I suppose it's not really my classroom's fault; this is a direct result of the ongoing construction. But still.
It started last year when all the trees came down and my classroom was suddenly exposed to the heat-caked mud-desert that drove temperatures inside to nearly unholy levels and made it look like the dust bowl had come in for its own protection. Then the pile-driving started for the steel beams and girders and the noise was enough to kill entire herds of elephants. This was capped off with last spring's port-a-potty location, which turned out to be an arm-length from my classroom window. If the guys ever ran out of toilet paper, we were at the ready.
This fall the workers began framing me into the new school. I watched the entire new gymnasium being built around me, and my three open house experiences consisted of telling every parent who came through how interesting it was to be inside the belly of the beast. In short, I was a complacent Jonah -- swallowed up inside the whale and completely fascinated to be there inside its ribs.
But recently my side of the school wing has become completely enclosed inside the construction zone. In short, I now work in a building inside a building. As the final cinder blocks go up mere feet from my windows, I am now entombed with everything except my cask of amontillado. (Hold that thought.) Weather means nothing to me anymore; sunshine is nonexistent; air movement has ceased.
But, no. Within forty-eight hours, my side of the building is shrink-wrapped. The fresh-air intake of the heater is sealed, the windows are covered; in short, I've become Macmillan and Wife when their house is sealed and they are nearly gassed to death in that one television episode, the only one I semi-remember from the series. Now not only am I inside the beast's belly, I'm wrapped up like bakery goods.
One good thing has come from the heater intake vent being sealed, though: I now have heat in my room.
Yup, I can actually get through the day without four layers of clothing now. Problem is, I am starting to feel like I need to get through the day in a bathing suit. At first I think I am having menopause hot flashes. Then I realize I have a fever from this horrid chest cold. Today I break down and set both fans going at medium speed trying to cool down. It isn't until the children complain about the stuffiness that I start to suspect more is going on than my whacked-out bodily functions. When my neighboring teacher opens the door to complain about his room temp as well, he checks the thermostat in my room. It's over 80 degrees.
Since this construction started, my classroom is slowly trying to kill me through dust bowl, port-a-potty, CO, shrink-wrapping, and now the crock-pot slow-cookery of me and my charges.
No matter. I don't take it personally. Progress has its victims. If I have to sacrifice goose bumps and frozen toes during the work day in favor of fans and less sweaters, I'm all for it. Hmmmm. maybe I'm not Fortunato, after all. Perhaps I'm Montresor.
Either way, if I invite you to meet me in my classroom, you'd be wise to make other plans. If not, though, wear flip-flops. It's bloody freakin' hot in here, kids, and I'm loving every second of it. For now. Ask me again in June and you're liable to get my fist through your left ear. If you see me with a trowel, though, I strongly suggest you run.
Run. Really. Fast.
