Pardon me while I go a little bit ballistic. After I'm done, I plan to go out for coffee with a girl who is a little bit pregnant, a guy who almost won a horseshoe tournament, and a quadruple amputee who was close to releasing his hand grenade correctly. No, I'm not. Silly! I don't even drink coffee.
I don't know if I can take much more. I don't demand much from my custodian, Cus. A simple sweeping and wastebasket dumping daily is enough for me. The aura of godliness is not in the divine plan for my classroom. I have a place for everything, and like everything in its place. Even those stacks of files and odd papers piled here and there. Yes. I don't like people touching my cheese nor my classroom equipment. Therein lies the problem.
HEY! CUSTODIAN! LEAVE THOSE DESKS ALONE!
I wish Pink Floyd would write a song with that title. Or even that hook. It needs to become common knowledge. An unwritten workplace rule. Sometimes, in my daydreams, I confront Cus. "Who do you think you are, that substitute I had six years ago? It is MY classroom, and I decree the feng shui of my domain. Not you. How would you like it if I went all Fast Times at Ridgemont High Mr. Hand on you, and showed up at your house? But instead of teaching you a whole year's worth of history, I moved your couch back one-and-a-half tiles? Eighteen inches! You would be able to tell. And I can tell!"
If I don't take the time to move twenty-five desks back to the proper positions, I will not be able to walk across the back aisle of my classroom all day. My floor plan is carefully designed to allow maximum access around the perimeter, yet cram students into the middle like oversize sardines.
It's not like we leave furniture scattered willy-nilly like flotsam piled randomly by a hurricane surge. Desks are left in straight rows, lined up on the tile corners, with chairs pushed in at the end of each day. One can walk comfortably down the rows, even while pushing a broom if one so desires.
There is no need to reinvent the wheel, nor re-interior-decorate the classroom. It's overkill.
End of that little bit of a tirade. Let's go out for a 44 oz. Diet Coke.
Could you wreak havoc every day with your class, in different ways, and after a week of terror, leave a note with your demands?
ReplyDeleteOne day, stuff your students during your final hour with multiple cans of soda and all the pizza, brownies and ice cream they want to eat. During the last few minutes of class, lead them in some strenuous jumping jacks and burpies. There''ll be lots of piles and puddles to clean up.
On the next day, have a confetti party. Buy 20-30 confetti punches, have the students punch out confetti all day, and have a "party" at the end of the day.
On the third day, conduct an experiment with Mentos and soda at the end of the day. NO child should be left behind, so no child will be left without the chance to become Mt. Vesuvius...and your classroom is their Pompeii.
On the fourth day, offer each student a change of shoes. After your class has donned their black-bottomed tennis shoes, teach your lessons while they do "The Electric Slide" or "The Cupid Shuffle" or conduct an experiment on friction. Let your kids know they are not finished until the entire floor is black.
On the final day, do the "microwave an egg" experiment" over and over. Microwave the egg, have all the students stand well behind the microwave oven with goggles on, and when the time is up, open up the oven door and let the results reveal themselves. Do this over and over all day, repositioning the oven in different spots. Cus will get to collect data on how much fun hardened egg is to clean up.
After the five-day reign of terror is over, you can leave a note with your demands. And let Cus know that if your demands are not met, the fun will continue...
Makes you want to super glue those desks to the floor. Or paint the tiles on which said desks sit a different color. Or put DO NOT MOVE signs on each and every desk. Or hire my youngest to get all up in his face ......
ReplyDeleteHey, I am trying to help!
Sioux,
ReplyDeleteYou could market this as a gift book for new teachers. Of course, most of them will end up with the wastebasket/broom perimeter custodians. But a few will have a need for "Driving Cus Crazy." Maybe you could option a movie, and get Morgan Freeman to star. Jessica Tandy will be a bit more challenging.
******
Kathy,
Such a plethora of solutions you and Sioux have given me! I shall be ruminating on them all weekend.
You might be able to start a side business called Rent-A-Thug. I'm sure your family would work for a reasonable rate. Or just the fun of it. And you could make them cute matching uniforms, and weapons out of old blue jeans!