My Mission, Should I Decide To Accept It …

MY MISSION, SHOULD I DECIDE TO ACCEPT IT …

WHIIIIIIIIIEEE!

I got up from the table and lifted the kettle off the stovetop burner, and poured myself a cup of tea. The steam rose from the cup, bathing my face in fragrant mint. I inhaled deeply. So calming.

I carried my mug into the family room and set it down on the coaster beside my chair. My tea blend, my mug, my chair. The same ritual that I participated in everyday. When I had a hot cup of tea in my hands, everything was right in the world. There was nothing better than a nice cuppa to help me relax after a hectic day.

And today had been a hectic day. Really hectic.

I looked at my cup of tea quietly steaming, filling the room with the calming fragrance of freshly brewed mint, and considered.

Maybe a little bit of rum would help put the day in perspective.

*****

I hate it when I sleep in—you know, you hit the snooze button without even waking up and for some reason your mind lets your body fall back into unconsciousness. And then, presto, you’re late, your whole day is ruined, and all your plans have gone to hell. I couldn’t have that happen today. Today was important. I was on a mission, and today was day zero. That was why I had set the most discordant alarm on my phone—I couldn’t afford to be late. And it was set so early that I had more than enough time to get ready and review my plan one final time before implementation. I had places to go, things to do, people to see—and sleeping in wasn’t part of my day. So when I was jolted out of bed by my screaming alarm, I was already wide awake, thinking, reviewing, planning, ready to go. Today was the day.

After my daily ablutions, I came downstairs and moved directly to the dining room. There, spread out on the dining room table were the building floor plans, surrounded by photos and notes. I stood still, scanning the drawings. My finger followed my expected route. It was the easiest, most direct means of entering and exiting the building. If all went well that would be my route. If all went well ….

I hated that statement—if all went well. That was leaving an awful lot up to chance. And I don’t like leaving things up to chance. This mission was important. I needed to know it would go as planned.

I am a firm believer in being over-prepared. And today’s exercise was no exception. I pride myself on winnowing out every “what if” scenario. I took every one of those “what if” possibilities and considered the likelihood of “it” happening, regardless of what “it” was. Contingencies, counter-contingencies. I needed to know how I could adjust my plan on the fly to ensure my success. You know that saying—hope for the best, prepare for the worst? That was me to the core.

So me scrutinizing the building blueprints for the three-hundredth time was just me making sure. Again. My attention to detail had saved me more than once.

The building plans were straightforward once you knew what to look for. In my case, ingress, egress, windows, stairs up and down. Was there a basement? Was there an attic? Was there access to the roof? Was it secured? All of these were important considerations. I needed to know how to move about the building, how to get to my target area.

But the unknowns that were keeping me up at night. Most importantly—how many people would be in the building? I was flummoxed because the number fluctuated so radically. Depending on the time of day, it could be less than ten or in the hundreds. Which would be better? Would it be better if I entered moving under the radar as part of the crowd? Or would I be better able to move stealthily around hopefully without garnering any attention in a mostly empty building?

I’d done recon on the building, arriving at different times of the day. I knew the location of the security office. I knew where the sign-in desk was. I had identified when the bottlenecks occurred, slowing all the people waiting to enter the building. I knew when foot traffic was the highest, with dozens of people coming and going at the same time. I knew when the building was almost deserted.

I’d watched what people were wearing. Was business attire expected, or was a more casual vibe the norm? Dress pants, or jeans? Blazers or hoodies? Dress shoes or sneakers? This was all important intel. I had to blend in. It wouldn’t do me any good to stick out because I didn’t look the part. I had to look like I belonged.

And I watched the people themselves. How did they behave? How did they relate to each other? Were they friendly or standoffish? Were there cliques? Was there someone in charge? Someone to whom the others deferred? Were there observers—those who watched the comings and goings of others from a vantage point? Other than me, of course. I had taken great care to ensure that I was not being observed. I needed to see how these people acted when they didn’t know they were being watched. What they said, how they said it. I needed to know my quarry.

I knew where the security cameras were, and had noted where there were blind spots in coverage. I also watched to see who used these blind spots to their advantage. There were always people who didn’t want others to see what they were doing, and I needed to identify those people.

