I really don't get paid enough.
My morning started with my usual breakfast of buttered toast and eggs over easy, which I stuck in the fridge before pouring a mug of strong coffee. Okay, maybe the coffee is my usual breakfast, and the food is wishful thinking. Don't judge me. Mornings are rough.
I shoved myself, six bags of papers, and two bottles of vanilla Frappuccino into my sorry excuse for a vehicle, and promptly backed into a recycling bin. I may or may not do that on a semi-weekly basis. It's fine; my car is so dented, nobody's going to notice one more little scratch. I pulled up in front of a tall brick building and hurried inside. Seven-thirty; I was running late.
I got to my classroom and dumped my coffee and papers on my desk. I had about ten minutes to down at least one Frappuccino before my students showed up. Great. What was today's lesson plan... oh, right. Hand out graded assignments, read chapter nineteen, discuss last night's homework... "I've got this. I totally know what I'm doing." Yes, sometimes I need to hype myself up with positive affirmations. And yes, it is technically talking to myself. Like I'm the only one who does that. Besides, if you had my job, then trust me, you'd be doing the same thing.
The bell rang, and right on cue, fifteen uniform-clad middle schoolers poured into the room. After twenty minutes of getting them all in their seats and taking attendance, I was rewarded with two hours of raucous disorder during which I fielded requests to bump up grades, found out who hadn't done the assigned reading, and attempted to teach a very thoughtfully planned lesson which nobody paid attention to. When recess came, I wearily dragged myself to the teacher's lounge, looking forward to enjoying a few moments of quiet. That didn't happen, of course. It was louder than my classroom had been all morning, thanks to Mr. J and Mr. C. My two co-workers were in a screaming-match-turned-fistfight. From the few coherent phrases passed between them, I put together that Mr. C had eaten Mr. J's lunch again and called him a rude name. Mr. J's response was to punch him. In other words, these teachers were no better than the immature adolescents in their charge. Also, Mr. C was definitely winning. I decided to break it up before someone died and I was asked to cover their classes.
Eventually, the two teachers were seated in opposite corners of the room, both with cups of the herbal tea that the principal kept in stock, and Mr. J enjoying a donated pudding cup from another teacher. I drank my second Frappuccino and wished I had brought a third. When Ms. N, the only other female teacher, came to remind us all about that afternoon's scheduled field trip, I knew that no amount of coffee could ever be enough. Apparently, I would have to help chaperone a bus full of badly-behaved middle schoolers on a tour of some multi-billion-dollar tech company. Not what I wanted to spend my afternoon doing, but since I didn't feel like losing my job, field trip it was.
The bus ride into the city involved a lot of shouting students, way too much traffic, and a teacher who grabbed the intercom and decided it was their time to shine. It was not. Now I had a headache. Suddenly, Ms. N shrieked, clutching the wheel as we collided with one of those fancy new vehicles that everyone in the city drives. Everyone was a bit shaken, but thankfully nobody was hurt other than our bus. It seemed drivable, so we parked, got off the bus, and herded the students across the street to our destination.
Even I had to admit that our field trip sounded cool. We were greeted by a female robot who gave us a tour, or most of us. She explained that the CEO wanted to meet Messrs. J, C, Z, and K; in other words, all our male teachers. Ms. N and I would tour the facility with the students. Kind of sexist, but I didn't have time to protest; I had unruly students to supervise. The female robot took us through the manufacturing plant, explaining all the different machines which were building everything from cars to laptops. The students, for once, seemed genuinely interested in learning something, and I was able to relax a bit and enjoy the tour. I briefly wondered what was taking the other teachers so long, but soon pushed the thought from my mind, deciding that it wasn't really my concern. They didn't pay me enough to worry about my coworkers' well-being.
We were making our way to the exit, in order to tour other parts of the building, when robot lady stopped suddenly and informed us in an eerie monotone that our tour was now over. I was about to ask why it was ending an hour early, and could she please show us how to get out, but I stopped when one of the girls screamed. I whirled around and saw the machines that a moment ago were building computers, now gone completely wild. The floor beneath our feet started moving, and I quickly figured out that we were on a giant conveyor belt, and also that we would likely all be killed by rogue machinery if we didn't get out of there. My first thought was that I didn't get paid nearly enough for this. Also, escaping death was not in my contract. Forty-five students, a principal, and two teachers was a lot of us to safely escape this nightmare. I wished that I was dreaming, and when I saw Principal W and Ms. N start roundhouse-kicking a path for the students, I thought that wish might have come true. Everything happened quickly after that, the two of them using some magic tornado karate move to herd us all toward an exit, and me just going along with it because I didn't know how to fight rogue machinery with magical karate, I'm a middle school teacher. The craziest part was when the male teachers burst through the door, wearing different colored pajamas with matching ski masks. They all had weird gold swords and apparently, they also knew the magic tornado karate. I guess I'm the only teacher who wasn't doing martial arts in my free time.
I did make it safely on the bus with all the students, and Ms. N drove like a madwoman back to the town where the school was. We left four teachers and the principal behind, but clearly, they could take care of themselves, and I had a responsibility to my students. However, I was no longer sure I wanted this responsibility. Ms. N explained on the bus ride that our co-workers were actually ninjas, with powers over the four elements: Ice, earth, lightning, and fire. Mr. Z, or Zane, was actually a robot, Principal W was Sensei Wu, and they all stayed behind to fight some virtual evil overlord, whom we had encountered on our field trip. I managed to respond with "That explains the pajamas. And since when is lightning an element?" She laughed, but she wasn't joking about the other teachers.
As soon as I got home that evening, I penned my resignation letter. When I came to the school to formally resign the next day, the teachers confirmed everything, and that was all I needed to hear. I left the letter with Mr. Zane, since the Sensei/Principal had been captured by the evil overlord. Whatever. I didn't get paid enough to care.
I have learned two important lessons from this whole experience. One, that I am not cut out for teaching. I don't like teaching, and I'm never doing it again. Two, if a potential employer offers you minimum wage plus unlimited tea, run. You won't be getting paid enough.