Month Thirteen

"Hey Kaw, what up? Are you ready to read?"  I asked, feeling a little sleepy but happy that while the rest of the teachers weren't at school, I didn't have to be there either after we rearranged the testing schedule.  
"So, what do I need to bring to school tomorrow?"  he asked.  
"Don't worry, you know, your Chromebook, the charger....."
"Wait, stop!"  he announced, and turned his camera on.  I saw his book bag, sitting on a chair.  
"Go slower!"

I slowed down.  The Chromebook.  The charger I bought him, in case the charge goes down.  Some paper.

"This paper?!"  he called, turning his camera on again.

"That'll work, but don't worry, if they say you don't have what you need, I'll bring it to you.....look in that green bag, the one I dropped off.  Get the paper out of there, the pencils, too.  If they aren't sharpened, we can do it at school... I know they aren't sharpened...."  

"Okay, do I need the math books, both big and small?"

"Put it all in there, you're good."  I replied, trying to get on with the reading lesson.

"Okay,"  he responded.

"Do it again."

And, we revisited the list again, two, three times, until he felt like his bag was packed and ready for school.  And then, we read.

It was a book about Mars.  Over and over again he asked me if people live on other planets.  Science isn't really my jam, but I explained that all the planets are either too far away for us to reach, or are too cold or too hot, and that humans can't figure out how to breathe there.  

Every time we talked about a new planet, he would ask the same questions.  

I kept thinking about the moon.  A silly rock that only reflects the light of the sun, but cannot generate its own light.  And that is the only place we've been to. 

We watched a You Tube video of the February rover landing on Mars.  

Mars has two moons.

"Why haven't we gone to their moons?"

"That's a good question," I answered.

"I don't know why."

Moons are beautiful, was all I could think, but apparently without a lot of purpose.  

Kaw kept pushing, asking where extraterrestrials live.  I kept telling him that I didn't know, that so far, there is no evidence of life on other planets, but that our solar system is only one that we sort of know about and who the hell knows.  

"Area 51"  he finally announced.

"That's where they are."

We finished the lesson, after nearly two hours.  And then, he made me help him set up his Instagram account, so that he could contact Prem via messenger without having service.  Prem's message came through, finally:

"Do you want to play COD?"

"Let me in the call."

I added Prem to Kaw's Classroom and they started chattering.

"All right, friends.  I'm out.  Don't kill everything."  I announced.

"Oh no,"  they announced. 

"WE SUCK!"  

And started laughing hysterically.  

Rikitakashifu

 

"Ms. Wagner, have you ever sleep walked?"  Kaw asked.
"Actually, yes, a few times.  It's really crazy, my eyes were open and I was talking...."
"STOP!   STOP!"  he shrieked.  
"Too scary......."

"No, no...." I said, trying to finish my description.

"Scary!  Too, too scary."

I stopped. 

"I have to get going, friends.  I have to go by my mom's house on the way home from work."

"Oh!  Please tell her we said hi....."  Kaw exclaimed.

"I will, Kaw, thanks!"

"Ms. Wagner, what does this button do?"  Pablo asked, while we mutually read an article over our TEAMS call.  

"I don't know.  Push it."  I responded.

A series of speeds were listed after he pushed it.  We listened to the lady read the article ridiculously slow, then sped her up until she read the whole thing out loud in like, ten seconds.  It actually was pretty funny.  

"Guess what you guys?  I have to leave work right on time today, I'm um, I'm getting a shot.  The um, vaccine, I'm getting it today."  I told my fourth graders in one of our daily after-school video sessions.

"Ohhhhhh, Ms. Wagner.  I do not like shots.  I cry and have to calm myself."  Kaw blurted out.

"Yeah, I really don't like them either, but this one is pretty important."  I responded.  

"Ohhhh, Ms. Wagner, my mom says that if people get the vaccine, they like, turn in to animals.  Like maybe a giraffe, or even a snake......"  Paw Ku mentioned, carefully.  

"I'm going to bark all the way home!"  I responded, laughing.  

"I might even eat some of Lola's dog food!"  

They found that pretty amusing and I found myself brainstorming how I would incorporate random animal noises into my lesson the next day.  

