In the Faculty Chambers

I have always enjoyed my job, even the bad days. I've found enough of the quirky weirdness required to help me fully appreciate my livelihood. Twelve year-olds provides a lot of humor, but surprisingly, it's my colleagues who inspire me to laugh at foolish things. Staff meetings are a favorite of mine. Typically, these begin early in the year with a focus on setting policies and procedures. It's great living in a Democracy where we all provide input on school-wide ideals that have not changed much since the school building was constructed. We sit in various cliques; similar I'm sure to our forefathers, and hash out stuff which is already printed in packets, delivered unto us in chrome baskets. When a point of contention arises it is debated, rarely resolved, and the scutter-butt ends when the principal announces, "I'll have the secretary make those changes, let's move on." I've always wanted to see the secretary's face when she's told to change several words on a few pages for thirty-eight packets. I'm sure principals leave a sticky note on it during lunch and run like hell.

One notorious example, The Tardy Policy, provides a perfect example of how we assemble to debate issues. Twelve-year-olds have been late to class since the dawn of time, yet in the minds of a few, tardiness will be halted this year. Armies assemble. The wisest and bravest come together for but a brief moment. The generals realize what is to come, but are powerless to stop it. A garble of utterances and the infantry is released each armed with a single "buttIthinkweshould" (heavy artillery if packed with enough powder, but most explode loud then fizzle into oblivion). The common simple idea that all kids should be to class on time, all of the time is recognized as pertinent by the majority; the fun comes when the debate centers on the definition of Tardy and what, or whom, is supposed to do something about it.

A table of abolitionists cry out, "They will arrive when they are ready to learn, let them move freely and show them the door is open." The loyalists fire back with a fleshy fist on a worn table, "we must maintain order, discipline, or all is lost". Secretaries flee like misguided picnickers caught in the crossfire. Generals and colonels meet briefly using hushed tones and make a quick decision to table the matter until after students have arrived. Heads nod in recognition that a conciliatory gesture has been tossed their way. Everyone returns to their amicable selves secretly planning to stand at their lectern and define tardies with their own unique style and ambiguity. Gum chewing is almost as much fun, but to go there might mean never coming back.

Another humorous agenda item is detention. Again, faculty members stir, alliances are formed (even if by eye gazes and head nods) and act two commences. Philosophically, it is a touchstone of the whole middle school experience and to deprive both the teachers and students by doing away with detentions would be an abomination. Consent is therefore granted for its existence, but there is little agreement on its context or handling. For some it is the immediate first response for most infringements while others lock away the forms, never to be used unless one student sets another ablaze. Assigning detentions is a lot like issuing traffic tickets and is thus inherently flawed. The person getting it doesn't like it; the one assigning it isn't there, and the person imposing the sentence wasn't present for the crime. The result is little retribution for the intended, grief for the innocent, and numerous years shaved from the lives of the martyred secretaries. "Yes Mable, could you pull up all of the detentions for Steven this semester, Thanks." Honestly, do gnomes collect all of this data and enter it into the computer while everyone is home asleep?

Anyway, the scene unfolds something like this; a few who thrive on tormenting kids volunteer to set up a detention room using "The Spanish Inquisition Model," others take the fifth, and a few begin spouting capital punishment slogans. A gavel bangs and the moment of truth is unceremoniously brought to an abrupt conclusion with the standard "We'll bring this up at the next meeting" scenario. On occasion a sly administrator will have one of the newer teachers set up a detention schedule which brings about the confident "Mmmm�yeah" from the elders. This implies the feeling of confidence in their ability to influence this bright-eyed soul to envision the detention realm in his/her own image.

I sometimes wonder if the compartmentalized, cubicle structured world of corporate America operates like we do in the public sector. Do they assemble a great cast of characters and perform the ritual of collaborative decision-making? Are we a unique group in our ability to passionately complicate simple problems? Do we do what we do because of who we are or does functioning like a teacher make us act so strangely? I hope to someday know what it all means and why it strikes me as funny, but I'm sure that like most of my deep thoughts, it will be contemplated after I've finished all of my grading; whenever that may be.