Schoolville: Chapter Six
“Last night I held Aladdin’s lamp, and so I wished that I could stay.
Before the thing could answer me well someone took the lamp away.
I looked around, a lousy candle was all I found.” –Steppenwolf (Magic Carpet Ride)
I spent the third precious preparation day washing mold off desks. I had almost finished them when a fat man with a broom mustache walked into my room. I assumed that he was another teacher. He was followed a moment later by three others in custodian’s uniforms. They were mumbling unhappily and pointing at the floor. He rapidly swept his right hand over his balding pate, and, in so doing, flipped his thirty or so very long hairs back over the top of his head, making himself look twenty years younger — or so he hoped.
He shifted his weight quickly from one stubby little leg to the other, as he uselessly pulled his pants up to his huge belly, attempting to embed the waist band into his love handles, only to have them drop as soon as he let out his breath.
“Oh, I see that you started to move my stuff out. Perhaps you could’ve asked first?” He said.
“Sorry, I was told to put my room in order, and no one told me that these things were yours.”
“Uh…huh!” he grunted as he fixed a very cool stare on me. Then the custodians began to carry out the desks.
“Wait a minute…why are you taking my desks?”
“Cuz they’re mine,” he replied blandly in a bored tone of voice.
“What will I do for desks?” This was all a bit too much. My anxiety level rose yet again and the room begin to spin slowly to the right.
“Don’t know…” He shrugged as he mumbled back. “You’ll have to find your own desks.”
I quickly caught the smirks that the custodians exchanged with one another. They were really enjoying this. As the scratches on the floor darted through my mind, the teacher left and the custodians began carrying the desks out into the hallway, being careful not to scratch the floor.
“I wasn’t that impressed by the desks anyway,” B.D. mumbled. “Did you see all of those gum wads on the bottoms of the desks? They had to be twenty years old, at least!”
I agreed with B.D, but I was still ticked-off about losing those desks I had just washed. Thinking that there might be better desks somewhere, I decided to walk down to the office to ask Mary, the secretary, for a little help.
“What a wuus!” B.D. sneered. “Haven’t I taught you anything?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not just going to slink away and let these dumb-asses hold the field, are you?”
I stood still for a moment, considering things. “True enough, B.D.” I stopped just outside the doorway and looked to be sure that the other teacher had left. He had. After one of the custodians walked by, carrying a desk, I waited for a moment and then turned to the other two custodians and whined.
“You’re not going to take my sofa out of here, are you?”
“Oh, jesssir! It’s part of the furniture!”
“Well, he did say he wanted it, but I sure could use it.”
They smirked at each other again. I tried to look defeated as I slunk back out my classroom door. As I glanced over at the wobbly teacher’s desk, a sudden inspiration drifted through my mind.
“Well, what about that desk?” I pointed to the three-legged teacher’s desk in the corner.
“Yup, that too! He said to take it all!”
I couldn’t believe my luck. “God, I’m good!” I congratulated myself on my way out of the room. I couldn’t help but smile at how easy it was becoming to predict the troglodytes.
* * *
Mary was diligently working on one of several piles of forms and papers on her desk outside of the principal’s office. As I approached, she looked up and smiled.
B.D. chimed in. “Well, looky here! An honest-to-God smile! What do you suppose is wrong with her?”
“Shut up, B.D, I like her!” I smiled at Mary and said, “Mary, I don’t have any desks in my room any more.”
“Since when?”
“Since right now. They’re taking them out as we speak.”
“Who is?”
“Well, a teacher and three custodians.”
“OH, was he…ummm…” she pensively searched for a word, not finding it.
“…Overweight and unfriendly?” I added helpfully.
She smiled and nodded.
“Yep, that’s him,” I smiled back.
“That would be Bill Crane, the twelfth grade English teacher. He never shows up for school until the first day of school. I can’t believe he’s here already. Must’ve gotten wind about your desks.”
“What in hell is so special about my desks?”
“You’ll see,” she shrugged regretfully. I didn’t know what to do with that information, but it didn’t sound good.
“What do I do for desks?”
“Oh yeah, that!” She was trying hard not to laugh. “You want those too, huh?”
“Only if we want to have a place for the students to sit …” I tried not to sound ironic. “Oh, and I need a teacher’s desk too.”
“Well, you’re in luck on that one! We just got a new one.”
She smiled and looked into her file drawer. After rummaging around for a while, she triumphantly pulled out a form. “Fill out this request and put it in the head custodian’s box. He will have the student desks sent up.”
“Do I put the teacher desk on here too?” I asked.
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“No! Don’t do that! One of the senior teachers will grab it if we go through channels. I’ll just have it sent up tomorrow morning, first thing!”
“Well,” B.D. said, relaxing a bit, “perhaps you’re right. She certainly seems to be special, doesn’t she?”
I had to admit that I was beginning to feel a measure of sanity again, when suddenly a voice screeched behind me, making me jump. “You waited until rather late, didn’t you Mr. Kyle?” The cutting sarcasm of the voice could only be one person.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Getty, I’m not following you.” I smiled back, not knowing what else to do.
“You should’ve requested those desks before 5 P.M!” She sneered.
I shrugged. “I didn’t know that I had to request desks. Don’t your classrooms come with desks?”