Prem came in the call with the fourth graders and insisted that we play with Google Translate.  He claimed that my name is Rikitakashifu in Japanese.  I told them that I would refuse to answer to any other name for the rest of the school year. 

"No!!! Ms. Wagner!!!  Too long, too hard!!!!"  Kaw screamed.

"Okay, you can call me Rikitaka."  I responded.  Then, we made Google Translate say all of our names in different languages.  It was really struggling with their names.

"Put our names in Thai instead of English..."  Bway Pa called out.

"Thai or Burmese, which will..."

"THAI!!!"  they all screamed.  

"Ms. Wagner, I am really afraid to send my children back into the building, but a friend of mine said that if I don't, they'll get kicked out of school."

I read the message and felt really relieved that the parent had reached out to me with that information.  

"You have ever right to NOT send your children back to school.  There will be no repercussions and they will be able to continue attending school online and come back when you are comfortable.  They will not be kicked out.  The majority of parents have made that choice and it is completely acceptable."  I wrote back, in Spanish. 'Majority' didn't even cover it.  The first day that 25% our students were eligible to return to school, only 39 kids came.  The rest kept their children at home.  I only have a third of my students that are willing to re-enter the building. 

"Oh thank you, dios te bendinga, I lost my father to COVID on Tuesday.  My mom died a year ago.  I am completely alone and I am just very afraid."

I stared back at my computer screen.  In the last year, she left the father of her children because he had another woman and child on the side.  She also had another baby, I believe her fifth.  A one hundred year pandemic hit and she lost both of her parents.  I was speechless.  

Last Wednesday, Kaw didn't show up for his weekly online reading lesson.  He's never done that before. The fourth graders usually blow me up with messages on Wednesdays and I didn't receive a single message.  It was odd, and I hoped maybe their families had taken them to the park or something, it was really nice out.  I didn't sleep well that night and had weird dreams about Kaw.  He was alone, rowing a boat in the middle of some huge lake or sea.  He is a small boy and the sight of him alone like that was jarring.  Later, he popped up again in the dream and he was actually in the water, alone.  I woke up, tired from shitty sleep and felt horrible.  I just had a very bad feeling. 

When I got to work, I noticed multiple texts on my Google Voice from Kaw and from his older sister.  There were other messages from them through other platforms.  There were messages from Paw Ku's mom too.  Paw Ku is his best friend.  I was afraid to check the messages, but did anyway.  They were vague, just saying 'hello' and one mentioning that Kaw's sister wanted me to help her register her child for the pre-k lottery.  Finally I called one of the numbers and heard Kaw answer.

"Kaw, is that you?  It's Ms. Wagner."

"Yes," he responded quietly.

"I knew my sister had your number in her phone so I asked her for it and borrowed my mom's phone.  I can't log on!  No one can!"

The district changed the fucking passwords for everyone right in the middle of this mess.  He was freaking out.  I spoke to him on the phone on and off through the day, trying to get him online.  He texted me pictures of the error messages he was getting.  Finally, he was in around 1:30 in the afternoon.  He went and got his sister and followed my links to pull up the pre-k lottery website and present the screen so that I could see it.  He interpreted the questions into Karen for his sister and showed her how to click on things and fill it out.  He was completely running the show.  He is an eleven year old boy that arrived here as a refugee five years ago with zero English.  His abilities and willingness to get things done amazes me.  

Pablo looked at me through the screen, a devilish look in his eye.

"Guess what, Ms. Wagner?!  I'm the teacher now!"  he shrieked, laughing maniacally.

I could see that he was trying to mute me and busted out laughing.  He tried to kick me out of the meeting, too.

"Mute yourself!" he yelled, waiving a pool stick around and jumping on his couch.  

We didn't get a damn thing done but it was really funny.  

Pablo came into the school last Friday, to take another test.  He was literally the only child in the school.  He seemed a little creeped out.  We finished his test, called Lola on the app I have, grabbed a bunch of candy and went outside to wait for his mom to come and pick him up.  He was wearing his cool new hoodie, black jeans, red sneakers and his embroidered Mexican belt.  He looked cool, and I told him so.  He said they were new clothes, but the jeans were too tight.  He insisted on waiting at the corner of the school, right by the street and sat down on the curb.  

