I have to leave work early
today. I have to leave work early,
anyway, so I can get up to New Hampshire and collect my youngest from college,
but today the school pays us to sit through meetings and get high. Wicked high.
Wicked pissah high. Wasted.
As I've mentioned about 600 times
before, my classroom is slowly being swallowed up into the construction of the
new high school. Seven months ago my
windows were completely encased into the new building, leaving me privy to what
little ventilation I could steal from the still somewhat-open new school. Three weeks ago, the windows were officially
covered with giant hunks of plywood. I
now have zero ventilation and a carbon monoxide meter should the level go above
50 as it did last month. Now my
classroom experience includes an over-zealous heater, no air movement, and
hours of being stuffed in a room with pre-pubescent bad breath and butt air
expulsions.
Today we have a half day for
students but a whole day for teachers with another "fun-filled afternoon
of professional development!" My
little group, the group of seventh grade English teachers, is working in my
room since teacher #2 and teacher #3 work in rooms with zero heat.
About an hour in, we first notice
the smell. It's possible ammonia, maybe
paint. It's a hefty scent but not
over-powering. At least, not yet. We work for about twenty more minutes, and
then we notice that we're distracted. A
visitor stops by, peeks his head in, and inquires as to how much work we're
getting done with all the fumes. Truth
is, we're not getting much done at all.
None of us can speak nor think coherently anymore, so we break up and start
going our separate ways.
This is when we notice the
custodian, Mr. M. He is carrying a giant
squeegee and is wearing safety glasses.
He is waxing an area of the floor that now leads to nowhere, thanks to
the construction, an area that is less than a dozen feet from my doorway. There is zero air flow in this area of the
building, so the smell hangs in the air like invisible, thick fog. As I grab my take-home work, coat, and
backpack, and head toward the front doors, I tell Mr. M that he's doing a great
job and that he is making us all high.
With this newsflash, Mr. M breaks into
a huge grin and smiles, "No extra charge! Getting high is free today!"
Obviously the fumes have gotten to
him, as well.
Does it get any better than
this? Missing brain cells, no
ventilation, and making an early break for fresh air, not to mention a free
trip into space cadets-ville. Oh
yeah. Except for the fume-fueled
headache I've got brewing, it has been a very laid back afternoon.
Pass the floor wax doobie, kids;
your seventh grade ELA teachers are unintentionally higher than kites.
