Fiction, Reason for Leaving #10: Lock Down North, A Play

               

            

    The setting is an urban high school, intended to be anywhere. The names of the high schools mentioned at the end were events that were reported nation wide.

   The characters are three teachers in the lang arts department office and the voice of the principal. Ages are not really too relevant, but FRESHMAN is younger. Sexual identity is also irrelevant, even though statistically we have more female than male teachers. They do not have names for a reason, they are identified by what they teach, furthering the thesis that this could happen anywhere.

    CHARACTERS

    SHAKESPEARE Language Arts Department chair. Near retirement, but likes teaching in a "diverse" school and thrives on the aggravation it begets. They do not teach a Shakespeare class, but teach Shakespeare in all of their classes, just because they want to. 

    SPEECH AND DEBATE New to the building last year during Covid, has yet to experience the "behavior challenges" that plague most city schools. Spend 15 Years at a well known school  after it reopened, left for a diverse school environment after students brought bees into the classroom to be "funny". One of the students had a deadly allergy, was not stung, but admin did nothing to reprimand the student who brought live bees into a high school. After 15 years of tolerating white entitlement, this incident was the final breaking point for this teacher, who opted out of the district.

  FRESHMAN COMP AND LIT Graduated in December of 2020 with their teaching credentials. They  spent the spring of '21 subbing in this building before getting hired in March of 2020 for the fall of 21. This person is not white. They almost dropped out of the education program twice due to anxiety issues, and changed content majors three times, resulting in a double major in Lit and History with a minor in Psychology, which resulted in more classes and a "late" graduation date. They have come to realize they love learning, but are not sure about teaching. 

        PRINCIPAL'S VOICE This principal has just been through a year of Covid Hell and was excited to have students return when they had to immediately call a lockdown protocol. They may sound exasperated, they may sound neutral, but they are not breathless or panicky. They are not new at this. 

     Scene

   
   Three educators are seated in an office, with two desks, a couch, a microwave, a refrigerator. This was a place that looked more lived in before Covid, but has been unpacked, sanitized and barely moved back into by August of 2021.

    ( SQ Principal's voice: " We are implementing a lockdown protocol, please see the charts in your classrooms to familiarize yourselves with Code Orange. If you are already in a classroom, Please remain there. Students, if you are in the hall, please move quickly to a classroom near by. If you are upstairs, please go to the cafeteria. Teachers, if you are in the halls, please assist students who need direction. This is a code orange. If you have an exterior window please pull your blinds. If you are in your classroom, please check the hall for students before locking your door. I'll be back on with an update later. Be safe.

                                                            S&D

              Really? (looks at Freshman) on your first day?  It's 7 am, school hasn't even started yet. Are there kids in the building?

                                                    SHAKESPEARE

                    Swimmers, mostly. Some newspaper and yearbook kids. Us. 

                                                        FRESHMAN

                                                Does this happen a lot?

                                                    SHEAKESPEARE

                                                      What's today?

                                                            S&D

                                                         Tuesday.

                                                   SHAKESPEARE

 Somebody's not paying attention, today is not Bring Your Gun To School Day, that's Thursday. Tuesday is Shank a Friend. (They laugh). Freshman, your question requires more information. What do you mean by "A Lot?"

                                                    FRESHMAN

                                                        What?

                                                 SHAKESPEARE

    How frequently is "a lot" in your mind? Once a week? Twice a day?  

                                                        FRESHMAN

                                I don't know...once a week? is that a lot?

                                                SHAKESPEARE

            That's cute. Once a week is normal. A lot would be three or four times a day. (pause) I'm mostly kidding. These kids bring guns every day, they just don't always get caught.

                                                        S&D 

    We had drills in my previous building The only time it was 'real'-well, after the one incident- was if someone robbed the bank on the corner, or a kid at the Alt School took a gun from home and was walking to school with it.

                                                    SHAKESPEARE

   We usually don't go on lockdown. The kids put the guns in their pants with their shirt open, security sees them before the get to the door. One kid shoved his  uncle's gun so far down his pants, he tripped on it coming out of his pant leg while walking across the parking lot. Hilarious.

                                                    FRESHMAN

                                        What district were you in?

                                                        S&D 

      White Entitlement In The Suburbs. Our kids opened fire with out any warning. 

                                                SHAKESPEARE

      You're safer here, nobody actually uses their gun. They bring it to show their friends.

                                                FRESHMAN

   We had lockdown drill training in the district I did my student teaching. They never had a real lockdown, they said, but they did drills twice a semester.

                                                    S&D 

                         During Covid? Are you kidding me?

                                                FRESHMAN

                                            No, no I am not.

                                                    S&D

                       Shakespeare, do I need to actually walk over to my room to let kids in?

                                                SHAKESPEARE

    No, your door is locked. Even if a kid was here, they know that and wouldn't try to get in. The ones who are here will go to counseling and clog up the lobby there. They never go to the cafeteria, I don't know why they always tells them to do that. They never go. The performing arts kids all go to the theatre, nobody actually goes where they're told. If we had a real emergency it'd be a mess.

                                                 FRESHMAN

       So if this was real, we'd have to close the blinds and leave the door unlocked?

                                                SHAKESPEARE

    This is real, it's just not an emergency. Class just hasn't started yet. You're in the office, not the classroom. (nodding at S&D) Speech and Debate, What'd y'all do for yours back in the 'burbs?