"Want to come over?"  he asked.

"When my mom comes, why don't you come with us?"

"Oh wow, I wish I could.  I have to stay at work."

"You should come by after you're done.  We can play with the puppies.  I play with them until the sun goes down."

"I really wish I could, Pablo, but I don't think I should come over while the virus is still around....."

"Can we come to Lola's birthday party?"

"I wish, I really wish, but I don't think this year is a good one.  You'll meet her in person, Pablo, I promise.  One day."

Shame In My Game

"Kemp changed the vaccination date for teachers.  They are letting you in on March 8th."
I didn't really know what to do.  I looked at a few drug store websites and none of them would let me register in advance.  Finally, Alec and I both registered on My Vaccine, hoping they would send us something whenever we could make appointments.  

I was surprised to see a notification in my email box Thursday evening.  It allowed me to make an appointment for the first dose of Pfizer at a mass vaccination site by the airport, about twenty miles from where I work.  I felt nearly as agitated as I did the night I found out that I had been exposed at work.  After setting up the appointment, I got excited.  Then, I walked into the kitchen.  As soon as I looked at Alec I felt enormously guilty.  He has been back at work since the summer.  In a restaurant.  He has been tested more times than I can count because his coworkers are constantly getting COVID.  He tried to reassure me that he didn't think I should feel bad, but I did.  And I still do. 

I texted everyone I know and put a message up on Facebook, fearing that they didn't know they could get appointments and worrying that all of them would book up.  I sat at work at 7:00 the next morning, when a text came through from a friend at my old school.

"Walgreen's has appointments in Decatur and they are letting us book both shots."
I sat at my desk, kind of staring off into space.  
I'm not going to mess with it, I thought.  I am grateful just to have an appointment.....but, I only have an appointment for one shot....what if they run out?  And Decatur is a hell of a lot closer than the airport from school....what's wrong with you?  What's wrong with you?  You can't be happy with your appointment?  It has to be closer, more convenient?  Asshole.  You are an asshole.  

I got on the Walgreen's website and got both appointments booked.  

"Do you know which vaccine it is?"  I texted back, worried because the website didn't say.  

My brain started working again....you bougie asshole.  Now you think you should get to shop around? What, J&J isn't good enough for you?  Alec doesn't have anything.  Holly doesn't have anything.  

The school system updated something with the internet the night before and half of my pages were getting blocked, no matter which wifi channel I used or which computer.  I was getting really anxious, the confirmations weren't coming through and my first class was about to start.  There was stuff I needed to see, I needed to get these appointments right.  My first class started and the internet was so janky I couldn't even see the kids on the call and I got kicked out multiple times in thirty minutes.  My stomach started to churn.  

What, this hurts your stomach?  Poor you.  Poor you getting vaccinated, so sorry it makes your stomach hurt.  So sorry it stresses you out to get stuff millions of other people need and can't get.  So sorry!

Both appointments got confirmed.  I am getting my first vaccination on Monday.  

Oh, the Places You'll Go!

Yaaz removed his mask, during testing. I was about four feet away and I watched him hold his breath, cheeks like balloons, while he turned it over and readjusted it.  He is six.
"Yaaz, I noticed how conscientious you are with your mask, and I appreciate it."  I commented.  I started the stupid CD I have to play on a dusty old, beginning of time Title One funded boom box for this goddamned test and played the next track.
Yaaz responded to the prompt.  And then, he turned toward the boom box and screamed his sentence again, thinking it was somehow recording him.    

His dad's minivan had broken down in front of the school the day before, after he dropped him off for testing.  I was surprised he was there the next day for more bullshit testing.  

I called his dad and we went and stood outside after the second day of testing was done.  And, we walked around.  We looked at the trailers of all the various teachers and identified the cars they drove.  He thought I might have the giant SUV with super big wheels, instead of Alec's Honda.  We saw one of the teachers jumping rope outside of his trailer.  I saw him staring at my tights-encased legs, below my skirt.  

"I want speed clothes." he declared.

"What are those?"

