Wow. My last couple of posts have been pretty heavy. I think it may be time to lighten the mood a little.
So today I present…
Like all of my teaching stories, this is 100% true. Time combined with numerous retellings of the story may have lead to a little poetic license, but I swear it is as minimal as possible.
Every year, I set up a "lab" in our school's auditorium. The premise is that our class has stumbled upon an archaeological dig of a Stone Age village. I use the auditorium because the stage provides for a wide open space on which to set up different stations, it is usually cold and the lighting is adjustable. Therefore, I can simulate the feeling that the class has entered a chilly, dark cave.
The stations include a cooking area, garbage dump, tool making spot, a ceremonial site and... a dead body.
The dead body is a reject skeleton from our biology department, but if the kids ever ask where it came from I answer "It is the last student who asked too many questions about skeletons" or "I'm not allowed to talk about it ever since... the incident." (I always use very dramatic air quotes when saying "the incident".)
Please, don't worry, the kids know I am kidding... or am I?
Anyway, I mentioned I set this all up on a stage right? Well stages are usually raised off the ground (I think that may be an essential element). In order to get on the stage, one might need to walk up some stairs. I am a special education teacher. Do you know what special education teachers have? Students with special needs! Sometimes these needs require the use of a wheelchair... that can't climb stairs!
It was not until Bill entered the room in his electric wheelchair that I remembered I would need to find a way to get him on the stage in order to participate in the activity. Now I would like to say that this is because when I interact with Bill I don't even notice he is in a wheel chair. I am so enlightened and awesome that I only see the person and not his disability. But in reality, it was because I am a freaking idiot! I screwed up.
As soon as Bill entered, I suppressed a curse directed at myself and looked at my teaching assistant. Because she is awesome and not a freaking idiot, she "reminded" me that there was an elevator in the hallway. I ran to locate it. I did. Although it required a key, I was sure Bill had one. He did.
When the elevator door opened, I noticed it seemed like it was rather dated and had not been used in a while. There was also no light.
Being the hero I am, I decided I should try it out before letting a 14 year old kid get into an ancient, dark elevator. I inserted the key and the door closed. Using my phone as a flashlight, I found the button, pressed it and began my five foot journey upward (Ummm it was only a stage. There were like six steps). Two and a half feet later, the elevator stopped.
This time, I could not suppress the curse. I did manage to keep it quiet and avoid the the queen-mother of dirty words, the "F-dash-dash-dash" word ... so I had that going for me.
While my teaching assistant searched for someone from the maintenance department, I did the only thing I could do. I taught. But before I began, the adult who works with Bill yelled, "You know I can just help him up the stairs and he can sit in a chair on the stage". Great idea! (Wish I had it 5 minutes ago).
I instructed (screamed) for all of my students to come close to the elevator. From inside the pitch black, closet-like space I shouted for them to take one of the gold worksheets located on the stage and to begin by sketching the area on the back of the page and then report back to the elevator door for more instructions. Although the drawing actually was part of the assignment, I was really hoping it would kill enough time for my rescuers to arrive. It did not.
Next, I began yelling questions. I told them that no one should touch any objects in the stations and then asked them why. A few of them shouted answers to the closed elevator door. Eventually, after a few more guided questions, the students figured out that if you move something at an archeological dig, you could change the story. Next I explained that their job was to figure out what the people of the village used each area for. They should write down their guess and include the evidence they used to make their determination. Finally, they should try and determine the cause of death of the skeleton.
One clever killed yelled, "He got trapped in an elevator!"
Very funny.
No seriously, that was very funny. I was impressed.
Because I knew the adult working with Bill would ensure that all the students were safe (and I really had no other choice) I sat down in the dark, motionless elevator and waited for kids to yell questions at the closed door. They did. I usually responded with another question that helped lead them to their own answer.
Just as I was contemplating using my signal-less phone like the ball Steve McQueen tosses against his cell wall in The Great Escape, I heard the familiar voice of John from maintenance... A.K.A. "my hero". He said, "Did anyone hit the button on the elevator door on the stage?"
They had not.
As soon as they did hit that clearly marked "open" button, the elevator sprung to life and quickly finished the last 2 1/2 feet of its journey.
The kids all cheered as I stepped out of my former prison. Through my squinting eyes, I could see they weren't cheering at all. They were laughing. But that is ok. So was I. If you can't laugh at a guy who just taught an entire lesson from a box, what can you laugh at in school?
Although I love telling this story, to this day, I am 100% convinced that someone on the outside was recording this. They could have gotten me out at any point but they wanted to see how long I would keep soldiering on. I imagine that at some party (that I am not invited to), several of my colleagues all sit around a screen and laugh at "the teacher in a box."
Nah.
They would do that to my face... and I would love it!