                                                    S&D

   We were supposed to have an automated system with a pre recorded voice calmly instructing us as to what we should do. But the two times they tried it, the alarm went off but the voice did not work, so the principal got on the intercom and read the instructions. The second time it was real, we went on lockdown when the April 2019 shooting happened, even though it was miles away.  The kids were great, calm and on their phones looking up the story as it unfolded. I played BALLZ and waited for it to be lifted.

                                                FRESHMAN

 That was horrible, I was up at school when it happened. A lot of my cohorts changed their degree                             programs from teaching to anything else after that.

                                                SHAKESPEARE

  We are too far north for it to have mattered here.  (pause)  So, Freshman Lit, first day, first year teaching! How're your rosters?

                                                FRESHMAN

                    When do they stop adding and dropping students? 

                                                SHAKESPEARE

                      When you retire. Next question. (Shakes and S&D Laugh loudly)

                                                FRESHMAN

                     Does class start late today since there is a lockdown before the bell?

                                                SHAKESPEARE

   The principal will make an announcement. Probably we'll start ten minutes late, it depends on whether the kid was caught inside or outside the building. Takes longer if they got in.

                                                    S&D

                  About that, you guys don't have metal detectors do you? I didn't see any.

                                                    SHAKESPEARE

          Nope. We're on the "Eyeball System". Usually security will see it before the kid gets in                             the building.

                                                        S&D

                                          I guess that works....

                                                    SHAKESPEAR

 It must. I've been here 20 years, we've never had a shooting. We've had stabbings and a few all out gang fights, but that's it. (noting Freshman's face) Stop with the eyes Newbie. You're fine. You can't go to class with that terrified expression on your face, the kids will eat you alive. We have bigger issues here, like getting kids to come to the building in the first place, and then getting them to come to class in the second place and to stay in class in the third place, if they show up in the first place. Never mind the district's screaming about the Achievement Gap and College Readiness.(Shakes and S&D again laugh too loudly, years of experience and administrative rhetoric recall finding its way out of their systems.)

                                                        FRESHMAN

                                                            I'm lost.

                                                            S&D 

                                              You won't be by May. 

                                                        SHAKESPEARE

             Come talk to me before you implement any Tier of  Intervention, or classroom rules.

                                                        FRESHMAN

                 They used that at the middle school I student taught at. They said it worked really well.

                                                            S&D

                                          That was out south, right?

                                                       SHAKESPEARE

                                        You ain't in Kansas any more.

                                                        FRESHMAN

 To be fair I finished my student teaching and graduated during Covid. Nothing was normal, everyone was home.

                                                            S&D

                        But in the 'burbs, y'all were mostly in person, right? 

                                                        FRESHMAN

                        In quarantine a lot, somehow every time there was an outbreak I was exposed.

                                                        SHAKESPEARE

   Nobody knows how this is going to to. We were remote all year, pretty much.  The kids who cause trouble didn't log in, it was very different. I'm shocked a kid tried to bring a gun this morning, honestly, I'd think they would return on their best behavior.

        (Principal's voice on intercom: Thank you for your safe behavior. We have lifted the lockdown. Teachers, you may return to your classrooms, or open your blinds if you are already there. Students, thank you for your quick response. Please continue to your first period. School will begin on time.)

                                                                S&D

                                             Allrighty then. See you at lunch?

                                                       SHAKESPEARE

        I'll come join you in your room. (Looking at Freshman) You are welcome to join us. I'd like to get to know you a bit better.

                     S&D and SHAKESPEARE stand to leave. Freshman remains seated.

                     S&D and Shakespeare say good bye, sound of door closing behind them.

                                                     FRESHMAN

        I should get up and go to my classroom. I need to stand up and walk to class. Today is my first day. Get up. Stand up, and walk to class.  I got this. Here I go... (does not move)

                                                    Door opens.    

                                                        S&D

                                               Are you coming?

                                                    FRESHMAN

                                                      I can't move. 

                                                        S&D    

                           Can you turn your head to me? (does) Lift your finger? (does) Breathe (does)

                                 You aren't in a building where kids shoot teachers.  Repeat that.

                                                    FRESHMAN

                            I'm not in a building where kids shoot teachers.

                                                        S&D

           Look at me. I did fifteen years at a school that reopened after a shooting. Columbine reopened. Granite Hills High School reopened. Santana High School. Arapahoe reopened.  Campbell County High School. Pine Middle School. The STEM school reopened. I have the list memorized. People work there. Guess what else I found out after getting hired here? Ten years ago a teacher got caught in the crossfire of a gang "disagreement" and was killed. It wasn't this building, but it was this district, and kids from this building were involved. You get up and go to work and you believe that you are not in a building where kids open fire, otherwise you won't get up.  (pause) Both of our rooms have huge windows, you can see the front of the school. That helps. 

                                                        FRESHMAN

      I believe I am not in a building where kids open fire. I believe I am not in a building where kids kill teachers. I believe I am in a safe building. I believe I am safe. I believe.

                                                               S&D

              Good job. Put it to music and you could be in Book of Mormon. Can you stand up?(does). One foot in front of the other. Just one. Good. Now the other. Great. (Singing I BELIEVE from Book of Mormon)     I beeeeelieeeeeeeeveeeeee-----

                                                    FRESHMAN

                        Will you walk with me to my classroom?

                                                            S&D 

                                Only if you sing along. I beliiiiieeeeeeeeve

                                        Door closes behind them.

                                                Scene.

