Hazard Pay

I sound like Bob Dylan after he's gone a three day pot-smoking bender.  In the exhaust pipe of diesel 18-wheeler.

In a traffic tunnel.

In downtown Mexico City.

My normally low voice is somewhere between folk-singer nasal and Demi-Moore-gone-whip-it-crazy husky.  I have, at best, one functioning nostril (apt to change at any time), a pounding head, and my limbs weigh about as much as one truckload of bad educational policies made by idiots who don't work in the field.

Not really sure if that last metaphor made sense.  And now, a word from our sponsor:
"Today's shitty writing... brought to you by DayQuil!"


The real killer is that I'm only two weeks from freedom.  Fresh air, clean hands, and all the anti-bacterial soap a girl could want.

Or maybe the real killer is that this is my second head cold in three weeks.  Three weeks!  That has never happened in my decade-plus teaching in the swarmingly full petri-dishes of public education.  The minute I quit hocking up loogies into Kleenex and breathe a sigh of relief, I feel that tell-tale scratchy throat coming on again.

Are you kidding me?

And so this year, I dedicate the end-of-the-school year rant to Why Teachers Should Receive Hazard Pay.

Why Teachers Should Receive Hazard Pay 

(the short list)

1.  Germs

2.  Trainings

3.  Weird shit you can't even imagine

We'll start with germs, since that's where my head is now.  Or, rather, that's where they are, now.  In my head.  But to explain this particular aspect of the teaching profession, I'm going to need you to use your imagination a bit.  I'd like you to lean back, close your eyes, and think about Victorian lace and rosy-cheeked babies in old-fashioned, white nighties.

Because kids at my school are dropping like flies from  the Whooping Cough.

 Whooping cough?  I thought that had gone the way of smallpox, polio, and saying things like "we had to send mother off to a sanatorium for we fear she has the consumption,"in a vague British accent.  (Oh, and by the way, by "dropping like flies"of course, I mean that they're out for huge chunks of school at a time.  Not that they're dying.  Though my absence list is beginning to make me wonder...)

Here's a little description of whooping cough from the Mayo Clinic:
Thick mucus accumulates inside your airways, causing uncontrollable coughing.  Severe and prolonged coughing attacks may provoke vomiting, result in a red or blue face, cause extreme fatigue, or end with a high-pitched "whoop" sound during the next breath of air.


Mmmm...yummy...so that's what I hear going on in my classroom.  I suppose that's better than a friend's school which actually had to close during the school week due to a "particularly virulent stomach virus."

Nasty.  Nasty, nasty, nasty.

Any of you who have had small children know how easily they get sick.  Cram a bunch of kids into a small space, add in their less-than-ideal hand-washing and food-sharing techniques and voila!  It's a family practitioner's dream.  And don't even think it's limited to just the younger kids.  My current snot-o'-riffic bug came from a darling junior, who I adore.  Usually.

"Hey, Teach," she said, snorting up a nose full of mucus and walking up to my desk.  "Can you help me with this packet?"

And then she coughed in my face.  No turning her head, no covering her mouth with her hands, no grabbing a Kleenex, oh no, just one big open-air hack, six inches from my eyeballs.

"Wait...Emily...did you just cough in my face?" I asked her, a bit mystified due to the fact that she's seventeen years old and thus (in my mind) should damn-well-know-better.

"Um...oops?  So anyway, about this packet..."

Gimme a cubicle, folks.  As long as it has four walls, a bottle of hand-sanitizer, and a door across which I can string a police line do not cross tape, a little solitary confinement is sounding pretty good right now.

Or maybe some extra compensation to pay for my new DayQuil habit.




Please excuse the delay in completing this post.  I just ran out of Kleenex.   #2 and #3 of Hazard Pay List coming soon.  

A Shout Out To The Teachers

Holy shitster. Haven't had an ass-kicking like that at work in a long time.

Teachers are totally and certifiably nuts. Come, take a walk through my work week with me. It'll be fun...if you have masochistic tendencies. And this was a short week, mind you. Only four days of insanity rather than five. Let's start with Wednesday's facebook status, because it's almost too easy.

Today: cheating student, student go MIA in the middle of class, 10 children in my room after school asking for help while I'm somehow simultaneously supposed to be supervising parking lot, parent screaming at me for asking her to move her car, 1 meeting down, three more scheduled, discipline emails home

Now, since that's only one day, I'll very quickly add on the rest of the week: meeting Tuesday, 2 meetings Friday, Wednesday office hours, organize video observations for elementary teachers, evening work on stipend project, collect data from last education-related book study, plan next book study, 2 evening classes for Educational Coach certification...

Oh, wait! Did I mention I also teach Spanish? Taught a total of 15 classes, 135 students, 3 different levels. Gave 30 tests, 60 quizzes and collected 120 pieces of homework. Supervised 30 kids in study hall, organized another 30 on Thursday to present to the elementary school on hunger issues. Accommodated for IEPs, dealt with Asperger's, bipolar disorder, speech impediments and, bah... I'm sick of this whole list. Let's break it down a bit.

For all of you who don't teach: have you ever planned a speech?

How long was the speech? 5 minutes? 10? 20? Even the longest speeches at most events/church servies/public anythings don't go much past 20 minutes. So here's my next question: how long did you spend planning that speech?

Try planning 5 of those suckers a day, each one 50 minutes long.

Ok -- maybe I'm exaggerating. I only teach 3 levels of Spanish, so two of those "speeches" repeat themselves. Try planning three of those suckers a day. Only it's not as easy as that. You're not allowed to just speak for 50 minutes, oh heavens no. You must 1) present orally 2) maintain the attention of up to 30 teenagers while doing so 3) interactively engage with every single teenager within those 50 minutes (that's right...30 teenagers, 50 minutes, quality conversation., you do the math 4) incorporate reading 5) incorporate writing 6)differentiate the entire lesson according to each students’ ability/special needs/social eptitude or ineptitude.

I dare any of you non-teachers to tackle any of the above numbers, especially #2. I'll give $25 to any non-teacher willing to lock him/herself in a small, enclosed space with 30 teenagers for an hour. An extra $50 if you can maintain their attention for that time period. If they text, socialize, fall asleep, you lose. Just for kicks, though, I get to throw in whatever student combo I want. My bet? One ADHD kid, and you're going down.

Are you beginning to understand? Because I'm only getting started, but I won't bore you with the rest of the details. I'm too exhausted. At least this week, I didn't have to deal with children choking on frozen grapes or emergency all-school pages. 

That was last week.

So for all of you who have kids in school, go buy your teachers some chocolate. Or better yet - a pitcher of margaritas. At the very least, don't scream at us like some cracked-out screeching monkey. You won't get anywhere with me, crazy parking lot psycho mom. I work with teenagers. I see your crazy and raise you 135 hormonal adolescents. 

That's right. Now who's scary?

Bring it.