Whiteboards and Toilet Seats

Two weeks ago, the principal approached me and asked if the Extended Care Program (ECP) could use my classroom twice a week after school. Of course, this is her subtle way of telling me that she'd already made the decision, and it was now my job to deal with it and vacate twice a week at the tolling of 3:30.

And of course, I get one of those ECP teachers who lets the kids eat chips and sit at my desk, use my precious pens and rearrange the desks. I tried reasoning with the ECP teacher. Tried logic. Tried pleading. Tried getting angry. My fellow teacher promised change, but nothing happened. Where is the educator solidarity?

Wednesday and Thursday mornings have devolved into moving desks out of "Fort Formation," erasing stars and Spanish words from the board, and cleaning my desk of FritoLay grease.

I never had sisters. I grew up sharing a bathroom only with an older brother. Putting the toilet seat down was never etched into my muscle memory. In a world where angry women bellow wet-butted through the bathroom to PUT THE SEAT DOWN, I never, until now, understood why the women, the ones needing the seat to be down, couldn't accomplish such a simple task on their own.

The ECP teacher may be a bad teacher, but she did teach me one thing: what it's like to be woman plopping down on the cold porcelain instead of the welcoming seat. The menial, maintenance tasks aren't hard, but it's the overall lack of interpersonal consideration that creates the screamable infraction.

To all my past cohabitants: I'm sorry for forgetting, and I'm sorry for arguing with you. I was wrong. You were right. And unlike my ECP fellow, I promise to change for real.