First Day Of School (ONST radio) #1

 

    I was hired  as a teacher19 years ago  in a way that seems very 1950's. I printed my application out from my desk top, folded it with my resume into an envelope, and mailed it. With  a stamp. 

    I know.

    I had been subbing for about a year at that time and was feeling salty after being rejected from a full time sub position because I did not have my teaching license. How stupid, that's what the sub license if for, right? UGH. I also got attitude from the junior high feeder (I worked in my neighborhood since the girls were small) when I asked if I could lend a hand with their choir/theatre productions. On no uncertain terms, the governing teacher informed me that if I wanted to teach theatre, I should get my license.

    OK.

   I had a B.A in theatre with a minor in English, but no real teaching experience outside of subbing. I had some great stories, but nothing to put on an application. I chatted up other teachers and discovered that Metro had a 'TIR' program, which stands for Teacher in Residence. I had been calling around, trying to figure out how to get my license without giving up another two years to more college and was thrilled that this existed. The only snag was that I had to get hired by a school first, before enrolling.

   Second snag: None of the website applications worked if you did not have a teaching license number to enter.

   The idea of entering every phase of my life through a side door was not new, so nobody was surprised that this was how I had to get a teaching job. It furthered my reputation as "scrappy" when I had to print the application at home, fill it out with a Bic pen, and mail it in. Equally shocking was when the AP called me for an interview. 

    Over the years, I've seen the committees that hire new teachers. No committee was created for my interview. I had no idea that was abnormal, as the only interview I had been on--which had been a committee of lang arts teachers who hated me because I didn't have a license---was not a "real" interview in my mind. I sat in the AP's office with the current theatre teacher, and watched them talk to each other. They asked me two questions that I remember: Could I teach tech (I lied and said yes), and what musical would I like to direct? That was it. The rest of my "interview" was watching them tell stories to each other. It was my first experience with anything resembling a "Boy's Club", and I did not like it at all. The teacher-not the AP- called later to ask if I'd like to start driving to Littleton. The job was part time, exactly what I needed, and he said they needed me to come meet the principal  "as a formality". Now I know that is NOT NORMAL.

    When I came in the next day to meet the principal, I found an older man in a full suit with his wing tips on the desk, regarding me with as much interest as a sated lion looking at a mouse. He barely stayed conscious and had no real questions, just statements. "So, you're the new theatre teacher." Then the phone rang and he didn't excuse himself to answer it. He just picked it up, listened, hung up and said "So, you have a minor in English?" I nodded. "You want to be full time and teach lang arts half time with half time theatre?"

    That was it.

    So my first day in the building, I knew exactly no one except the theatre teacher. For some reason, the door to the theatre class room was locked and after several unsuccessful tries I wandered around the building, looking for someone to tell me what to do. I was sharing a lang arts classroom, so there was no need to set up. I was given a cubicle in which I sat sadly, like the lonely lunch kid, listening to conversations around me. At some point, I said "This is ridiculous, I'm an adult. I'm opening that damn door" and got up to march to the theatre. On my way, a teacher named Greg Kline, who I had never seen before in my life, was walking towards me. I managed a smile through my panic attack, and he lifted his middle finger to his eye. "Look into my eye," I heard Sarge say to Hudson in my head and started to cry.  I picked up the pace to the theatre, and when I arrived at the door, decided I would break it down if I had to. I wrestled the doorknob loudly, in a full panic, when it was torn open from the other side. The theatre teacher was standing there, beaming like Santa Claus. "I thought that might be you, where've you been?

    "It's locked, the door was locked I don't have a key."

    "It sticks, you just have to jiggle it. Come in, I've been waiting for you."

    I entered what would become my second home, for the first time. I took a deep breath, looked around the black cement walls with shows painted on them, and immediately calmed down. It was like flipping a switch. The panic disappeared as quickly as it had pounced. I honestly had never felt so calm in my life.

    Oh, and that bastard Greg Kline? We ended up being friends, forever sending students to one another's classrooms to insist the other smelled, and calling each another "Satan". To this day he only laughs when I tell the story of my first day, because he has no memory of seeing me.  I leave quite an impression on people.

That One Time I Was In Rocky Horror But Almost Was Not In Rocky Horror

       As hard as I try to get off the memory train, every time I sit down at the keyboard, the train chugs to life and the whistle and steam and sound of the rails is too much. I can't think over the memories. 

    So today's jaunt is back to Planet Houston in 1990. I was a wildly unsuccessful acting student at UH, getting cast exactly never on the main stage, and instead celebrating my success as a writer and learning all I could about directing. I had pretty much given up auditioning at the age of 24, and figured I was too old, anyway. As an older student, there is a lot of baggage we carry around, particularly at a school that boasts a thriving dorm life. Added to my JC Penny baggage was the fact that my husband had moved back to Denver, and I had chosen to stay behind to study with José Quintero (Very Big Deal, go ahead and look him up: I'll wait). On the heels of the Albees in the spring, which I also did sans spouse and living with a grad student and her daughter, I was in a true "state". I had no idea if I was supposed to stay in Houston and finish my degree, or move back to Denver. I decided to move back to Denver but wanted to audition for Quintero's class, fully expecting to hear nothing at all back. When I walked backstage a few days after the audition, I walked right by the class list, I didn't even register it had been posted. A grad student seated on the couch looked up at me and said "HEY! Guess you're gonna stay now, huh?" That's how I found out I'd been accepted into the class. Long story short TOO LATE, it was during this class that I stumbled into The Rocky Horror Show.