"They fit you tight and make you run fast." he responded.

"That sounds awesome," I answered.

"Do you want to see the prints my shoes make in the mud?"

He didn't answer, but looked at my shoe prints.  

His dad came.  

"What was it?" I asked.

"The starter."

"I'm sorry.  That's money no one wants to spend."

"It's okay.  Now I am back to work."

"I'm sorry."  I said again.

"Get on up there, big guy." I directed Yaaz, and buckled him into the back seat of the different minivan.  

Dad smiled and waived, and drove away.  

"You know what I'm doing right now???"  Prem asked, in his subversive whisper while we were in virtual small group.

"What are you doing?"

"I am eating cheddar cheese Cheetos with jalapeños..." he hissed back.  

"Eat 'um up,"  I responded.

"That sounds good."

"But, work on that vocab your teacher wants you to do....you're going to get Trump orange stuff all over your Chromebook...." I continued.

"Nah, I'm typing with my hand that is missing fingers." he responded.  

I forgot about his hand.  

Read Across America day honors Dr. Suess' birthday.  Bougie schools ignore it, but old-school schools do all that stuff, even Red Ribbon Week.  I know Dr. Suess has gotten himself in a bit of a racist-ass mix lately, but I actually thought it was amazing when we had a virtual, all-school in all places read-along of "Oh, the Places You'll Go!".  It took forever to get it set up, but when it was happening, I sat there in my trailer, watching the book be read by one of my favorite teachers and panned around at my mission control of three computers and wires and craziness and saw her and the children's faces, with the daylight pouring in and I felt really okay.  

I did.  

Let Every Heart Sink

Of the twelve days I was back in school, I was testing students for seven of them.  On majority of the other days there weren't even classes at all, leaving me to piece together informal sessions to help the kids that wanted it and knew how to get to my calls.  The last day of testing was a heartbreak.   I stood in the doorway of the classroom that I'm not allowed to enter and spoke to the teacher, trying to gather the kids I had to test.  I saw a long, straight black ponytail.  She was sitting alone with her face to a wall at a desk masked off with tape all around it.  

"Mya, is that you?"  I called out.
She spun around, covered in masks and spoke but I couldn't hear her.  I came closer.
"Why am I not with you anymore?" she called, eyes screaming over her mask.  
"Oh honey, oh my god, I'm so sorry.  You tested out.  Your brain is so big that you didn't need us anymore....but, but, whenever we get back in this building you can come with us....I still have the trailer full of books, you can take any of them whenever you want...."
I glanced furtively to the homeroom teacher, she was clutching her chest and her eyes were welling up.  
"I can....?"  Mya responded.
"Of course you can.  We are not letting you go, wether you like it or not.  I put you in my Google Classroom too, come on, say hi, everyone misses you."
And then I left.  

I started getting messages from fellow teachers.

"I've got appointments in Alabama, they're vaccinating teachers...."

"I've got one in Tennessee, they're letting us get it....."

I didn't do it.  

"Hey, Wagner, call me back."

I called my co-worker back after seeing the text message.

"You tested the Warren kids last week, right?"

"Yeah, two of them, even though only one of them is ESOL.  I had them in the trailer for two days, multiple hours.  Yafir can't keep his mask on to save his life, it was driving me crazy...."

"Their dad sent me a message Wednesday, he's positive.  When did you test the kids?"

"Last Thursday and Friday."

"No one called you?  The administration knows.... no one called you?"

"No,"  I responded.

"I'm calling in sick tomorrow, I'm going to isolate."

"Don't call in sick, tell them you are working from home so that they don't take your sick days...."

I paced around and then, called my principal.  I wondered if I was overreacting, then imagined walking into the school after receiving the information that I received and having everyone point at me like Donald Sutherland did in the seventies version of Invasion of the Body Snatchers.  I called again and left a message stating that I had been exposed and wanted to get tested before returning to the building.  I emailed my rosters of the children that were in the room with us when I tested the Warren children.  I thought of Pablo and Angel's mom.  She was really reluctant to return her children to the building.  Pablo was in the room those days.  I don't know how I would tell her that he might have been exposed.  

