the loudspeaker

I’ve lost track of the number of snow days we’ve had. 2 in December + 5 last week +1 today. = 8. Yikes. Still, sitting in pajamas on a Friday at 12:30 pm gives a girl plenty of time to think.

As my time as a teacher with Teach for America comes to an end, I’ve started feeling sick to my stomach. First of all, I regret not writing more about my experience. I wish I had taken a little more time, especially last year, to really capture everything I’ve been through. Now, as the final 125 days begin to tick off, I feel like I’ve lost that opportunity.

So I’m going to try to make the most of this last part of the marathon.

As I walked into the school building yesterday I checked the weather report. It was formidable. 90% chance of snow, and temperatures falling below 32 at around 5 pm. I knew a snow day was inevitable. So I made my decision. Time to teach in hyper-drive. Thursday’s lesson? The California Gold Rush. Friday’s lesson? The Great Migration. Time to cut the chaff, and create one jam-packed lesson about both.

The day was relatively uneventful until the last period of the day. There were SO many interruptions over the loudspeaker and phone calls to my room, that from the time I told my students to start counting the interruptions to the end of class, there were a total of EIGHT.

It went something like this:

Secretary over loudspeaker– “Teachers, sorry for the interruption, we need to see Th __ la in the office.”

Me–“Who did she just say?”

Class– “I don’t know, it sounded like Cayla.”

Me– “Oh well, where was I?”

Class– “Jacob Lawrence, African-American, painter…”

Me– “Oh yea, okay, so Jacob Lawrence painted a series of paintings to illustrate his experience…”

Loudspeaker– “Teachers, pardon this interruption. We’re having some technical difficulties in the office. If you just heard a call over the loudspeaker, sorry about that.”

Me– “Really? They need to interrupt my class to apologize for interrupting class? Ah. Where was I?”

Class– “His paintings.”

Me– “Oh yeah. Okay so…”


Annoying-ass Loudspeaker– “MRS. GIBSON?!! HAS CHEYENNE LEFT YOUR CLASS YET? Probably not.”

Me– “Um, no she’s still here.”


Me– “Okay. She’s on her way.” Shaking my head. “Where was I?”

This is just a small snapshot of life in my school. 125 days.


Author: Claire

Hi I'm Claire. I am a freelance writer, Vizlsa lover, and avid runner who lives in Nashville, TN. Nice to meet you.

2 thoughts

  1. HAHA! I can SO relate to that in my small time teaching. For one day (Oh, I'm sorry for one MONTH) there was construction going on in the vacant "closet" directly adjacent to my room…I'm talkin' it sounded like they had a jack hammers, chainsaws, drills, normal hammers, mallots, and yelling going on almost all day for weeks. Everyday it sounded like there were men on the other side of the wall (the wall that touched my desk) trying their hardest to burrow through the concrete to come drag me away to the apparent coal mine they had created the day before. I went to the next room to ask the workers if they could stop, because I was teaching, and they looked at me like I was some snobbly white girl trying to teach…the nerve! I don't think I ever heard myself speak while teaching French. If it wasn't that, it was the students talking so loudly in class or the constant intercom calls, phone calls, and "lockdowns" Phew…It's laughable now, I guess.

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