Day 9 - Los Angeles lifts its vaccine mandate. A vax card is no longer required.
I was rear-ended today…
This is the Covid cycle: Europe, East Coast, then West Coast. BA2 ripped through Europe, New York and DC are currently spiking, so California’s next. Our schools are starting to reflect the trend with staff and kids alike falling out. Unfortunately, school districts cannot get subs to save their life; subs have simply disappeared…or died. Previously, I was registered with four school districts, but removed myself from EVERY one of them when Covid hit. No way am I going to teach in a sealed tin can with 30/40 little Covid carriers. Oh wait…I’m already doing that at Colleges No. 1 and 2.
Classroom doors at California elementary and high schools must be locked tight at all times and windows covered, lest you and your students are mowed down by a mass shooter. This means fresh air isn’t an option…for 6 hours. Although California has the most restrictive gun laws in the country, we have the highest mass shooting incidents…yet another deterrent if you’re thinking about being a teacher. Here’s some friendly advice…Don’t!
If you’re teaching in a California classroom – and I suspect it’s the same experience for teachers throughout the nation - you might as well be teaching in an airplane…EXCEPT most airlines have state-of-the-art air filtration systems installed in their fleets. California public schools, however? In the high desert, you’re lucky if the air conditioner is even working. At least I’m able to open the door of my classroom for air flow at the community college level – nobody cares about adult students.
But what to do about the lack of subs in the Covid-Delta-Omicron-BA2 era? The solution, you ask?…enter the National Guard! Yes, it’s true…the National Guard has become an “army” of substitute teachers. Dressed in ‘camis’ with holstered sidearms on their hips, these gun-toting ‘teachers’ are able to maintain discipline far more effectively than regular educators and subs. Remember how you behaved when you had a sub? Well, nothing’s changed…except for the newfound fear of being pistol-whipped by your substitute teacher if you get out of your seat.
This is our solution to the national sub shortage? Seriously?
“Why don’t you put her in charge?” Those of you familiar with the Alien franchise know exactly what I’m talking about.
4/8/22. Friday. Errand Day
7:30-8:00-I’m awake so I go downstairs to greet the animal. She’s lying on the couch, but when she sees me, rolls over on her back so I can pet her tummy. I cue her to go outside and we head for the backyard. She pooped in two places on the patio (sigh). I watch her go potty and we return inside. Coffee for me; cheese for her. I go to work (enter my home office).
8:00-8:45- I email those students who have Ds and Fs and are STILL enrolled in my classes at College No. 1 that today is the last day to drop with a “W.” You’re not going to magically wake up tomorrow with an A or a B. You. will. fail. the. class. if. you. don’t. drop. today. I check email at College No. 2. For some reason, I had a premonition that my Department was trying to contact me. Sure enough, the Dean’s secretary emailed yesterday that they have a Fall 2022 assignment for me and ask me to confirm: this is a highschool class, in Gardena, that meets on M and W, from 8:00-9:30. I confirm.
-I have a few minutes so I update my bullet journal.
8:45-9:45-Shower. I sit in the shower, drink my coffee, and ice my eyes. Lotion. Light make-up. I wear old yoga pants and a blue, sleeveless athletic top. This isn’t the “athletic housewife” attire that I prefer (see my Currated Closet posts), but I’m slowly adding pieces. I listen to The Daily.
9:45-10:00-I grab my lunch bag and drive to therapy. I listen to What Next.
10:00-10:30-Therapy. I have a good session.
10:30-11:00-From here, I drive to the DMV because I need to transfer title for L.’s car from me to L. and I have to submit my paperwork. I eat overnight oats along the way. The DMV parking lot is completely full and so is every street in the adjoining neighborhood. There is literally no place to park so I continue circling the entire community. I’m rear ended while sitting at the stop sign on the corner of 9th and Newhall Main Street, waiting to turn right.
11:00-11:30 - I put my hazards on and immediately exit my vehicle to talk to the driver, where I discover that she’s a child! She says all the wrong things, like, “I’m sorry.” “Are you okay?” “I can’t believe I did that.” Everyone knows you’re never supposed to admit fault so her immediate admission is refreshing. I’m immediately sympathetic as L. just had her car accident last month and this little girl seems scared and shook up, which is probably how L. felt. As we exchange insurance information, a female Trump supporter, driving a big truck, screams out the window, “Why don’t you get out of the fucking street?!” and continues on.
