But Who's Counting?

Just when the old school routine has finally settled into place, when we're coasting downhill to summer vacation, only 32 school days remaining...A monkey wrench is tossed into the cogs of our well-oiled machine. The squeaky wheel gets a fly stuck in the ointment of its grease. Our parade has been rained on. Our chains yanked. Our bubble burst, our balloon popped, our milk spilled. Oh, we're cryin', all right.

I always take my phone outside on parking lot duty. To call inside in case of emergency, duh! But more usefully, to gauge the elapsed time. School time is five minutes ahead of real world time. That's because the buses run smoother that way, amongst Elementia, Basementia, and Newmentia. We're pretty sly in Hillmomba. Got it covered, thanks.

I always go back in the building when there are five actual minutes left until the first bell. That gives me time to get in, check my lovely lady mullet in the girls' bathroom mirror, stand in the hall for a moment and seep in the day's school climate. Then when the bell rings, I can see my students heading down the hall to my classroom. Their Basementia teachers trained them well. They do not enter until they get the high sign. Even if the door is unlocked. They are as awesome as those dogs who can sit with a biscuit on the end of their nose until their master says to toss it and eat it.

But today, as I entered the building at my usual time, I noticed a plethora of preening adolescents traipsing the hallway. That is not allowed. When I am not in the parking lot keeping cars from crashing, it is my job to turn them back to the cafeteria or gym. No loitering. And yet, they were on the loose. Every last one. Not a soul sat in the cafeteria.

And by my classroom, a mob. "I wonder what's going on down there? Where did all those kids come from? Is there some group going on a trip? Are they meeting by the drinking fountain? NO! It's my class!" I walked all the way there without motioning them in. "What's everybody doing? I was outside on duty."

"The bell rang."

"We're just going to class."

"We didn't know where you were."

"We waited."

"Okay...go on in."

"Oh, your light's on. But we didn't do it. None of us went in. Your son just went in there, and it came on."

We have motion-sensing lights, you see. The room goes dark after ten minutes. So it should be dark inside if nobody has been trespassing. "Did the bell ring early? Because it's not even time yet."

Two colleagues down the hall looked at me like I was crazy. But I was able to get a, "Heck, YEAH!" from the last classroom on the right. Thank you. I've been verified.

To make matters worse, the bell was allegedly adjusted, but rang five minutes LATE to end the class. Instead of a fifty-minute class period, 1st hour was sixty minutes long. Dang! And I was all out of severed-baby-pinky-finger stories!

And yes. The final bell was five minutes later. My wall clock does not lie. It's battery operated. We are now working ten minutes more every day. I'm not calling it to administrator attention. But I guarantee you that if this happened in Elementia, an angry mob would descend on the office. With boiling oil, torches, and pitchforks.

If there's one vital piece of insider information that I've gathered in my dalliance in various school districts, it's that elementary teachers work by the minute. Don't be giving anybody three extra minutes of lunch or plan time. It WILL be noticed. And remedied.