    There were several students at UH who worked outside of school, both as actors in some of the smaller theatres, and tech at The Alley Theatre. I was just trying to stay sane. I had five classes, worked weekend days at the B. Dalton in Friendswood, and worked Friday and Sunday nights from midnight to eight am shelving books at the Book Stop. I was sick a lot, a never ending sore throat and  sinus infection combo that was likely due to stress and lack of sleep. I had no intention of acting in any shows, as clearly there was no time with my schedule, which was a convenient excuse and sounded better than "I can't get cast". As a theatre student, you're also working costumes or lights or something for the Main Stage shows. You live at the theatre, period.

   Sometime in August or September, I heard that one of my classmates had been cast as Janet in The Rocky Horror Show at Kuumba House theatre. I had seen a show there previously with many of my classmates in it, an original piece about racial relations, so I knew the space. I also knew it identified as a "Black Theatre", so I was confused when my white classmate was cast. It left my head as soon as I heard about it. She was something of an annoying braggart, and we had taken our "I Hate You Bitch" show to many cast parties, getting drunk and simultaneously yelling our perceived hateful faults at one another. Because...well, Theatre. Her name was Gina, and she grabbed me one day in the theatre lobby to ask if I'd come audition for RHS. I said no. I honestly had no idea there was a stage show, I thought It was just the movie and I'd already played the "Stand In Front Of The Screen" game in high school. No thanks. She clasped her hands and did her best to beg (she was not a very good actor). I said yes, as long as it meant she'd leave me alone and I didn't have to do anything difficult. I auditioned at the home of the director with a few other cast members in attendance. I sang and did not dance, he just asked if I could tap. I said 'Not really, no" and he nodded. Then I left. Buh bye. When he called to give me the role, I again stated my lack of dance skill, as he wanted me to be Columbia. He said it'd be fine. So I said I can't rehearse, ever, because I work two jobs with school. He said he'd work around it, and the gig was paid (remember that for later). He seemed desperate, which is usually how I get roles, so I sighed and said yes.

    The young man who was playing "Rocky" was at my "audition". He was in his twenties and as skinny as a rail. While I was singing with the music director, the director greeted another  man at the door who was clearly a bodybuilder.  By the second rehearsal I attended, the first young man had been busted down to ensemble, and the bodybuilder--whose name was Steve and would become my friend because he would swing dance with me--was now Rocky. I thought that was kinda shitty, and it made me a bit jumpy.

   We were weeks into rehearsals and standing outside the theatre when a young woman approached us. She had tap shoes slung around her neck and sheet music. She asked if this was Kuumba House, and of course it was. I looked at "Frank N Furter" (Scott) and he went pale. We were all white, by the way, all but Eddie, and the actor who had arrived was a person of color. So for him to go further white was impressive, as he clearly had information I did not. I watched her walk in the door and he said "She's auditioning to be your understudy." I shot back "Like Steve was what's his name's understudy?" He had been  behaving like the big brother I never wanted. He'd wanted to be Frank since he was in the eighth grade, and at 30 he was finally living his dream. He was battling HIV and the AZT made him sick occasionally, but that was not going to stop him. He had attached to me early on in rehearsals, and we just clicked. In short: I Loved Him.

     "Look," he said, towering over me (did I mention he was 6'3"?)you're a great Columbia. When you showed up at your audition I asked who that little white girl was, and made fun of you cause really, you're too skinny AND I thought we were looking for a person of color. Then you sang and I was like 'OK then, she's cast'. You're fine. They're just panicking because we're all white and they really wanted more people of color in the cast. But I guess they didn't audition. Everyone who showed up when I auditioned was white. They pulled Eddie out of the band." 

    "That makes me feel not better at all, thanks."

    I went through the next week of rehearsals expecting this other actor to show up and take my role. If you noted in my opening paragraph, I had quite enough stress in my life and this was not helping. I did not know the director well enough to ask, so I just lived in fear until opening night. My anxiety was heightened when it became clear that the director wanted  me to be "spooky", and I was not being "spooky". He would waggle his fingers  and go "OOOOOHHH, you know, spooky" with his thick British accent. I had no idea what that meant, as they show is mostly sexy and campy, and everyone else was doing sexy and campy, but he wanted Trixie/Columbia to be "spooky", at the same time choreographing and costuming me to look like Madonna down to grabbing my crotch. So I would grab myself and then waggle my fingers like he did and he thought I was mocking him, because he said "Never mind." I was clearly a panic casting choice, and I was not working out. I have no idea why I remained in the show.

   Directing and Producing Lessons

    I learned volumes about How Not To Direct and How Not To Produce A Show on this one production. The director wanted us to "loosen up", and held a Saturday afternoon rehearsal where alcohol was provided and he wanted everyone drunk. Scott did not waver on his heels, which made him skyscraper tall, but when Steve tried them on he face planted. Everyone was an idiot, and dangerous, and unprofessional except for me. I know, I know, but I've always been like that. Rehearsals are a job. You do not drink before them or a show, ever. So I had an opaque plastic cup with a straw that I insisted had "jungle juice" in it, so the director wouldn't harass me, and I made sure nobody actually fell off the stage or their heels or threw up. In my memory, the guy who played Brad was also either faking or only lightly partaking, and we sat in the house together watching everyone else. I seem to recall having to give Gina  ride home, getting her into her apartment and to bed.