My principal called me at 7:00 the following morning, our report time.  She was apologetic, telling me that I wasn't contacted because the children had not tested positive.  She told me to come to work, that day.  There were no answers as to if the children had been tested at any point and if anyone knew if they currently carried the virus, or might have late last week.  I insisted that I needed to get tested.  Earlier "protocol" stated that if an employee got tested, they should not report to work until they received results. I was told to come to work.  I arrived, a little after 8:00.  I felt awkward, weird.  People who knew what was going on stayed twenty feet away from me whenever I left the trailer.  Some were angry that I came in.

My whole day was disrupted by testing matters for the ESOL test that I have starting on Monday.  More kids in my room and I don't even know if I have it or not. I didn't even get to do my classes and ended up locked in a small office with an administrator for an extended period of time preparing testing materials.  I even had to drive to the county office to pick up file folders, of all things, because my coordinator instructed me to "come and get them" even though I teach and work for a living instead of sitting behind a desk picking my ass.  I drove the fifteen minutes, one-way trip from the school and waited outside.  I even had to sign shit like it was Fort Knox and they wouldn't even let me use their pen.  Must be nice... I thought and repeatedly stood closer to the people than I should, just to make a point.  I drove back to the school, but not before driving past one of my student's houses and placing a bag of school supplies on her front porch.  I jumped back in the car and texted her, knowing that it would make her happy.  At least something positive had to come out of that drive and believe me, the fast food fries I picked up at the drive-thru didn't do it.   

I left work right at 3:00 so that I could get to the testing center before it closed at 4:00.  Now, it's just waiting.  

The Return, pt. 3

I rushed around the trailer Monday morning, trying to wrap my head around the fact that students that I had not seen in person in eleven months would be in there that morning.  I could hear my trailer-mate through the wall, vacuuming her carpet.  I heard the intercom buzz in.  
"How are you?"  the admin asked.
"I'm vacuuming the carpet in here."  she answered.
"Oh, okay!"  was the response.
"Do you want to arrange for a weekly cleaning of your trailer?"
"I didn't know we had to request that."  she answered.  

I had been having to call the parents of my students to arrange for transportation for the test I have to give in March.  I was very nervous doing this.  I can speak Spanish, but have to rely on all kinds of online translators and older brothers and sisters to speak to the majority of my families that only speak other languages.  And what I was asking was delicate.  I wanted them to understand that they did not HAVE to send their kids in for testing.  But I also didn't want it to appear that I was trying to influence them in any way.  Many told me that they thought the were required to send in their kids and that other teachers had told them so.  At these moments, I was very explicit.  I clearly told them that it was their right to NOT send their kids in, that their children would not be penalized either through bad grades or lack of grade-level advancement and that they were not the only parents that were uncomfortable sending their children to the building.  All of my families are immigrants.  I refuse to mislead them in any way and feel like it is part of my job that they understand their rights in the American public school system.  

I put on the N95 that Alec bought me for my birthday and entered the school.  Families stood out front, waiting for their children to be let in for testing.  I saw Prem.  His whole family starting waving at me.  None of my kindergartners  showed up for the test, though the communication log indicated that one had said they would come.  Two fifth graders were there that were supposed to come on a different day and none of the ones were there that had indicated they would be present on Monday.  I started getting worried.  If mistakes kept being made as to which days the students would arrive, I could end up with a very large group in a really cramped, unventilated trailer.  

I have to admit, it was really good to see Prem and Juan in person.  Somehow, Prem looked smaller than he did before.  Juan was very excited to let me know that he was wearing new clothes.  I spread them out in the trailer and got them started on the test, even though it was hard to get them to stop talking to me and each other.  I passed out candy that I told them they had to save it for later because I didn't want their masks off, using this really long skeleton hand I have.  Juan had to pee, so I watched him from the trailer door while he ran toward the propped open door to the building.  He returned a few minutes later, looking sheepish.

"Um....Ms. Wagner, there's not any soap in the bathroom....."

If I was a volcano, I probably would have looked like Krakatoa at that moment.  When people first started talking about students re-entering the buildings, one of the biggest points of conversation was that there is only cold water in most of the bathrooms in our schools.  The answer?

