Hey There Teacher Man!

“Good lord! Polar bear attacks, peeping tom wolves and vampire kids! Sounds like you are having an awesome time!” Giselle sang into the phone. Giselle used to be my childhood babysitter. She also remains what she always was—a middle-upper-scale prostitute. Admittedly, we had lost a lot of communication since the ‘very helpful’ woman at the phone company informed me that I can’t get voice-mail service in the north. This had surprised me since Sherman not only knew how to use voicemail when I met him, but could also Skype and text—two things that I could not.

When I had agreed to move up to the Arctic Circle when my summer fling informed me that he is not in fact a black bear, but a very dirty polar bear, I didn’t exactly know how far up I was coming. Since there is even less to do in the Arctic than there is in the forest we used to live in with our cat, Ms. Richard Hatch, I had taken a job as a college art professor to keep myself occupied. I was in the middle of teaching a lecture on abstraction when I actually looked at a map for the first time.

I was a little shocked. "Wait a minute, Greenland looks kind of close,” I said, taken aback.

“That's because it is" one of the students responded.

"Keener," I grimmaced to myself.

After I slipped myself a Xanax and sent the children home early after pretending to see a polar bear through the window, which really shouldn’t bother me, since I live with one, I tried to call Giselle. That’s when I realized that the phone and internet both shut down at the first sign of rain, snow or sleet. One of which falls every four minutes up here.

I decided that since I was obviously committed to spending the winter here, mostly because there is no plane to take me home, I might as well make the most of it. I decided to run the local movie theatre. This being running a movie on my computer and projecting it onto the wall of the school gymnasium. I envisioned myself as Elvira—Mistress of the North, and bringing my zany sense of humour to the youth of Wasilla.

The world had other plans for me. As I walked across the stretch of tundra between my home and the co-op, where I anticipated finding both a cold Dr. Pepper and a movie to show the youth, I crossed one of my new neighbours.

“I saw you wandering around in the tundra the other day,” he said. “Do you have a gun?”

Believe it or not I have never fired a gun. “No, but I have this bear whistle,” I cheered, whipping it out of my pocket. “I consider it my rape whistle of the north!”

I was just so happy someone was acknowledging my presence, as I had been here for over a week and no one had done anything but spit in my direction. I could understand that. I am a little shocking to people no matter what hemisphere I am in, but only until you get to know me better.

“Is it a gun?” he questioned, hopefully rhetorically.

“No,” I smiled awkwardly, pointing at it. “It’s a whistle.” It's pretty obvious.

“Then it doesn’t count," the man shot back. "There are wolves and polar bears here. They will eat you.”

I felt that it was best not to bring up the fact that I live with a polar bear and am in the midst of filing for domestic partnership with the big lug. “Baby steps,” I kept mouthing to myself. “Baby steps.” Unfortunately, I also mouthed it to him.

“Whatever,” he said. “You’ve been warned.” I interpreted this to mean he did not want me to die, which I considered reassuring. I also realized that Sherman has probably faced far more oppression than I have from those around him. My family may not understand my choices in life, but they don’t carry armed weapons with the desire to shoot me either. I was preparing to go home and remind him how fond I am of him when I stumbled into the co-op.

This is always a bit of an adventure, as the woman who runs the shop refers to me as “Bubbles” who I believe is a character from the Trailer Park Boys. However, this is a more enviable name than “Small Head, Big Gloves” which is what I have been referred to by my students ever since I waltzed outside in my parka and mittens with the first sighting of snow.

“How was your first movie night, Bubbles?” the woman asks.

“Oh, you know, movie nights definitely have their ups and downs, but it is all part of the adventure,” I say.

What I meant by this is that on the first movie night, Elvira thought she would treat the children to the comedy classic Police Academy. They seemed highly entertained for approximately 73 minutes, which is, understandably, all anyone can take of Steve Gutenberg. I could rationalize their getting a little restless with the lack of a script at this point, but, I was not expecting them to turn into the gremlins if you let them have pizza after dark. By this, I mean, they went fucking nuts.

Not only did they fly out of the gym, but they unlocked all three doors to the school and managed to evade my every attempt at getting them out and home. Had it just been me they were ignoring, I would have appreciated that. I ignore me most of the time too, but this was Elvira—Mistress of the North, and I felt she deserved better. She certainly did not deserve to be bitten. This is exactly what she got—twice. She also got peed on.

Instead of bringing this up with my new friend at the co-op, I thought I would ease into another question I had. “There appear to be bits of something, as in skeleton bones, scattered around my backyard,” I begin, hesitantly. “Do you know what it might be?”

“Caribou,” she said, matter-of-factly.

“This is the fucking savage land,” I think to myself. Obviously it is not. It just takes some getting used to. The same way I take getting used to. I really have to remember that. And I am the anomaly here. No one else is ridiculously living with a polar bear in the north. Nor are they vegetarians in a place where there are no vegetable, nor viable lands. Yes, I am the ridiculous one here. But heck, it's always more fun to be the one left of center. Being me is kind of like living in the middle of Carnival of the Damned sometimes.

As I listen to my new friend continue on about how she can't wait for "country food" which is obviously all of my favourite things to eat (i.e. caribou, seal and whale) I begin to realize how easy it is to not notice the tiny sacrifices the people around you make every day. For instance, both Sherman and Miss Richard Hatch love meat and wouldn’t be able to get enough of any of those things. Yet, they have been living on a legume-based diet for me for months now, and so it is my turn to appreciate the needs of others. This is when I realize I have totally lost track of the conversation and snap back to reality.

“Well, we aren't all living in a grand metropolis with a co-op AND a post-office I told her” the woman finishes.

“You can say that again sister!” I roar, trying to overcompensate for ignoring the last eight minutes of her story.

“I am actually jealous of those places,” she continues. “Since having a separate post-office would mean staffing a post-office. Ours opens randomly but most often at the hours of 10am and 3pm for an undisclosed number of minutes. It is such a pain because I have things to mail.”

“You can say that again sister!” I repeat, as I walk out the door in a daze.

“Good luck with your classes tomorrow!” she hollers after me. “Today, one of your more dynamic students told me you aren’t boring anymore.

“I consider that up there with getting into law school on my major achievements list!” I proclaim. “I also consider myself to have more aboriginal blood in me than my Mohawk father, as a result of last week’s bite.”