    We also did not get paid, as our contracts stated that we would. That became clear by the second week of the run, and Scott had rolled his eyes like the true pro he was and said "Like any of us believed we would." I did. There had been a lot of juggling for me to make it work, but thankfully I kept both of my jobs. I would leave the show Friday night, get out of makeup and costume, grab a burrito at Taco Bell (that was my budget) and go to the Book Stop to shelve until 8 am. I was not relying on the pay, as a few others were, but it certainly would have been nice if they had followed through. 

   As Columbia, I was also "Trixie", who opened the show with "Science Fiction". This is done by Richard O'Brien's lips in the movie, but in the stage show it's a person. A person who had to do a preshow speech about being a live person, in fact we are all live people, so please don't throw shit at us. I got clocked in the thigh by a Jolly Rancher and had a bruise for a week.

    When producing a stage show that spawned a cult movie, don't. Just don't. People don't understand it's not the movie, and the rights are exorbitant. And do not host a fundraiser for your stage show by buying out the house of the movie and expect that to go well.

                   STORIES ABOUT THIS SHOW THAT I LIKE TO TELL

    As it is The Rocky Horror Show, everyone is in varying degrees of lingerie. The costumer was lovely and committed, she took everything home nightly to launder and had it on hangars by 4 pm the next day. One night, Scott could not find his underwear. His corset was there, and his fishnets, but not his drawers. Again, being the consummate pro, he did not panic. The show frankly does not go on without him. He dressed from the waist up, put on his makeup, and then sat in his dressing room with a cigarette, waiting for someone to fetch some unders. I stopped in to ask what was going on, and he flatly stated "Someone has pilfered my panties." To this day I can hear him, and see his impossibly long legs crossed in front of him, his lanky fingers holding a cigarette. Did I mention I loved  him?

    Scott, as previously stated, had wanted to play Frank since he "was in diapers". He had memorized the song "Sweet Transvestite" years ago. We had been out in the community to promote the show (because it was the stage show, not the movie, people needed a bit more information) and we always performed "Sweet T", as we came to call it. On opening weekend, Scott made his entrance for the number as usual, strutting through the audience and nailing every note and step. When Magenta and I joined him, he opened his mouth and sang, clear as a bell "I'm just a TWEE TWANS SEXBITE!" Without missing a beat, Magenta and I repeated the wrong words "TWEE TWANS SEXBIIIIIIIIITE, " and the show went on. At intermission, I ducked into his dressing room to see if he was OK, concerned he had suffered a stroke, and was greeted by a wall of ice. Apparently, the rest of the cast had already been by to congratulate him on his brilliant rewrite of the lyrics and he was quite done with all of us. To this day, when I watch the movie, I sing Scott's origina lyrics and laugh and remember how much fun that was and what a nightmare that show was but how much fun it was.

  ** I included a snap of one of the publicity shots. I look at it now with wonder and remember the director saying "Spooooky", and telling us to look like the Addams Family.

       "I never had friends later on like the ones I had when I was twelve. Jesus, does anyone?" ---Stephen King.

                                        Scene

An Airport Is A Safe Place To Melt Down

 

     I do not fly much. In fact, I fly so little that in 2008, when I had to fly twice in three months, I had to take the whole summer off to recover and didn't fly for another two years. It was not anxiety or anything like that I just didn't like not being home. There were no delays or issues at that time, it was just too much flying. I had taken 18 students to NYC in March, and then my sisters and I traveled to Chicago in June. We flew with the girls to California for Disneyland  (we did the road trip when they were smaller), I've gone to NY and Chicago a few times, Texas, Florida recently and of course the biggie, Dublin. That's really it. I honestly do not fly much at all. I'm a road tripper if I can make it happen. There is nothing more comforting than neon at 1 am and an open gas station--which post Covid, isn't happening so much any more. I had a lovely conversation with Joe, the man who fixes our garage door (because it is 30 years old and the cost to fix the doors will require taking a second out on the house), the other day. He is a lovely man in his late sixties, who believes the Russians hacked Southwest Airlines ( I was sharing my story with him), are behind the pipeline hack, and that unemployment pays too much and that's why his sister cannot staff her restaurant in California. He also believes after they're done with the airlines, the Russians will get wise and target truck stops, bringing all travel to a screeching halt. So much for my road trip idea. I guess we're all screwed. Do svidaniya.

    In movies and literature there are a gazillion examples of why airports are fabulous. You see reunions, people hugging and sobbing. You see departures, people hugging and sobbing. You see two year olds screaming that they do not want to go to there ("there" can be anywhere from the bathroom to their seat at the gate to Baltimore). You see older people struggling with those evil Skynet kiosks at check in, which the airlines finally figured out were evil and have now staffed a human to stand by. Frustrated humans move when their gate is changed and calmly clutch their ID and claim check when their baggage has been lost. How do you lose bags? Honestly, they have a tag with the CITY on them. To be honest, I believe we see a lot of People Holding It Together at an airport. The idea of being in public, in real public with so many strangers keeps most folks over age 6 in check. My favorite part is Hudson Books, who I've only seen at airports. I like to pretend they are the remainder of the great Dayton Hudson conglomerate for whom I worked for ten years. DH owned B. Dalton. Alas, it is not so, they are a different company. But do not bother me with your facts, I am an American and I like to believe what I want. Anyway, they keep their selection nice and small, and I love it. This last trip I picked up a new Stephen King, who is more than the literary equivalent of a Big Mac and fries, as he likes to proclaim. I've never been stressed out at an airport is my point. I buy a book and settle in for hours. That is off topic, but thanks for hanging in there.