I’d done my due diligence on the building itself. It was old—mid-twentieth century, and had been more or less neglected, upgrades and improvements only done when absolutely necessary. It was full of nooks and crannies—rooms inside of rooms. Hallways that dead ended, awkwardly sized rooms that had been improperly retrofitted. It was like every other public building I had ever seen—unloved and ignored.

I’d noted car and foot traffic. I logged drop-offs and pick-ups. I knew the bus routes and schedules. I noted the on-site partaking lot. I knew how people arrived at the building in the morning and left at the end of the day.

I felt that I had reconnoitered to the best of my ability. Now it was time to implement the plan. I suited up, grabbed all my intel, and left home.

Twenty minutes later, I was standing in front of the building. I looked up at the name carved into the sandstone name plaque—Bayside Elementary School. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and headed in. The pressure was on. I hoped that all my prep was enough. It was my first day of teaching grade two. I was the new substitute teacher.

*****

I survived, but just. Even before the bell had rung announcing the start of the school day, I had been ambushed—by parents. Getting my teaching assignment and class materials from the front office had been easy-peasy. But the parents. I wasn’t even at my classroom yet, when the first one darted out of another classroom to stop me.

”My daughter Genevieve must not sit near Ashley. They do not get along.”

I promised her I’d keep them separate. Then another.

”Percy, my son is allowed to get up and walk around the class without permission. He has ADHD, you know.”

I did know. I had read his IEP—Individual Learning Plan. It also mentioned that he had a tendency to disrupt other children when he was bored.

Another parent. ”Liam Carter bit my Harper yesterday. He is not allowed to be around her.”

Harper’s mother pushed up her daughter’s sleeve and showed me an angry, perfectly formed bite mark above her wrist. Ouch.

Parent number four, saving the best for last. ”Jeremiah must have his phone on at all times, and I expect that he will answer when I call.”

That one took me by surprise. Jeremiah did not have an IEP, so there was no formal accommodation. “Has the principal okayed that?” I had asked.

Jeremiah’s mother ignored my question. “I trust you understand. I know the trustee.” She had turned on her heel and disappeared down the hall without another word.

And that was all before I had even unlocked the classroom door.

The day went pretty much as expected. Percy not only wandered, but bothered other kids and did no work at all. I had to keep reminding him that while he was allowed to move around the classroom, he did need to do his seat work.

I found out that Ashley and Genevieve were best friends. Apparently it was the parents who didn’t get along. I let them sit together.

I caught Jeremiah watching videos on his phone instead of doing math. I confiscated his phone. He threw a temper tantrum replete with throwing himself on the floor and thrashing about. When I still refused to give him back his phone, he informed me that I was in big trouble, because his mother knew the trustee. That apple did not fall far from the tree.

I had keep a close eye on Liam—I couldn't have him biting other students. When I asked him why he bit Harper, he told me they were playing zombies and zombies ate people. He said he knew this because his parents had let him watch The Walking Dead. Who lets their seven-year old watch The Walking Dead?

I had one washroom accident—Clyde was too shy to ask to use the washroom. I told him next time, just come to me and ask. It would be okay

Annabelle had a crying jag because Mrs. Patel, the teacher I was substituting for, had gone away for the rest of grade two. She told me she loved Mrs. Patel.

Ashley K (one of four Ashleys in the class) had hit Ashley B with her hat when the class was getting ready for recess because Ashley B had butted in front of her when they were lining up to go out. We had a discussion about hitting, and being kind and waiting your turn.

During gym class Jai threw the bouncy ball and hit me in the back. He swore it was by accident, but he kept looking at Kevin trying not to laugh. I said nothing.

My research had come in handy when I found Ashleigh K wandering in the hall after lunch, lost. I was able to herd her back to the classroom.

I was exhausted by the time I got home. My feet were killing me, and I had glue on my shirt. But the good news was that I didn’t lose any of my students—I had the same thirty-two children at the end of the day that I had started the day with. So, a win.

Prya Patel was on maternity leave, and gone for the rest of the school year. I had one hundred and fifty-three more days before summer vacation.

I poured a healthy shot of rum into my tea.