It's the second day of school, Fall 2020. I had been present for the first day, several weeks ago, but we had cancelled school for several weeks immediately after due to an outbreak of Covid. I had called in sick today also - for a stomach issue, not Covid19. I hadn't had time to leave lesson plans though, and I was so stressed about what the sub and the kids were going through that I showed up around 11 am to see if I could help (for free). Everyone had on their masks, and I tried to blend in with the kids and not disturb the substitute. She knew I was the teacher, but I saw that she had prepared a lesson and I didn't want to interfere with the execution of the lesson, so I kept my mouth shut. After the class ended, I had to move rooms to teach another class. I wore my mask in the halls, and everyone else had on a mask. It was stressful, but not impossible.
On my way back from that class, I badly needed to duck in for a speed pee on my way back to my classroom. During the school year, Bathrooming becomes a very certain part of daily life. For one, a teacher has to manage the possibility of it being too crowded and not actually "getting a spot" in there before class (and painfully holding her pee all through the next class). If it's a real emergency, she'll have to call the secretary, who will have to bother someone on their planning period to come watch her class while she race-horses it. If she can get in, there's this added element of stress of worrying that the superintendent might walk by her classroom or where she usually stands for hall duty, notice her absence, and write that down in his mental book of her worth.
I rush in the bathroom and the first thing I notice is that there are both boys and girls in the girls' bathroom. I run out and check the sign to see if I've made a mistake. On the one hand, I can get on board with a progressive world where bathrooms are just bathrooms, but I know our bathrooms are specifically BOYS and GIRLS, and our school is small enough that I know for certain who is allowed to be in which one. I go back in there and shout for the boys to GET OUT! Aside from the fact that there are at least 20 boys in there, there are also 30-40 girls in there. They are all packed in the aisles and stalls just hanging out and goofing off, and no one but me is wearing a mask. I'm filled with the terror of contracting Covid in this packed, windowless space, but I also am feeling the teacher feelings of being required to manage these children's behavior and force them to toe the line. I am shouting instructions at the kids, but my voice is very small, and it's even smaller with my mask on.
Task complete, and I haven't used the bathroom, I hurry back to my classroom. The substitute teacher is still there, thankfully. I can feel my eyes welling with tears from the frustration. I don't see what else I can do but go see the principal and quit. But, the sub has asked for help with the Level 3 lesson plans, and I see that the class has about doubled in size since the first day, and that most of those new kids had never taken Level 1 or Level 2 - so the class would be extremely difficult to teach. There's a knock at the door, I open it and it's a colleague of mine who has recently tested positive for Covid19. She asks if her kids can use the room for a second, and I said of course. Five of her students come in to use my sinks (which I wish I had in real life, but don't!). As they are running the water, I feel that I don't have a mask on, and I see my mask in the sink and the kids are running water over it! I shout at them and at this point I really lose my mind. I tell the sub I have to get out of there for a few minutes.
I find a dirty old surgical mask in my purse that I used to wear when I visited my grandmother in the hospital in early March. I put that on and head for the office. I try to get the attention of the principal to arrange a meeting as I run through what I might say in my mind. I never sit down with her, and I maintain the feeling and stress of being a burden to her and causing her undue stress.
