Coffee mug and water bottle go on my desk, work bag underneath. Power on my laptop, desktop, and the computer dedicated for making student ID cards. Flick on three of the five light switches. New LED lightbulbs glare like the Arctic tundra, so one gets flicked off. Power on three computers kids use to search for books. They are lined up outside, ready for me to let them in.
They know by now to wait a bit until everything is up and running and make two lines to sign in.
I quickly scan email as kids get settled in their morning chats about books, browsing their favorite sections, and swapping books that won’t make it to the book return because BFF has to have The Summer I Turned Pretty before anyone else can get it.
Subject line: Ms. S’s classes will be in the library today through 4th period
Um, no. That was yesterday. Ms. S. didn’t show up. I check my schedule. I check my calendar. I check my inbox for an email several weeks ago asking for availability. Glitch on my part. I set the wrong date.
Major glitch: I scheduled a lesson with a teacher. In the library. For today.
I email Ms. S asking if she can keep her kids in her classroom for 1st period then come down later. I send the second teacher a chat explaining my issue. Call me asap if you see this.
The line for checkouts is getting longer. I scan ID badges and books. My phone rings and I explain my mess up. “I can go to your classroom instead.”
Issue averted. Ms. S walks in, oblivious to my email as I explain myself. I gather my materials and head to the classroom.
Rush hour is an understatement. This was all in a nice, neat 30 minutes before the bell rings package.
I walk into the main office to pick up a color copy I printed from my computer. Yippee, we have to share the color printer, but keep it on the down low because the color printer for everyone else is in the downstairs teacher’s lounge and the cartridge has been out of ink for months. Sucked dry by everyone printing everything in color rather than sending it to print shop…and there I go, down my rabbit hole.
“Excuse me,” I say, as I pass between the 8th grade counselor and 8th grade assistant principal. They’re chatting and obviously not about a student because they’re in the small hallway leading to the reception area. Counselor’s eyes brighten as she sees me. “Oooh…” I hear her say. I know what that means: you’re about to get hit up for something you don’t want to do.
“Are you good at planning parties?”
“If it’s my own party, sure. If it’s a party for someone else, not so much. What’s it for?”
“Eighth grade formal,” 8th grade AP answers, “PTA is supposed to do it, but they haven’t done it in several years.”
“Do you have a theme? Or maybe you can let some of the 8th grader plan it. It’s their gig anyway, give them something to do.”
8th grade AP, sighing, “I want it to be a surprise.”
By now, Counselor and IT, with whom I meant to chat with about tomorrow’s lesson, make their way to AP’s office. I walk to the printer to retrieve my copy, hearing them run down a list of possible suggestions. I pass by AP’s office on the way back to the library. They’re all huddled over AP’s computer.
IT laughs and says, “She’s not gonna like this, wait and see. Get in here!” she summons.
Before I walk in AP’s office I know what they’re doing.
“You all put that in ChatGPT to see what it’ll spit out!”
IT knows where I stand with AI-mixed feelings. I use it, but typically struggle through my own ideas which seem to mostly run on empty.
“I knew it! Whatcha got? Ooh, you can do a muted down color scheme. A play on school colors, instead of green, black, and white, do sage, gray, and cream,” I suggest. They did ask for ideas.
“Well, we were thinking ‘A Night in Hollywood,'” AP answers.
“Wasn’t that last year’s theme?”
“No, it was a few years ago. Everything we had is gone. It just disappeared.”
“Who took it?” We all look at each other. Things disappear frequently and no one ever finds the culprit.
Counselor wonders if all the prom dresses are still in a no longer on our campus teacher’s classroom. “What happened to all of that stuff? Did she take the prom dresses with her?” No Longer On Campus Teacher collected a pile of gently used prom dresses last year for the 8th Grade Formal Boutique. Girls who may not be able to purchase a dress were free to “shop” for their items.
“No, it’s all gone,” IT replies.
“Hmm…what if you do a 90’s Hollywood theme? You know, all that is trending. Carolyn Bessette Kennedy looks, slip dresses, baby tee and long skirt formals, updos with curls piled at the top of the head, MIB-Men in Black, they’ll love it.” I’m almost getting excited for them, but not enough to volunteer to coordinate the event. Not even close.
AP and Counselor start reminiscing about a full length sequined gown. A two piece formal with a halter top. Those updos with the curls piled on top of the head. Prom dates.
“We can have teachers submit their 90s prom pictures, it’ll be so fun!” AP is gaining momentum with the theme. Counselor agrees and they’re having a great time pinging ideas between one another.
IT and I exchange looks.
