M Post

  This has been chosen by One Night Stand theatre to be performed in February! Every time they use my work I make them use a psueudonym. Last time I didn't like the fake name, so this time I asked them to use Leigh Rhodes. She's a character in the only real play I wrote. It will be performed as a monologue in February for "Guilty Pleasures". 

  Teachers have all sort of secrets that we do  not share. Not many of them are guilty pleasures. Honestly, most of them are the nightmares that plague us, the gnawing anxiety for those of us who are not going to make it to the magical 33rd year to retire at sustainable salary, the stress of walking into our building and not know if we will be attacked by our evaluator, our principal, a parent or our students. Some have side hustles, even full businesses, that they keep under wraps until the business is ready to either take its place as their next career, or sustainable by other teachers in the building. The businesses are never teaching -adjacent, like  tutoring. They're brew pubs, breakfast restaurants and real estate. I feel like I know a lot of teachers who became realtors. 

    My secret is not one for which I can leave teaching early. It is not separate from teaching. It is not, as you are now wondering, even teaching itself. I am not so lame as to write that intro and then reveal that my secret is that I Love Teaching. Ugh.  

   What I love is logging an "M" for a missed assignment in infinite campus, I hit the "M" key extra hard and I say the kid's name and I make up an excuse for why they missed it to amuse myself. The entire process can take me up to twenty minutes. My colleagues speed through it much more quickly because they do not enjoy it. I want to enjoy it. Reality has no place in my moment. The kids are traumatized and feel hopeless and depressed, there is no tangible excuse for flunking classes. They do not even have the wherewithal to make up an excuse. So I make it up for them  as I plunk an "M" in the grade column. I've hit the letter on my keyboard with so much force, so many times, that it sits unevenly in its place. Soon it will dislodge, I'm sure, but I keep slamming it harder thinking that the force should pop it back in to its retainer clip.

    To ensure I am not caught, giggling and talking to myself, I lock the door to my room and turn the music up loudly. My office is a shared space, and I am not comfortable logging grades where I might be observed or interrupted --or worse---judged.

     Some personal favorite quotes I shout into the classroom come from Steve Martin and When  Harry Met Sally. I say the lines out loud and cackle like a lunatic. Some excuses have included: "I wanted to be in school but I was trapped under a refrigerator" and "I couldn't come to school today because my hair smelled".  When it is the end of the quarter and all hope has been lost, I say "If you aren't enjoying the class so far, you're wrong" as I post the final grade. If they would give real reasons I would likely collapse in a puddle, horrified at their reality, which is why they do not use any excuse. They've just given up. So I choose to enjoy logging the missing grades. If I allow myself to engage realistically, I, too, will lose my sanity. Like so many colleagues who have left the profession. Instead, I choose to enjoy myself. Without anyone knowing, which makes it a guilty pleasure.

     In my district, a 60% equals a grade of B. Yet, students cannot even manage that. We also do not give zeros because that is "bad for their self esteem", so instead we must log an "M" for "Missing" which calculates at a zero, but is somehow better for their psyche that way? Regardless, I have the highest failure rate in the building. I am not a "hard" teacher, my content is not difficult, but it does require showing up to class daily. Students fail because they do not attend. And so, every week when I must put grades in, I sit at my desk with Guns N Roses blaring, and cackle at each "M", and shout excuses into the classroom as I do so. Pure, Hilarious, Joy.

    "My sister was abducted by aliens last night, I didn't get any sleep." Clack.

    "We ran out of toilet paper, I had to sleep at my Aunt's house and the bus doesn't come to her neighborhood." Click.

    "My arm fell off, " pause. "It got better." Clack.

    Clack clack clackity click. Bwaaahhhhh. God I'm funny. Clikity clicky clack. I am so damned funny. The empty classroom bounces my laughter back to me through the music, and my laptop keyboard keys pierce through the music and my glee. Together they become a cacophony of such delight, anyone passing by the door in the hall will believe there is a great jubilation, at a Dr. Seuss caliber, and they will smile as they pass, delighted to know that teaching brings such bliss.

    This is the best time. My favorite day of the week! My very own guilty pleasure! I shout between songs "I don't fail kids, kids fail themselves!!" Click. Post Grade at Save. Click Save. Click. Post Grade at Save. Click Save. Next class. I hear the Dentist in Little Shop of Horrors in my head as I move to the next screen, period three. "I want to enjoy this. I need some nitrous oxide." This quote sends me into orgasmic rapture. My eyes are tearing up. I can barely see third period's spreadsheet. I slide to the first empty box, hungrily awaiting its weekly feeding of the letter "M". As I tap the letter, a bit more forcefully than ten minutes ago, I whisper "It was raining. I can't go out in the rain" and a single tear rolls down my check.

    If only grades had to be entered every day! I'd never leave the building.