"Water temperature doesn't matter.  It's the soap that matters."

And they still hadn't put fucking soap in the student bathrooms in the middle of a pandemic?

At the end of the day on Monday, an announcement was made telling us that our "sanitation buckets" hadn't arrived, but that there were provisional supplies for us to retrieve from the building.  At this point, we had been out of school for eleven months and back in the building for four days, all the while being promised that everything would be ready when they required us to return to the building.  When I entered the building, I retrieved a zip lock with my name on it that contained a face shield, student masks, one bottle of hand sanitizer and some disposable gloves. There was no bag for my trailer mate.  I returned and placed these new items next to my two rags and surface (?) sanitizer wipes.  

I finished my two days of testing fifth grade and moved on to first and fourth.  I started realizing that with this schedule, most teachers would only be face to face with students testing for two days.  Because I had been assigned to test all grades, I will be face to face with different students for six days, and additional days for make-ups.  I set up more desks and walked around the trailer with a tape measure, trying to get them six feet apart.  I could tell that by the end of the week, my group was going to be significantly larger.  

Late in the week, students began reporting that there was soap in the bathroom.  Mitigation measures with first graders posed a significant challenge.  One arrived with a very overused paper mask on that continuously fell off her nose.  At one point, she took it off all together.   I rigged up a new mask that would fit her face.  They had no concept of social distancing and constantly moved mere inches from each other and from me.  I reminded them over and over, but it just wasn't working.  The fourth graders were clamoring away from the first graders because of their lack of social distancing.  They also needed consistent help with technology, forcing me to grab their laptops and log them in, negating anything near a six foot distance.  By the last day of the week, I had nine kids crammed into the trailer and I was ready to start stacking all of the furniture that was being stored in there outside to give us extra room for distancing.  

Late on Friday, we were told to pick up our "sanitation buckets".  I was imagining a bucket, chock-full of cleaning stuff.  I figured I would finally get the disinfectant spray bottle instead of just the dry surface (?) wipes.  The Lysol wipes I bought were getting low.  I thought there might be multiple bottles of replenishments, so we wouldn't run out of things.  Maybe there would even be a Lysol-type spray that would just saturate the whole place.  I knew we weren't getting any air purifiers or plexiglass dividers or invitations to be part of a testing protocol or temperature checkers.  But maybe a couple of extra adult cloth masks?  I couldn't help but think of all the things that might make this a little safer or limit the amount of stuff I was buying on my own or couldn't find at all.  

I received an empty bucket, with a sign on it that said "Sanitation Station".  There was an empty bucket for my trailer-mate, too.  

The Return Continues

I cancelled my small groups and spent the first day back in the building cleaning the trailer with the supplies that I brought with me.  I actually found myself mentally marveling at the Lysol wipes I had "scored".  I cleared out as many shelves, desks and closets as I could and stacked everything on one side of the room until I was ready to start dragging it to the dumpsters.  I scrubbed down everything, the blinds, inside drawers, window sills, even the walls at times.  I was really behind on other things that I needed to do, but could not exist in that trailer in the state it was in.  On top of it, though the kids have not been officially called back into the building, they were coming in for testing starting the following Monday.  I am on the schedule to test different groups of kids nearly everyday until the end of March.  In that trailer.  The thought of my students having to sit in that filth infuriated me and motivated me to try to make the thing livable.  

I really avoided going inside the building.  The two staff bathrooms we have are closet-sized and shared between countless people.  I discovered that our key cards weren't working anyway, making it difficult to even get into the building if I wanted to.  I questioned how many days I would be able to not pee for like, nine hours.  

Late in the day, the former occupant of the trailer stopped by.
"Hey, I know I should have gotten on this sooner.  I'll start carting all my stuff out, it'll be gone by Friday."
"Awesome, thank you!"  I was beyond relieved to not have to drag all of that stuff to the dumpster.

"Hey, is this really all the sanitation stuff we are supposed to get?"  I asked pointing to the Dollar Tree air freshener, rags and pack of wipes. 

"You're supposed to have more than that!"  he exclaimed.

"That's my old air freshener, you're supposed to have the hospital-grade spray!  They gotta bring you that!"

