This
Journal

October
1999

Every elementary and high school teacher knows something about the little extras. This afternoon I was empowered to guard a doorway. What a rush.

I think the plan goes like this. Every Wednesday we have a short schedule so that classes end a little before 2 p.m. This provides a nice block of time (about 50 minutes) during which teachers may give special attention to needy pupils, clubs and organizations may meet, unattached juniors and seniors may go home, and unattached freshmen and sophomores may hang around in bored groups waiting for transportation.

To supervise these various crowds, teachers are assigned to certain duties (on a rotating basis so that we don't have a duty every week). Today was my first official post-school supervisory duty. During homeroom announcements we were informed that Brother Tom would be posted at the Northwest Gym Doors. After a little discussion with some of my students, I was able to visualize the general whereabouts of this location. "Oh, under that big wooden Corsair?" "Yeah."

During the course of the day (which was a strange, relaxing one without freshmen), it came to me that I didn't really know what I was supposed to do at the Northwest Gym Doors, so I started asking around. The information I received from three or four of my colleagues was all uniformly vague and reassuring. It took the general form of "Just hang out for the hour and make sure nothing illicit goes on."

Well....how do I describe this next part without tying myself in knots? At the proper time I found my way to the Northwest Gym Doors under the big wooden Corsair. One of my confrers had suggested a chair, so I found one and sat, doing my best to look like An Official Presence, but feeling like I wasn't fooling anyone. As I sat I noticed that quite a few students were beginning to pour through those upper doors and into the inclined hallway down which I had just travelled. Soon a colleague approached and said something like "Those kids aren't supposed to be in here." So I quickly rose and, with his help, herded them back beyond the doors.

Ohhh. So this is where I'm supposed to be. And ohhh. So nobody is supposed to go through these doors. Okay. I can do that. In a few moments I was joined by another teacher. But she had somewhere else to be and would send another teacher to join me, which she did. My new partner sat for a few minutes then needed to go to the library for something. No problem; I can watch the door. But no sooner had she left than I began to face a steady trickle and then a torrent of students who "really need to get in there". Each had a very convincing story. I was getting lines like "But Coach said we were supposed to be there by..." "But the trainers are having a meeting down there and I..." "But my horn is down there in my locker..." , My job was to prevent their passage at all costs. I was tough; I was hard; but I do admit to allowing that girl on crutches to pass through. Then a kid said, "Look, my coach wants me to come. Look." And yes, there was the coach signalling "Come on."

Well, enough of this. Do I make my point? I had a job to do, but nobody had been able to tell me exactly what it was or where it was. I felt like the victim of an inside joke; everybody knew what was supposed to happen except me. For a brief few moments I was a character in a Kafka novel.

Forgive me. Just more whining from The New Guy.

Oh, but there was this good thing today. While working on my grades at the computer, I was able to help another English teacher with a little glitch and we struck up a conversation. We both teach the sophomore American Lit class. I got to tell him a bit about Sven Birkerts; he got to tell me about his approach to working with the tough early pieces in the textbook. We shared; we commisserated; I learned a few things. This was good.

A man will be imprisoned in a room with a door that's unlocked and opens inwards; as long as it does not occur to him to pull rather than push.
Ludwig Wittgenstein