There’s no damage to my car but, even if there was, I hardly care; her Volvo (daddy’s money, I’m sure) is intact, thank god. A young Hispanic male, walking en route to the DMV, stops and starts ‘man-splaining’: “Everything okay here?” Neither of us respond. This douche-bag sees that SHE hit ME and immediately starts advocating on her behalf because she’s an attractive 18-year-old. “Doesn’t look like there’s any damage…”, he says. I reply, “We’re exchanging insurance information right now.” As B. would say, “That’s mildly interesting…beat it.” The Hispanic male says, “We’ll if you don’t need any help…” Neither of us respond. He walks away.
Fade to black and…”meanwhile, back at the ranch”, at the very moment I’m exchanging insurance information with a young woman barely out of high school, L. is having a nervous breakdown at Otis.
Two days ago, L. submitted a piece of artwork to the Photo Lab, along with the proper invoice/form, wherein she requested that they enlarge the artwork to poster size. The Photo Lab notified L. that her order was ready, but when she arrived to pick up the project, L. discovers that the job was done on the wrong paper. This assignment is due on Tuesday, but L. is unable to complete the project because she cannot manipulate the poster sufficiently, whatever that means. L.’s the artist…I just do clean-up around here.
When she points this out to “Kevin”, the head of the Photo Lab, he says, “Hmmm….yes, we were unclear about your paper choice…” L. has worked with the Photo Lab on multiple occasions since attending Otis and staff have always called her when they’ve had questions about her project requests…except for THIS project…and it’s due on Tuesday. The order is ruined and they can’t fix it in time.
L. has no choice but to start sobbing hysterically…you know what they say about a “white woman’s tears” (if you don’t, Google it and read the essays that come up). “Kevin” is so uncomfortable he tries to usher L. into his office where she can cry privately, but there’s no shame to L.’s game [remember, this is a girl who is in a poop club with people who track and share how many times they poop on a daily basis]. L cries openly, in the middle of the shop, in front of everyone. The staff is standing around, not knowing what to do, until “Kevin” hands her a tissue and says he’ll fix it, the poster will be ready tomorrow. L. dries her eyes and leaves. Fade to black…
11:30-1:30-Back to me. So, I’ve been inside the DMV for the past two hours, still trying to finish the title transfer. I don’t have an appointment because A) nobody answers the phone; and B) Booking an appointment online for a “title transfer” is NOT one of the options when scheduling an appointment on line. Nobody, and I do mean NOBODY, is masked except DMV staff (I’m in a red zip code) and one black lady. The place is packed!!! In the words of my mother (she’ll know what I mean), “It’s like a refugee camp in here.” I put my mask on immediately.
I’m in the “No Appointments” line for an hour and when I get to the front of the line and tell the DMV “hostess” what I need, she gives me a yellow post it with “B-10” (secret code?) written on it and tells me I can have a seat wherever I want. Still masked, I read Women in the Picture and wait an hour for “B-10” to be announced over the loud speaker. After anther hour of waiting, I’m called!! This is so exciting! I present the paperwork that I downloaded online, but am turned away because I have the wrong forms.
Unlike L., I don’t start crying in the middle of the room…I want to do something much worse…BUT I leave without incident.
1:30-2:00-Driving. I drop off my used clothes at Runway in the hope that they will take everything and give me a big store credit; then
2:00-2:30-it’s onto CVS for tampons. Yes, boys and girls…at age 51, I’m still getting my period. It sucks.
3:00-6:00-Return home and I have something for lunch but cannot recall what it was because I’m still slightly rattled from my car accident.
Gardening. I start at the other end of the yard this time, by the trash cans, and sweep up all of the debris before making my way to the main backyard. I listen to several episodes of Happier that I downloaded earlier and water all of my plants. Then, I eat the last of my espresso malt balls and L.’s vanilla wafers.
6:00-6:30-I go to Runway to pick up the clothes they wouldn’t take which happens to be the entire bag, meaning they only took three items and returned everything else “because the store is really full.” I get a $4.00 credit. That’s it.
6:30-7:10-I go to Home Depot and buy potting mix; stain; spray paint; gloves; a cactus succulent basket; a wooden plant stand on wheels; and one plant. I listen to Martinis and Your Money. Then,
7:10-7:30-I drive to BevMo for their ““Buy One, Get One for a $.05” sale. I listen to Today Explained. From here, it’s onto
7:30-8:15-Michaels, where I buy mason jars for my pallet project and gray paint because I’m going to paint one of L.’s pottery pieces. I listen to Film Week on Air Talk.
8:15-8:40-Driving. More Film Week.
8:40-9:00-I put away my purchases.
9:00-10:00-Kitchen duty and I pack my lunch bag for tomorrow.
10:00-11:30 - L. surfaces and we discuss our respective days, which were…horrible.
11:30-12:00 - Nighttime routine. Bed. My neck is starting to stiffen from the fender-bender.