“Umm, yeah,” I offer, “fun for those who went to prom in the ’90s. But some of us didn’t. go. to. prom. in. the 90s.” My voice trails…
They’re not getting it.
IT and I holler out laughing. “WE went to prom in the ’80s. Good luck with that!”
We walk out of AP’s office and get back to our regularly scheduled program.
My work bestie and I closed the library Thursday for lunch. I had a full day of lessons with eighth graders and another teacher was scheduled for checkouts. We rarely have lunch together because we try to keep the library open all day. I needed a breather and it’s nice not to have to eat alone.
I taught three full days of research lessons with this particular class and my anchor research topic was AI. I mentioned how we’re embracing AI every day (hello, MagicSchool, Chat GPT, Gemini and all you other invisible bots) and moving toward a Wall-E world, which creeped me out the first time I watched it years ago when E-now 22-was little, which led me to reminding her Wall-E is pretty much Number 5, the robot from the ’80s movie Short Circuit and did she ever watch it? which led to “Who was in that movie anyway, Matthew Broderick?” which led to a Google search (hers) while my brain search recalled Matthew Broderick in War Games, and “Did you ever watch that one?’ which led to an answer: Ally Sheedy and Steve Guttenberg (not how I’d spell it)–Steve Guttenberg? Wasn’t he older? Which made me stop to recalculate how old I actually was when I saw it (we lived in a rural town so that meant I watched it about two years after its release on HBO) which also reminded me I was still a young teen, so anyone over 18 was old in my mind’s eye, which then led to reminiscing and going down the 80s Week theme we’ve been tossing around for the library, ending with an 80s dance party. In the library. Before school. Which led to “Do you know how to dance?’ and I reply “If you call standing in one place bending your knees and swinging your hips to the beat actual dancing. 80s style dancing, so yeah, I know how to dance,” which led to the next class coming in and my brain trying to contain herself because in walked a student wearing…
a Wall-E t-shirt.
Today, it’s year 5 five for me. Number five is definitely alive, although my thoughts might short-circuit every now and then, which leads me to ask, anyone want to join me for an 80’s themed virtual dance party after 31 days of slicing?
A quarter of a century. How is it that many years already? A quarter of a century of my life spent teaching, mostly. Slightly less than half of my life. Half! Twenty five years of packing up classrooms and now a library. Shoving things in drawers, closets, cabinets, storage closets. The garbage because..can I just go home already?
I pack my car with high hopes. Planning over the summer so it won’t be so much work. I still can’t manage to do it though. Laptop. I’ll need it for my first day back.
A bag-o-books, this fall’s Lone Stars, the best reads for middle schoolers. I packed a stack instead of all thirty and will probably read two. Maybe three since one is more than half finished only because it’s an audiobook and these days listening is easier than reading. I have my own TBR tower at home I’d like to read.
A pink Keurig needs a deep clean (and a break). I dug out a broken down box from the recycling bin to carry it out. Somehow it’s dripping residual coffee from yesterday’s second cup.
The Wonder Woman spiral notebook with a pile of papers jammed in its middle gets stuffed inside the box too. Good thing the cover is plastic and I don’t care if the papers get coffee all over them. I’ll go through each one to figure out what to do with them. Keeping things fresh so I don’t forget-when days start blurring together-about what it was that needed doing but could wait until fall.
These days, years, I bring less home. Twenty five years and I’m still the last one out. You’d think I’d have this moving out thing figured out. Everything that needed doing got done. Another wave of a spiraling timeline makes me dizzy. Some day I’ll pack it up for good. I look over the clean space, uncluttered counters (mostly), tables, desks, and unplugged computers. Desk supplies hibernate in dark drawers along with framed photos.
I turn in my badge and keys. My much younger self winks back at me. Have a good summer, she says. We’ll catch up again soon!
Are you chewing on your power cord? And it’s plugged in?! Do you want a permanent Joker-style grin burned into your flesh? Take it out. Now.
Do you still have the book that was due in September?
Yes.
Where is it?
In my backpack.
Go get it.
I don’t have it.
You just said…
I’m still reading it.
But you’ve had it since September.
It’s lost.
Did I tell you about the student who kept leaning back and forth in his chair and broke his face? Put all four legs of the chair on the floor and leave them there, please.
Yes, you have to pay for the books at the book fair.
No food in here, please, the cockroaches are big and they’ll take your food.
(Lights flicker, or something randomly falls) That’s Wilhelmina, my class ghost. She can do whatever she wants. She follows me to every school.
I have an alien implant in my pinkie toe, I just can’t tell you which one.
(Student pokes around the cart of new, unprocessed books behind the circ. desk.) Put your name on a Post-It note and put it on the book you want. You get first dibs!
Nerds Beget Nerds 