Feng Shui, is ancient Chinese system of aesthetics often used to orient buildings that has been, some say, corrupted into becoming an aspect of interior decorating in the Western World. Some people actually believe that where they position their furniture affects their productivity, mood, etc. The term has become popular enough in my circle of friends, (a group of people that excel at pretending to be pretentious) that we will often blame any tension, drama, or violence occurring nearby on "the fact the the Feng Shui in the room was sooooooo non Zen, grasshopper."
"I thought this was a Blog about teaching and stuff that pissed you off, Step," you say, with all the authority of someone that knows what they're talking about.
"Quite correct, grasshopper." I say, establishing a connection to the opening paragraph and dropping an allusion to the 70s TV series Kung Fu with the type of literary synergy only truly great writers possess, "and so I shall enlighten you about how moving two classrooms a total of 18 feet provided me a healthy dose of rage which led to, ironically, a moment of clarity and inspiration. Very Yin and Yang, if I might continue the Asian flavored motif I seem to have developed here.
Right. So, every year, during the dog days of Summer (you know, that time when non-teachers think we sit around sipping Pina' Coladas on the beach in Turks and Caicos) tens of thousands of teachers have to take everything they have spent a few years getting "perfect" and uproot it, lock, stock and barrel, to another room. Desks, filing cabinets big and small, podiums, posters, projects, pictures, pigs' feet (sorry, I was rolling with the "P" words) decorations, and enough paperwork to gift wrap the Great Wall of China, must be transported to another room, for no conceivable reason. Actually, that's a lie, I know the reason: because the brain surgeons who make the students' schedule don't want to put a little extra effort into trying to maintain some sense of consistency within the layout of the school; besides, THEY'RE not the ones lugging a 6' file cabinet (full of lesson plans that the same brain surgeons required be kept on hand) up a flight of steps, so why should they care? Which brings us to today, and my epissany (that's an epiphany that happens when you're pissed.) Yeah, I know you love it, and you may you use it. Free of charge. My gift to you.
I woke up early so I could be at (insert name of my current place of work) when they opened, my youngest son Frankie, having disobeyed me about something yesterday, was up early as well, and not by choice, to go and help me, also not by choice. Sucks to be you, kid, and vengeance is mine sayeth the Lord. Come in on time and you won't have to lug around heavy stuff in the heat. And there will be some lugging of heavy stuff in the heat. Oh yes there will, because, despite having established two classrooms that worked beautifully in producing intelligent, motivated students; despite having shared those classrooms with other teachers who worked in synergy to balance the placement and display of our "stuff," despite the fact that the mandate to disrupt this educational balancing act came in around, oh, last WEEK, despite all of that, the powers-that-be pulled the pin, and rolled their metaphorical grenade right into the heart of our well organized machine. Hey "if it ain't broke, fix the living s**t out of it," they always say. Being a good soldier, I soldiered into school, which was roughly the temperature of Cambodia in mid July, to recon the situation.
Here was the situation:
Down in the freshman wing:
I had previously shared room 313 in the freshmen wing with Tara G., who now had to share that room with Lauren S., who was being displaced from room 316, meaning I had to get my stuff out of 313 and into room 317 (approximately 12 feet away,) along with Lisa H., who had previously shared the room with Julie K. and Laura W., the former of which was being moved to 320, the latter of which was no longer in the services of this fine institution. The current resident of 320, who shall not be named, won't show up until the day of orientation and wonder [loudly] "How all dis stuff got up in "my" room?
Got all that?
Meanwhile, down in the Junior wing,
Frankie and I contemplated the stunning amount of insight that went into the room shuffling down there. I had previously been in room 113, for two whole years (!) for several reasons: One, it was right next to the internal suspension room and my, ahem, presence assisted in keeping that room somewhat under control. Two, 113 has an abundant amount of board space and I am known for going Sidewalk Chalk crazy with board notes. My students actually appreciate that my notes are time consuming, and fresh off the presses (rather than some SMARTboard stuff I just pop onto a flashdrive and re-use over and over and over and...you get the point. Three, I CUSTOMIZED 113 to my needs - SMARTboard mounted on a wall so as not to waste board space, desks spaced to allow breathing room so 27 kids don't get hostile being piled on top of one another for 188 days, visual aids displayed for maximum effectiveness, and abundant open space so the people I shared the room with (4 different teachers in two years) could easily ingratiate themselves. Yes, my Feng Shui was on like Donkey Kong. "So what. Doesn't matter. Get your stuff out. All of it," said the brain trust in charge. OK - I'll just move all of my stuff from 113 down to 115 where Lisa H. has already established her empire of academia (and she got to stay there two whole years in a row!!) so I'm not gonna storm the castle too bad, but Joe F., moving from the 200 wing because he no longer teaches sophomores (a whole other can of worms I shan't open here, you're welcome) is joining this threesome. Threesomes are overrated, especially when two of the people involved ain't happy. I have a brunette and a redhead that used to bar tend with me that can speak with authority on this should you choose to track them down. Meanwhile, I've gotta move Elaine C's stuff outta 115 and inta 113, which she will share with, if I read the dossier properly, the entire World Language department. Lisa and I also have to dispose of the contents the 115 closet, which contains the belongings of a former colleague, Pete P., who is no longer teaching at all and, based on the contents of the closet, we know why. I'll just leave it at that. Moving Elaine to 113 from 115 and Pete to the dumpster to free up room for Joe from 201 and I from 113, respectively, to 115 (not to mention compacting Lisa's stuff) would involve moving and/or transporting 9 full filing cabinets, 4 smaller ones, 7 large wooden tables, 4 teachers' desks and all of their contents, two TVs, approximately 120 students' desks, about 10' of paperwork (which has to stay collated and organized,) three computers, and a partridge in a pear tree.
Lisa is a champ, and her adorable niece (we teachers are shameless about exploiting child labor) was very helpful, and Frankie, for the record, is a freakishly strong 12 year old, but when that much teaching tonnage has to get taken to task...
Whattaya waitin' for Mr. 400 lb. bench press? Impress us.
But then a funny thing happened, and the Grinch's heart grew 3 sizes that day.
Lisa started moving tables, her niece got down to very carefully collecting papers and shuttling them back and forth from room to room, and Frankie started pushing filing cabinets into place like a young Conan the Barbarian pushing the wheel of sorrow. Meanwhile, in between humping the heavier items about, I called/texted Lauren, Tara, Joe, Julie and company, all of whom were all very forthcoming and accommodating, all of whom offered to come in and finish anything we started. I also noticed many of my colleagues engaged in similar activity, all bitching, but all agreeing that...
pay attention, this is important...
if we want the kids to learn we have to be ready to rock come day one.
Now I could go on about how this constant disturbance of the physical continuity of the education environment is bad juju, (I wrote all about disturbing the actual teaching continuity in my 2nd book, S.C.R.E.W.E.D. - but it now, why don't you) but instead, I think I'll end on a warm and ffuuzzy note.
Teachers (and their child laborers) everywhere are allowing their Feng Shui to be fenged with shuiamelessly in the name of making sure that their students start school in an environment conducive to maximum learning, without having to know how much fun went into getting it that way. So the next time you see a teacher with an aching back (or a 12 year old with great lat development, come to think of it) give them some love, huh?
PS - I know, I know, I spelled ffuuzy with an extra F and an extra U. That F U is for the administrators that make us move all of our stuff to accommodate their grand schemes. Hey, the Blog is called No More Mr. Nice Teacher, so that's as warm and fuzzy as you get. Until next time Stepchildren...
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