    Which is why melting down in Chicago-twice-last week has me so baffled. I watched a two year old scream her head off in Orlando, she was not having any of any of it, and was transferred from mom to dad with no change in her screaming. When we got stuck in Chicago, it was this child that I thought of, and admired. An airport is not a restaurant, you aren't disturbing other diners with your hysteria. It's not on an airplane, where everyone is trapped in a metal tube with a Tasmanian devil. It's not a grocery store or a mall where everyone stares at the parent until they remove the child. Airports are different. Everyone there knows you cannot leave the scene or the pandemonium, but there is plenty of room for others to walk away. This child was trantruming like she was at home. "Dance like no one is watching" is what I thought of. Good for her. Nobody here cares, and her parents weren't trying to calm her down, just change her location. Which is why, when I started to melt down, I did not hold on like every functioning adult does in these situations. I just let go and started crying. Nobody said a word. A few people looked at me, but for the most part the Break Down Rules of the Airport held: they walked away.

    Everything has shifted since Covid. Even though I fly infrequently, I've always been a calm traveler. To be fair, I've never been delayed, which speaks to my novice. For 14 months I have been more flexible than a ferret in a twisty tube, stayed home when I was told, went into the building when I was told, taught theatre online and for the most part, relinquished control of most of my life. I thought I was doing OK with that, until the flights were "delayed", which meant "cancelled", and I was stuck in an airport with an unsympathetic airline. I just couldn't hold on another second. The final straw was a stupid flight. I am not that fragile, guys, this made no sense. At least it made no sense in the moment, when I started sobbing in terminal M so badly that it frightened my husband. It scared me too, but it was also a huge relief to lose my shit in public. I can't explain why, but it did. I felt like I could be the example that demonstrated how everyone was feeling, relieving them of their own anxiety, frustration, anger and need to scream or cry. I illustrated their inner selves. Unless they weren't upset or annoyed at all and have had a perfect year of no disruptions or do not care about all of the disruptions and lack of empathy coming off of the airline employees. I clearly did not do it for those people, for the mentally stable and healthy. They're fine. 

    I suppose mentally stable people lose their shit in the shower, or while bicycling the mountains or something ridiculously healthy. I chose the airport. I hope someone was helped by my exemplar, maybe I'm their new prototype. If I helped only one person with my Vesuvius demonstration, then it was worth it. 

   I say the same thing about teaching...if I reach just one kid...blah blah blah yappity yap.

   So I'm going to call this a Teaching Moment and move on.

            Scene

            

Thank You For Not Doing Better Southwest Airlines PART ONE

   ACT 1

    Last week, Jim and I visited Jim's cousin in Titusville. There is a lot to say about our trips to Florida, most of which we begin with "Florida man...." regardless of the tale, because we think we're hilarious. This blog is about the airline called Southwest, and how they have managed to fail at just about everything this week. My research is first hand, as I was one of the thousands of passengers stranded due to their vague "tech connectivity issue". There are no names to change to protect any innocence, as I'll never see any of these people again.  Also, I swore to focus on only the funny or the positive when I started writing again, but this experience will not be either. Snarky is the best I can do. 

   The first mistake I made, right out of the cannon, was letting anxiety drive the bus. When Jim and I awoke on Tuesday and realized the flight time had been written down wrong--by five hours---I said "I'm not hanging around here to wait. I'm ready to go." As background, you should know that:  A) I will flip out when travel plans are not scheduled to leave in the morning (flight, car trip, yoga class- all of it). I have a very specific anxiety that counts hours and notes that most flights get cancelled after noon, snow storms worsen in the afternoons, I need to get moving early, period. I've always credited this--before this adventure when I realized it was destructive anxiety, not  just a fun glitch in my personality--to being "farm people" who get everything done before dark. Whenever my cousins were in Denver for family reunions, we always went to Elitch's and we always, always arrived right when they opened because it always, always rained at 3 pm and we wanted to get as much fun crammed in as possible. So. There's that. B) My anxiety has increased exponentially the last few years. Most of you know why. C) I have control issues.

    So when Jim said the flight was written down wrong, I said "Change it, I'll drive to the airport". Instead of a non stop, which we had scheduled and I need (I also will not do layovers or flights that stop, that's another Fun Glitch In My Personality) we had no choice but to pay to switch to an earlier flight that had a stop in Chicago. I hated everything about the situation, but needed to at least be On My Way Home. This is what happens when anxiety drives the bus. I'm a delight. This is not problematic in most of my life, since I'm a parent and teacher, I'm used to breathing, becoming hyper focused and figuring out the right choice for the moment. But in this case, I'm not trying to get 18 kids home from NYC, or herded through opening night, or through a missed birthday party. It was just me managing me and it went horribly wrong.

   The first clue at the Orlando airport that something may be amiss besides my melting psyche, was the lack of a plane at our gate ten minutes before boarding time. At that moment, Tuesday 15 June, we had not checked the news reports. We did not know that the day before Southwest had begun to have "technical issues" with a "third party weather application" that had cancelled flights. I texted Harper and Genoa at home and said "I think there's a problem, we don't have a plane." We left Orlando late, but were headed to Chicago just fine. 