The intercom came on and interrupted him.  

"THIS is making me mad!"  he burst out, pointing at the intercom.
"She is making me mad!"  he went into a bit of a tirade and I agreed with everything he was saying.  And then, I realized his mask had come off while he was ranting.  I stepped farther back and hoped he would leave.  

I returned Thursday morning.  When I opened the door, the two bags of trash from the previous day's clean up were still there and the carpet had not been vacuumed.  There were also no additions to my "sanitation station".  I took the trash to the dumpster and started trying to teach my classes.  The desktop in the trailer does not have a camera and we are obviously required to have the camera on while teaching.  I have a work-issued Chromebook, but it is such a piece of shit that I usually just use it as a second monitor and use my personal laptop to do all of my school work and teaching.  I noticed problems immediately when I entered the video-call of my first class.  Lagging, sound going in and out, images that weren't showing, teachers getting kicked out of their own classes.  Our building did not have the bandwidth to support all of us teaching online from the same location.

"Didn't have this problem when I was teaching from my house...."  I heard one teacher say.

"I upgraded my internet...AT HOME."  another muttered.

It continued all day.  Some people didn't give classes at all.  

"We are going to have a virtual tornado drill!"  an administrator announced early in the day.

"Staff that are outside should come in the building when we have it!"

I felt a little confused and pictured all of us huddled in a hallway having a COVID spreading party.  Later in the day, the tornado alert starting going off and the teacher I was video-teaching with commanded the students to find a safe place in their houses and pretend there was a tornado coming.  Many looked confused and just sat, staring back at their monitors.  Other teachers started exiting their trailers.  We walked to the school.  Our key cards still didn't work, so we were locked outside during the virtual tornado.  We walked around the school and through the parking lot.  We saw a teacher exiting his car.

"My trailer is freezing!"  he exclaimed.

"Mine is too!" another responded.

"I saw Ms. Goode teaching in the cafeteria, her heat must be out too!"

"I had to warm up, so I've just been sitting out in my car!"

We walked around the building, trying to find an open door.  When we finally got let in, the virtual tornado drill was over.  I decided that since I was in the building anyway, I would break my no-pee streak.  I emptied out my box in the teacher workroom and opened the little Christmas gift the school had given us months earlier.  It was a school t-shirt and one very small, thin face mask.  As I returned to the trailer, I ran into three staff members not wearing masks.  That evening, I emailed an administrator and requested the missing spray for my "sanitation station".  I also asked if there was an onsite vacuum I could use so that I would not have to carry my own back and forth.

I pulled up to the building Friday morning and dragged all of my stuff to the trailer.  The intercom buzzed.

"Ms. Wagner, I will get you that stuff!"  the admin. announced.

"Thank you!"  I responded and started trying to get ready to teach.  I stepped outside to make another trip to the car for my vacuum cleaner and saw a hand in the window of the front half of the double-wide, waving.  A colleague stepped out that I have not seen in a long time.  

"I'm scared." she said, immediately.

"I called in the first two days back, my blood pressure was really high.  I have not stepped foot in that building." she continued.

"Did they give you the cleaning stuff?"  I asked.  

"No.  There is nothing in there.  I got nothing.  They parked the vacuum in there but didn't even do the floor or take out the trash.  How are we supposed to think the "COVID deep cleaning" is being done weekly if we can't even get basic cleaning done?  Am I really supposed to trust that our two little bathrooms are being cleaned through out the day?"  

I shook my head.

"Look.  This is bullshit.  But, every time I go near the building, I'll text you and bring out anything you need and leave it outside of your door."

"Thank you."  she responded.  

The spray never came.  I spent the last hour of the day vacuuming the filthy carpet and thinking of the kids that would be in the trailer with me on Monday.  I wiped everything down, over and over again.  Their parents trust me, I kept thinking.  What if one of them got sick after coming in here?  I kept moving the bottle of hand sanitizer I had brought from home to different parts of the trailer.  I put extra paper masks from the box I keep in the car on my desk.  The two rags and suspicious wipes I was provided with sat in my "sanitation station".  

And then, I left.  I really had to pee.