02-17-2016, 08:16 PM
Another day. Another moment where she wished she was still Special Forces instead of some backwater gym teacher. Trixie Dragmire, wife to the Vice Principal, unlocked her office and placed her duffle bag on the folding char in front of her desk. The gym was state of the art with everything she could need to whip those young idiots into shape, but her office was stocked with what looked like hand-me down office supplies and back room furniture. With a tug she removed her jacket and hung it on the peg she had installed behind her door. Taking a stick of gum from her desk drawer she popped it into her mouth. The first day of school was the worst. She couldn't drive the "children" to exhaustion, because they needed to be introduced and organized into proper groups. It was pathetic. Trixie took a scrunchie from her duffel bag and pulled her hair into a pony tail before grabbing her fingerless gloves and making for the front of the school. It was her job to make sure no fights broke out as the students came in off the buses.
Pathetic.
Pathetic.



![[Image: trixiesig2018.png]](http://www.cytokineindustries.com/chevereto/images/2018/06/12/trixiesig2018.png)