms (“For the last time, it’s ‘for a good time, text Mary at. . .’”) No, the real reason schools close during the summer must be to give all of the teachers a chance to regain at least some of their sanity.
After all–I only had to experience the “Shakespeare in English” question in passing–I can’t imagine if it was my job every day. (The mind boggles. And then goes out, has a beer, comes back, and boggles some more.)
This is why, with another school year almost upon us, I propose that we all take one moment to stop doing the Happy Dance in the “Back to School” aisle at Staples, and instead pause and give thanks to the people who, after having spent six years (at least) in college, are now forced to confront having to explain to yet another batch of children (and their parents) that, in fact, Shakespeare wrote all of his plays in English.
Ideally, we would thank them with cash, but, if that feels awkward, then I’m sure that dry erase markers by the bucketful will do very nicely, too. And of course, there’s always liquor.
For example, if anyone out there knows who is assigning both Native Son and Hamlet for summer reading, please: buy him or her a drink for me. Make it a double. Something tells me they’re going to need it this year, and then some.
And while you’re at it, get one for Oliver at Barnes and Noble, too.