insanityAt four in the morning I peeked at my clock, and in the half hour before my alarm sounded I contemplated yet another possible reality. What if after I had demeaned myself by changing Wyatt's grade, a degradation indeed, Wyatt remained ignorant of the success of his appeal and still in the dark exacted his revenge? Ah, the labyrinth of stress, mess, and insomnia is too intricate even for Daedalus to flee by flight. As every teacher knows, grades poison everything in education. At 4:30 as always, my radio alarm alerted me with its static white noise shh. I rolled out of bed, shaved, showered, brushed my teeth, dressed, made a pot of coffee, drank my half a pot, read the morning paper, and at 6:30 grabbed my bag and hit the road, bouncing west on Maple, wired wide awake on caffeine and adrenaline, prepared to face my future.
I entered the building and strode to my cubicle. I stacked my handouts and carried them to my classroom, I put my furniture in order, with purple marker on the white board I identified myself and the course, then returned to my cubicle and reviewed my notes and materials for day one. At 7:45 the college vice president of customer satisfaction called. From him I learned that Wyatt still had not been located. I'd made up my mind. In the interest of safety I had to do what I could. I stood up, walked out of the office, and started down the corridor. When I entered the office of admissions and records and walked to the counter, all eyes were upon me—the counselors, their counseling assistants, administrative support personnel, clerks, work study students. It was at this office that the anonymous caller, universally assumed to be Wyatt, had warned the night clerk that he would get us all. Their wary, expectant faces seemed to glow like early morning moons. In their expressions I read bewilderment, fear, concern, expectation, anxiety, worry, regret, sorrow, duty, determination, sympathy, hope, and curiosity.
"Hi, Kelly!" I said, trying to sound as normal and as cheerful as I could.
"Good morning!" she said.
Kelly's smile was slightly awry, not quite normal, and there was sadness and fear in her eyes, tension in the lines around her eyes, in the lift of her eyebrows, and in the lines of her forehead. She looked hurt. Though I'd known her for ten years, it was an image I could not have anticipated. It evoked in me a sense of intimacy, pity, even love. It was Kelly who had called me at home to inform me that a student of mine wanted to meet with me about his grade. I'd been too tired. Later, I'd said. I had detected no urgency in the request. Now Kelly too had become an unwitting player in this spooky psychodrama, perhaps a potential victim. For a moment I thought she might cry. Had the counter not been between us and no audience present, I might have hugged her. But people were watching. I followed the standard procedure.
Routine.
"I need a grade change request form, please," I said.
At this, Roxanne, the special needs counselor, standing near the door of her private office, seemed almost to jump out of her skin.
"What are you going to do?" she demanded.
She took two or three quick steps in my direction. Kelly had retrieved the necessary form, and now she extended her arm over the top of the counter to offer it to me. For an instant I thought Roxanne might rush us and snatch it from Kelly's hand. I took the form and a ballpoint pen on the counter and began to fill in the obligatory information.
"I'm changing Wyatt's grade to B," I stated matter-of-factly.
"No!" Roxanne said, emphatically. "No, you don't have to do that!"
"Yes, I do!" I said just as emphatically. "I have got to defuse this insane situation, and this is the only thing I can think of that might possibly do some good! It might give us some time."
"No!" Roxanne insisted again.
I didn't look up.
............................................
INSANITY to be continued
I entered the building and strode to my cubicle. I stacked my handouts and carried them to my classroom, I put my furniture in order, with purple marker on the white board I identified myself and the course, then returned to my cubicle and reviewed my notes and materials for day one. At 7:45 the college vice president of customer satisfaction called. From him I learned that Wyatt still had not been located. I'd made up my mind. In the interest of safety I had to do what I could. I stood up, walked out of the office, and started down the corridor. When I entered the office of admissions and records and walked to the counter, all eyes were upon me—the counselors, their counseling assistants, administrative support personnel, clerks, work study students. It was at this office that the anonymous caller, universally assumed to be Wyatt, had warned the night clerk that he would get us all. Their wary, expectant faces seemed to glow like early morning moons. In their expressions I read bewilderment, fear, concern, expectation, anxiety, worry, regret, sorrow, duty, determination, sympathy, hope, and curiosity.
"Hi, Kelly!" I said, trying to sound as normal and as cheerful as I could.
"Good morning!" she said.
Kelly's smile was slightly awry, not quite normal, and there was sadness and fear in her eyes, tension in the lines around her eyes, in the lift of her eyebrows, and in the lines of her forehead. She looked hurt. Though I'd known her for ten years, it was an image I could not have anticipated. It evoked in me a sense of intimacy, pity, even love. It was Kelly who had called me at home to inform me that a student of mine wanted to meet with me about his grade. I'd been too tired. Later, I'd said. I had detected no urgency in the request. Now Kelly too had become an unwitting player in this spooky psychodrama, perhaps a potential victim. For a moment I thought she might cry. Had the counter not been between us and no audience present, I might have hugged her. But people were watching. I followed the standard procedure.
Routine.
"I need a grade change request form, please," I said.
At this, Roxanne, the special needs counselor, standing near the door of her private office, seemed almost to jump out of her skin.
"What are you going to do?" she demanded.
She took two or three quick steps in my direction. Kelly had retrieved the necessary form, and now she extended her arm over the top of the counter to offer it to me. For an instant I thought Roxanne might rush us and snatch it from Kelly's hand. I took the form and a ballpoint pen on the counter and began to fill in the obligatory information.
"I'm changing Wyatt's grade to B," I stated matter-of-factly.
"No!" Roxanne said, emphatically. "No, you don't have to do that!"
"Yes, I do!" I said just as emphatically. "I have got to defuse this insane situation, and this is the only thing I can think of that might possibly do some good! It might give us some time."
"No!" Roxanne insisted again.
I didn't look up.
............................................
INSANITY to be continued
