"The paranoid aliens are hungry!"
Fear gripped the gathered cabinet members at this declaration by a pale faced intern. The giant flying saucer that had landed on the lawn, interrupting President Bill's latest speech to the consternation of a dozen aides, had disgorged floating aliens of the worst sort. They simply could not be bribed to go away until the midterm election season was over.
"Well what on this green Earth do those tentacled critters want to eat?" demanded Secretary Cohen.
"Not people," the intern assured them as he held out a sheaf of printout, uncertain who he should offer it to.
"Give it here," Secretary Espy growled. "This is a job for the Department of Agriculture! Let's see. Proteins, simple carbs, complex carbs." The man hummed for a moment and then looked up gravely at his fellow cabinet members. "Gentlemen," he said gravely, "we need a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich!"
"But they are paranoid," Secretary Cohen objected. "They will want to gather the ingredients themselves."
"We will have to provide instructions simple enough for a child to follow and through enough to get the information across," Espy speculated.
The Secretary of Education raised his hand and waited to be called on. When he was recognized Riley spoke up. "I have just the man," he stated gravely. "Let me make a call."
Four thousand miles away a phone rang in a little one-room schoolhouse. A balding man in slacks and a button up shirt adjusted his glasses and picked up the phone on his desk.
"Tom, go help Susy with her multiplication tables," he instructed the eighth grader working over the algebra problem beside him.
Tom nodded and left. Mr. Teacher picked up the phone.
"Farming Valley School, Mr. Teacher Speaking," he began politely. "Oh, Riley! What can I do for you? Oh...I se. Yes. Of course. I will have it by lunch time."
He set the phone down and stood up, immediately the soft murmur of studying ceased and twenty attentive faces looked up at him.
"Today," Mr. Teacher said with no more than his usual calmness. "We are each going to write instructions for making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for aliens. We will start with shopping. Make no assumptions about the what the aliens know. Put your math away and get out a pencil and paper. Now begin."
Twenty perplexed students glanced at each other but shrugged and obeyed.
This is honestly the best explanation I have ever been able to come up with for that particular third grade assignment. A little something for #NationalSandwichDay .
Fear gripped the gathered cabinet members at this declaration by a pale faced intern. The giant flying saucer that had landed on the lawn, interrupting President Bill's latest speech to the consternation of a dozen aides, had disgorged floating aliens of the worst sort. They simply could not be bribed to go away until the midterm election season was over.
"Well what on this green Earth do those tentacled critters want to eat?" demanded Secretary Cohen.
"Not people," the intern assured them as he held out a sheaf of printout, uncertain who he should offer it to.
"Give it here," Secretary Espy growled. "This is a job for the Department of Agriculture! Let's see. Proteins, simple carbs, complex carbs." The man hummed for a moment and then looked up gravely at his fellow cabinet members. "Gentlemen," he said gravely, "we need a peanutbutter and jelly sandwich!"
"But they are paranoid," Secretary Cohen objected. "They will want to gather the ingredients themselves."
"We will have to provide instructions simple enough for a child to follow and through enough to get the information across," Espy speculated.
The Secretary of Education raised his hand and waited to be called on. When he was recognized Riley spoke up. "I have just the man," he stated gravely. "Let me make a call."
Four thousand miles away a phone rang in a little one-room schoolhouse. A balding man in slacks and a button up shirt adjusted his glasses and picked up the phone on his desk.
"Tom, go help Susy with her multiplication tables," he instructed the eighth grader working over the algebra problem beside him.
Tom nodded and left. Mr. Teacher picked up the phone.
"Farming Valley School, Mr. Teacher Speaking," he began politely. "Oh, Riley! What can I do for you? Oh...I se. Yes. Of course. I will have it by lunch time."
He set the phone down and stood up, immediately the soft murmur of studying ceased and twenty attentive faces looked up at him.
"Today," Mr. Teacher said with no more than his usual calmness. "We are each going to write instructions for making a peanut butter and jelly sandwich for aliens. We will start with shopping. Make no assumptions about the what the aliens know. Put your math away and get out a pencil and paper. Now begin."
Twenty perplexed students glanced at each other but shrugged and obeyed.
This is honestly the best explanation I have ever been able to come up with for that particular third grade assignment. A little something for #NationalSandwichDay .
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