When you have over a thousand people involved in a mass standardized testing situation, there are going to be some lines for the bathrooms.
"Do you need a break?" the hall monitor whispered to me as she ushered the 15th sixth grader who had left the room to pee back in. It was 10 AM, and to be honest? I rarely hit the head before 11, which is my lunch time, but the moment she offered my bladder told me that yes, indeed, a break would be much appreciated.
I made my way to the staff lavs in the front office, passing 4 lines of several students each waiting silently for their turn in the restrooms. Even so, I was a bit dismayed when I found both of the adult bathroom doors closed and locked. Did I grimace? Did I sigh? Whatever it was, the office staff engaged me in sympathetic conversation as I waited. So much so, that a voice soon floated from the principal's office. "Ms. S! You can come in here and use my restroom!"
I froze. In the nearly 26 years I have worked in that building, rumors of the principal having his or her own private bathroom have floated through the halls like flying unicorns.
"Ms. S?" she repeated. "You better get in here!"
I entered the office where I had been many times before, but to be honest, I had no idea where the bathroom could even be. The principal directed me down a short hallway to my right, where a standard wooden door stood ajar. Flipping the light switch, I entered a smaller, less worn version of the restrooms I was used to. It had the same open commode, brown floor tile, cinder block walls, industrial porcelain sink, and steel paper towel and soap dispensers, but it also had some framed art work, a narrow cabinet with colorful, neatly-folded hand towels, and scented hand soap.
A clothes hook over the door made it impossible to close it all the way, and so rather than rearrange things, I tinkled quietly, cringed at the mighty flush of the 40-year-old toilet, and quickly washed my hands (with the standard soap).
On my way out, I thanked the principal again and laughed. "Now I can cross that off my bucket list!" I told her.
"Do you need a break?" the hall monitor whispered to me as she ushered the 15th sixth grader who had left the room to pee back in. It was 10 AM, and to be honest? I rarely hit the head before 11, which is my lunch time, but the moment she offered my bladder told me that yes, indeed, a break would be much appreciated.
I made my way to the staff lavs in the front office, passing 4 lines of several students each waiting silently for their turn in the restrooms. Even so, I was a bit dismayed when I found both of the adult bathroom doors closed and locked. Did I grimace? Did I sigh? Whatever it was, the office staff engaged me in sympathetic conversation as I waited. So much so, that a voice soon floated from the principal's office. "Ms. S! You can come in here and use my restroom!"
I froze. In the nearly 26 years I have worked in that building, rumors of the principal having his or her own private bathroom have floated through the halls like flying unicorns.
"Ms. S?" she repeated. "You better get in here!"
I entered the office where I had been many times before, but to be honest, I had no idea where the bathroom could even be. The principal directed me down a short hallway to my right, where a standard wooden door stood ajar. Flipping the light switch, I entered a smaller, less worn version of the restrooms I was used to. It had the same open commode, brown floor tile, cinder block walls, industrial porcelain sink, and steel paper towel and soap dispensers, but it also had some framed art work, a narrow cabinet with colorful, neatly-folded hand towels, and scented hand soap.
A clothes hook over the door made it impossible to close it all the way, and so rather than rearrange things, I tinkled quietly, cringed at the mighty flush of the 40-year-old toilet, and quickly washed my hands (with the standard soap).
On my way out, I thanked the principal again and laughed. "Now I can cross that off my bucket list!" I told her.
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