    We arrived in Chicago and the flight crew said "If Chicago is your final destination, please deplane and take your personal belongings. If Denver is your destination, please remain on the plane, we will count you before we take off again." So we waited, and everyone but us disembarked, and then the flight attendant said, this is word for word "The flight has been cancelled. Please get off the plane and go to gate M5 for information." That was some kinda bedside manner, huh? Confused, and believing that we needed to hurry to get on another flight, the 30 or so of us still on the plane ran down the concourse. We were met by stone faced clerks who simply put us on another flight, with no explanation as to why ours was cancelled. Zombie apocalypse? Mechanical issues? Nuclear warhead? It could have been anything. This is when I started to come apart. I started crying---not audibly, just tears streaming down my face---when she said "We can get you out of here tonight." TONIGHT?!?!??! WHAT???? What are you TALKING about? I'm supposed to be home in three hours, three hours, count them: three. My anxiety may be tied to control issues, hold please. "You don't have a gate yet, but here is your boarding pass." I looked at Jim and said "This isn't a real flight. What the hell is actually going on?"

    I calmed down enough to get on Facebook, which is a great ranting journal for me, I usually go back and delete stuff if it's insane, and a friend in Dallas attached a NYT article about the "technical connectivity issues" Southwest was having. 500 flights cancelled, 1500 delayed. Jim and I shook our heads. I guess we live in Chicago now. We wandered the airport looking at monitors, hoping our flight number would appear. I helped a family flying from Tuscany to Istanbul in finding their gate. Why are they at O'Hare? They weren't flying Southwest. This encounter still vexes me, and added to my panic. If international flights were being held up in Chicago, WTF was actually going on? We walked the entire concourse looking for a beer. Nothing was open, none of the gift shops and few of the sandwich shops and even if it was, they did not have beer. 

    Weirdly Southwest is in the International Flight concourse, which has not been updated since the 1980's. There are no outlets to plug in your cell phone, and one restaurant. The line was long, and we saw several of our fellow "Cancellarians" ( I made it up, it sounded funny) in line. We chatted them up as we waited for someone to vacate a table in the astonishingly small restaurant. Jim's logic--he's not wrong---was if he could get a beer in me, we might live through this. We made friends with a lovely mom of two boys, maybe 14 and 10, one a lovely deep red head, who seemed undaunted by any of the delays. They were booked on the 6.30 pm flight, that had been delayed almost immediately, but they had a gate #(7), which made their flight more "real", we met a couple who were booked on the Chicago to Denver leg of our flight and found out it was cancelled ten minutes before boarding via the app---they easily could have stayed at their hotel and waited it out if Southwest had been honest with them much earlier, and Bree and David, 25 year old besties returning from their Disney/Universal/Harry Potter vacation. We invited David and Bree to sit with us, since tables were scarce and it seemed rude to take up two tables. We sat with them for two and half hours as we waited for a gate number to be revealed somewhere. None of the monitors had our flight on it, and they couldn't find it on their apps. We finally received a gate number, M11, which was located next to the restaurant. We could see there were passengers in Burkas and very well dressed, and realized that the gate itself was for British Airways. The sign at M11 still had the Dubai departure information, and the station that a Southwest employee should man to help passengers was empty.

    The new, "imaginary" flight (I had a lot of jokes in my head about Wonder Woman's plane) was to board at 7:45 for an 8:15 departure. We left the restaurant at 6.30, by then we'd been in O'Hare for three and a half hours. We walked around the mostly closed concourse trying to locate an outlet to charge our phones. Bree had a battery powered charger that worked for a bit and then quit. We kept eying the gate, wondering when people who looked like us---haggard and stressed---would start arriving. Nobody showing up at this point looked like they'd been cancelled, which was another red flag. If nobody is waiting, the flight is not real. Jim and I walked to gate 7 to chat up our new friend, and she said they still didn't have a plane or any info other than they were delayed until 7.45. Still just as chill as iced tea, her family was just sitting calmly, reading and playing on their phones. I walked to gate 11 for the fifteenth time at 7 pm, and the monitor had changed to say DENVER. I looked at Mike and said "OK, we have a real gate. Maybe we'll get a plane." He and I had made a list of things that needed to happen before we relaxed. At 7.30 the gate began to fill up with more haggard looking folks like us, yet no Southwest employee ever emerged. We were all huddled around the three outlets when at 7:30, a guy we'd been talking to got a notice on his SW app that the flight was cancelled. There was still no SW employee at the gate, or any announcement. This is where anxiety turned to absolute hatred. I was no longer anxious about getting home, but angry that I was being lied to by the airline. There is no excuse for lack of communication my friends. Hire a stage manager.  What follows is a list of what we witnessed as word of the cancellation spread:

    A well dressed man approached me and asked if the flight was cancelled. I said "That's what we heard, but the site crashed so nobody knows." He looked over at his wife, who was clutching the hands of their two beautiful children, maybe five and seven, and she shook her head. The oldest of their daughters immediately broke and began quietly sobbing. If you weren't looking at her broken little face you wouldn't have known, but her big eyes were swimming with tears that then streamed down her face. Her younger sister was looing at her for some kind of reassurance, and finding none, clutched her stuffed "Sully" and stared into space.

    The couple who were just trying to get to Denver from Chicago were on the app when it crashed. They were pretty relaxed, having been at Lake Michigan all week and in no real hurry to get home, but annoyed that before the app crashed, they seemed to have been involuntarily rebooked to Baltimore.

