Oh Brother, Cupboard

Another sign that we’re closing in on the end of the year is the state of the teachers’ lounge. The place is a disaster. A pile of Tupperware has collected like some kind of container junkyard where no pieces match; the utensil drawer holds nothing except a lone can opener and six bendy straws. The refrigerator door with its handle “repaired” with duct tape takes two tugs to open because of a spill that occurred back in September.

My theory, and I may not be speaking for all teachers here, is that the last thing an overworked teacher cares about is the condition of the teachers’ lounge. It ranks just below the neatness of their desks. So if paper plates or plasticware run out, don’t be looking for those to be replaced until the next school year because no one has the time to think about the stuff while grading, planning lessons, and calling parents. You take that, plus the fact that a teacher still has to eat (in about four minutes), and you get some creative dining—cutting a hotdog wiener with a pencil, wiping frosting off your pants with the travel section of the newspaper, and eating saltines with Cheez Whiz off an inner-office envelope.

That’s just the life we live, like animals. It’s not until after a summer of recuperation that we return to our human forms and bring that pack of sporks and Styrofoam cups for the start of the year; only to repeat the same thing.