She struggled speechlessly with the apparent stupidity of my question. “Yes, but you can’t expect the newer desks. Newer teachers have to take the older desks. You should’ve known that, being from the ‘real world’ and all that.”
As I wondered what her answer had to do with my question, I felt certain that no one could be as incompetent as she was acting. It crossed my mind that this might be some sort of elaborate joke that they pulled on new teachers, but I was also beginning to lose my composure.
“More like a sorority initiation!” B.D. quipped.
I ignored him and spoke to Sara Getty. “But I can expect to have desks, right? I mean, I’m from the ‘real world,’ as you put it, and we did have those out there. I’m not going to have to get little cushions so my students can sit on the floor, am I?” My anger was beginning to rise. “If so, perhaps I could find little begging bowls for them to use in the lunch room too, just like Ghandi…” My voice trailed off as her shoulders rose about two inches, signaling a storm of righteous indignation was about to break.
“Sarcasm is very unprofessional!” she hurled.
“Does that include your sarcasm?” I had hit the end of my patience, something I don’t have oodles of. Then I felt regret. I looked at her more closely. She’s got to be pulling my leg. She’s gonna smile in a minute and show me that she’s just joking. This can’t be real. I thought to myself.
“Oh no, she’s not joking,” B.D. jumped in.
“She’s gotta be! No one is that stupid.” I snapped back. “In twenty years of the ‘real world’, I have never been shown to an office, and then been told to go buy a light, or a chair, or go beg for a desk! This is truly stupid. This is beyond stupid. It has to be a joke!”
B.D.’s reply was equally quick. “When have you ever gone to work in an office where you had to wash the mold off of the walls before you could move in?”
“Never. OSHA would have closed them down!” I snapped at B.D.
Horton, who had suddenly appeared, coolly observed. “Yet this place remains open and unperturbed.” I looked at her in surprise. She actually had something useful to contribute during a crisis.
B.D. began screaming at Sara Getty. “And, that is the real world, you syphilitic, stupid bitch!” I was working hard to remain silent as B.D. ranted at her.
I took a deep breath. “Apparently public schools don’t have to meet the minimum requirements that the rest of us have to live by.”
“Perhaps she isn’t the stupid one?” B.D. raved on.
“What’re you getting at?” I squinted over at him.
“Oh, I think you know,” B.D. flung back at me. “I told you teaching was a bad idea!”
I was aghast by the whole scene. “This is amazing! No parents would ever allow their kids to spend eight hours a day in this filth and mismanagement, not if they knew about this! How can this be happening?” I shook my head in disbelief.
“You tell me, Sherlock.” B.D. was regaining his composure.
“Maybe you’re right, maybe I am the stupid one; stupid for taking this job!”
“What the hell have I been saying all along?” He asked again.
Suddenly I realized that neither Sara Getty nor I had spoken for several minutes, and that it was getting distinctly quiet as the room began to drift round in circles to the right. The vertigo had finally showed up, and, frankly, I had been wondering why it hadn’t showed up before now. Meniere’s disease does have one virtue. In a way, it is a gift. It reminds me not to stress out. This, no doubt, keeps my blood pressure from spiking too high too.
I watched Mrs. Getty slowly drifting with the room. Her face shifted to a sneer as she began to bark at me. “You really think you’re something, don’t you? You think that because you’re a man, the rules don’t apply to you, don’t you? You think you’re doing us a favor by gracing us with your presence, don’t you? You think that by slumming with us, you’re really special?” The sarcasm was dripping from her lips.
At first I could only gaze at her, speechless with shock. Finally I managed to stammer, “What was that you said about sarcasm?”
She planted her fists on her hips and stamped her foot again — honest to God. Then she thrust her face out and scowled at me like an angry chicken. I was too surprised to laugh, but I could feel it bubbling up.
“I don’t think I’m following you, Mrs. Getty,” I said, even though I was following her perfectly well. The room began spinning faster. Just relax and breathe, I told myself slowly; in through the nose, out through the mouth. Follow your breath.
“All of the other new teachers know the ropes, why don’t you?” She snapped.
“No one ever told me.”
“Did you ever ask?” She demanded.
“How would I know to ask for desks? When I looked in my room they were already there! Should I ask if you’re going to take out the light fixtures so I can ask for those too?”
“The other new teachers aren’t down here asking for desks.” She sneered.
“No, they’re science teachers; they have tables that are bolted to the floors of the science labs!”
Shaking her head she turned and walked away. Turning back to the secretary, I silently took the form she was proffering.
“Thanks, Mary.”
“Well,” Mary said quietly, “it’s time for me to go home.” I glanced at the digital clock on the wall. It showed 6:23 A.M. “That can’t be right!” I motioned toward it.
“Oh, it isn’t!” She looked at her watch. “It’s on one of those old computers and hasn’t been right in years, but no one knows how to fix it.”
“So, why don’t they unplug it?”
“Can’t! It runs the bell system.” She was pulling her purse out from under her desk. “The real time is about 5:30.”
I wondered how a clock that was so far off could run the bells, which ran the school, but apparently Mrs. Getty had worked that procedure out too.
“I think you’d better clear out too…” Mary was jingling her car keys.
“Yeah, as soon as I get this desk request in the head custodian’s box.” I exhaled.