    Bree curled into a ball and said "I'm over this shit, man, I Am Over It." Bree travels for her job, she continued to travel during Covid. This is unprecedented in her experience. She is an explosives expert with a neck tattoo. When this person curls into a ball it's hard to stay calm. Mike got up to walk the concourse.

     Another family, two parents and two teenage sons, looked wound up tightly. Jim watched as the older son ducked around a corner with his phone (we assume to check the cancellation) and returned with the news. The younger son said something teenagey and innocuous, like he was missing his gaming night, and his mom came unhinged. She immediately lit into him at large decibels about how he had nothing to complain about because he didn't have a job he needed to get to tomorrow. She was screaming. They were given a wide berth as the other travelers all cursed their phones and looked around for someone-anyone-wearing a Southwest uniform. Suddenly Bree was on her feet and Mike looked at us and said "GATE 7, go to gate 7". Like the zombies were headed right for us and gate 7 had a zombie proof steel door we could all hide behind,  or the eight legged freaks had breached the mall doors, and the mass exodus began. Three elderly women who were headed for gate 11 saw us moving out, and locked step with me asking if the flight was cancelled. I said "It appears so, we're going to Gate 7 for info." She put up her arms like a mall walker and said "We'll follow you then!"

     At gate 7 I saw our chillax friends, still seated at the gate, and looked at the time. By then it was 7.40 and they were clearly not boarding for a flight that still said "DEPARTING 7:45 PM" on the board. "What's up?" I asked from my place in the middle of the increasingly long line. "We don't have a pilot," she shrugged.  I shrugged back "We got cancelled, " and she shook her head "I hope you get home." I strained a smile back and said "You too."

     While in line at gate 7, the family with the two small girls started chatting with us a bit. They were originally booked on the Tuesday morning non stop to Denver from Orlando, and then Monday she said the app just "Switched us to this flight, with no explanation. There is a reason I don't want a stop flight with children. Why would they just assume I was OK with it?" I told her the couple we had met who had been at Lake Michigan received a notice a few minutes ago that they had been unknowingly booked on a flight to Baltimore, right before his app crashed. The mom said they'd been put on stand by on the gate 7 flight, then transferred to the cancelled gate 11 flight ten minutes before it was cancelled. The girls were inconsolable at this point, quietly sobbing and eyes wide. I admired how hard they were trying to hold it together, to not go full on screaming tantrum right there. She looked at her husband and said "I can't, will you please do whatever here, get us on a flight tomorrow. I've got to put these two to bed. I'm getting a hotel." All very leveled and reasonable, I recognized her state immediately. Every mom knows it. You shift into neutral where there are no emotions, and all you do is visualize the tunnel you need to travel to get your children settled, fed, safe. They had left Orlando at 8 am that day. It was now coming up on 8 pm and their entire day had been spent in O'Hare. And nobody had been given any explanations, or food vouchers, or hotel vouchers. Nothing.

     The poor, overwhelmed customer service guy at gate 7- I looked it up, he's probably making $15 an hour- got on the mike to tell us all to now go to gate 1. There are no more flights tonight, this one is full, please go to gate 1 to schedule a flight tomorrow. So, again, we all turned and herded ourselves down the concourse to line up, again, search for an outlet, again, and wait to hear our fate. There were two kids in their twenties right in front of us worried about missing their shifts at wherever they work in Denver in the morning. Bree and Mike were in front of them. Gate 1 had a sign that said BALTIMORE CANCELLED and NASHVILLE DELAYED. While we were standing there, the Nashville flight began to board amid cheers. The customer service employees were clearly deeply connected to this group, whose flight had been delayed for who knew how long, and started the celebration. The clerk stuck dealing with us was less than enthusiastic. An older woman, clearly confused and clutching a boarding pass, could not get any help from the clerk who was alone, trying to deal with a line of 30 people. A security guard ( I assume, his uniform was different) was able to talk to her and I do not know what happened to her, but I hope she got her questions answered and a flight home.

      We figured out they're pushing people onto the Nashville flight, promising them a connecting flight to Denver from there. I'm beside myself by now, Stop Lying To Us. I looked it up online and I know the FAA straight up grounded Southwest for 45 minutes that afternoon, and the problem is not fixed. You cancelled my flight while I was on the plane with no explanation. You then sent me to an imaginary flight five hours later, at gate 11, where there was no customer service rep to help anyone. to tell us what to do next. This was the Fuck  You Southwest moment. Then the clerk looked at me (this is our conversation, verbatim)

    Me: "We're in the same situation, we need to get home to Denver."

    Her: "We can put you on this flight to Nashville. There is a connection to Denver."

    Me: "Nope. I do not trust your airline. I don't think the flight is real. You'll cancel it or delay it. We're going from here to Denver."

    Her: "We have a flight at 12.45 tomorrow."

    Me: "Nothing earlier?"

    Her: "All booked."

    Me:" Okay, we'll do that. Can we at least get a hotel voucher since we're stuck here?"

    Her: "We are not authorized to do that."

    Me:( I am editing out my impressive conjugations of expletives for those who don't like it when I cuss) "You are joking with me. You cancelled two fights, stranded me in Chicago and now are saying my choices are to fly to Nashville and likely get stranded there, or sleep in the airport."

    Her: Blink. Blink.

    Me: "So Many Expletives"

    Her: Writing the customer service phone number on the back of our boarding pass.

    Me: Walks away before committing a crime.

                               End Act 1