So this morning, a young lassie came to Mrs. HM’s door at 7:45. That is Mrs. HM’s time. Time to get her materials ready for the day, time to catch up on extras like special assignments for those not to be in the classroom for instruction for a few days, time to plan for future activities. She does not arrive at 7:30, before the mandated time of 7:55 in order to hang out with pupils.
Lass was polite. “May I put this in your fridge?” She held a bottle of some light-brown concoction. Perhaps chocolate milk, perhaps coffee-based. The beverage itself does not matter. What matters is the request. Of course permission was denied. Just because a teacher has a mini-fridge (not school-provided, of course, as if that was even assumed), does not mean it is open for pupil usage.
“You mean I can’t put it in there?”
“No. I’d have a hundred kids a day asking to use it if they found out I let you put stuff in there. No. Sorry.”
“But I love you!”
“Sorry. You’ll have to find somebody who loves you back. With a mini fridge.”
You see, this is not a frat house. Not a crash pad. Not a sidewalk bistro. No need to use my mini fridge to cool a beverage that I will not let you drink in class, that you must remove from the mini fridge as you leave class, thus informing your class and perhaps the one after it that Mrs. HM has let you use the mini fridge.
Sorry. Not on my watch.