It’s a good thing that I always get to work an hour early because I really needed this time last Tuesday. While getting ready for the day’s lessons which involve putting announcements on the smart board, loading power point presentations onto the laptop on my audio-visual cart, and preloading any relevant YouTube films so that each film may be started with a single click; I found that my AV laptop kept crashing whenever it tried to load a video. Each time it crashed it required 5-10 minutes to reboot. Without access to the instructional videos I had found on YouTube, I could not teach my lessons as planned.

I decided to go old school and to use dry erase markers on a whiteboard. I’m old enough to remember that really old-school (when I first began teaching in 1982) involved the use of chalkboards and chalk rather than white boards and markers.

Since I had made the mistake of leaving markers in a place where students could get to them, the students had ruined the markers. Some of the markers had been used up even though I distinctly remember having said throughout last week, “Don’t draw on the board.” Some markers were also bone dry because the students hadn’t bothered capping the markers.

Since our receptionist doubles as our supply clerk, I called her to ask if she could get a box of markers to hold at reception. Although she normally expects 1 business day to process teacher requests, she kindly made an exception for me.

Having taught for a great many years, I have an external hard drive that I keep in my briefcase. The hard drive had older power point lessons that I used to use before replacing these lessons with YouTube instructional videos. Included with the hard drive were worksheets that accompanied each power point lesson.

I transferred the power point lessons to my AV laptop. After printing out the worksheets I headed to the library. At the photocopier in the library, the librarian told me that a student had been asking about course expectations because she hadn’t received a handout.

“Handout? What handout?” I asked as I began making copies of the first worksheet. “We haven’t had handouts in years. Everything is on Canvas in week 1.” Canvas is our on-line instructional platform which all students may access using their school issued laptops.

“WHERE IS MY HANDOUT?” demanded a shrill voice. Her hit pitched voice grated on my nerves. “YOU NEVER GAVE ME A HANDOUT!”

I turned to see a 6th grade student hurrying towards me from across the library.

I opened my mouth to speak and found that I couldn’t get the words out. I began to stutter. “I-I-I-”

The pressure of having to deal with unforeseen circumstances had caught up with me. Since I was already emotionally off balance because of my cruddy old district issued laptop and the fact that I didn’t have any serviceable dry erase markers, the 6th grader who had blindsided me while I was trying to use the photocopier had inadvertently pushed me to a near breaking point.

The fact that I was stuttering meant that I was on the verge of an autistic meltdown. Since autism is a spectrum disorder, no two people who are on the spectrum have the same trigger points or types of meltdown. While there are people on the spectrum who might have had a raging fit, when I have a melt down I lose the ability to speak. Any effort to force words out of my mouth will result in loud grunting sounds that really embarrass me and make me feel completely stupid. While I retain the ability to write or to type, under conditions of extreme stress, I will shut down entirely as my mind struggles to reset.

In reflecting about what happened, I remember thinking that I had already told this student everyday since the previous week that our class expectations were on Canvas. I also remember being annoyed over her self-righteous tone of voice. Had I been able to speak, I would have told her that I needed to get ready for the day’s instruction and that I would (again) address her concerns in class.

All of these thoughts were so jumbled inside my head that I just couldn’t get the words out. It was frustrating for me to stand there and to know that I was headed towards a meltdown and that there wasn’t a darn thing I could do about it.

I was saved by my colleagues who know that I’m autistic. The moment the band director and the librarian heard me stutter, they knew I was on the verge of having a meltdown and they both became extremely protective.

“Chef needs to get ready for classes,” observed the band director who physically stepped in front of the student to prevent her from coming any closer and invading my personal space which would have just made everything worse.

“Let me see what I can do to help,” offered the librarian as she put her hands out to steer the student away from me. “Where is your laptop?”

“But I just wanted to ask a question,” spluttered the student. “Chef is standing right there.”

“And he’s busy getting ready for his classes,” repeated the band director. “And what sort of way was that for you to speak to your instructor? Why were you yelling at him?”

“I was yelling because he never gave me the course expectations!”

I sighed as the librarian escorted the student away. I don’t know why the student thought that there was a hard copy of my course expectations. Ever since the pandemic when Federal funding allowed my district to buy laptops for all 311,765 of the students in the Clark County School District, all handouts and most assignments have been virtual. I later accessed Canvas, our on-line instructional platform to verify that the course expectation had been uploaded. They had.

As I went about getting ready for the day’s instruction, the darkened solitude of my empty classroom helped me pull myself together and away from the brink of a meltdown that might otherwise have sent me home on medical leave. If a meltdown had forced me to leave campus, this would have left the school even more short staffed than it already was. Part of the reason the sixth grader had been in the library was because her class did not have a teacher and they had been sent to the library to be put under the supervision of the librarian since we did not have enough substitutes.

Over the past summer, my school lost 8 teachers. This was one-third of our faculty. While two retired instructors were talked into returning to our campus, the other positions have been filled with long term substitutes. Given our shortage of substitutes, our school no longer has the local ability to call in substitutes if any of our remaining teachers were to call off sick for any given day. Although there is always the possibility of getting a substitute from Las Vegas, this city is a 3 hour roundtrip drive away. Las Vegas which comprises the bulk of the Clark County School District has also had its share of issues since the district began the 2023-2024 school year with a shortage of some 2,000 teachers.

All of my classes went well until it was time for my last class during 7th period. Since teachers have been encouraged to serve as hall monitors while students are passing between one class to the next, I didn’t notice that half of my class was missing until the 2nd bell rang and I physically entered my classroom. Since our school had just hired a long term sub as our art teacher, I found myself wondering if these students had dropped my class to transfer to art. As it turned out, seven students had decided to use the restroom and all of these students were five minutes late. They walked in after I had taken attendance and was about to start instruction.

Yolanda (not her real name) decided to mouth off to me when I told the students that they were tardy.

“I had to go to the bathroom. You can’t tell me that I can’t go to the bathroom.”

“Please don’t put words in my mouth,” I replied. “I never said that you couldn’t -“

“I have a RIGHT to go the bathroom!”

“And I would appreciate the courtesy of not being -“

“You’re not the boss of me and you can’t -“

“You really need to stop talking!” as I asserted myself and took back control of this conversation. I could feel myself glowering at the student. In an alternate reality, the force of my glare would have set her on fire.

“But I -“

“STOP TALKING!“

“But -“

“WHAT PART OF STOP TALKING DID YOU NOT UNDERSTAND?“

The student laughed.

“ENOUGH!” I roared. “YOU WILL NOT DISRESPECT ME IN MY CLASSROOM. Per school and district policy, you are expected to be in class ON TIME! If you cannot go to the bathroom between classes and still get to this class ON TIME then you should consider asking your 6th period teacher if you may use the bathroom ten minutes before the end of your 6th period class.”

“When you were told that you were tardy, I was not looking for an explanation. I was not looking for an excuse. I was not looking to have a conversation about this. I was most certainly not trying to amuse you. The only acceptable answer should have been, ‘Yes chef’ or ‘Sorry chef.”

“But I-“

“NOT ANOTHER WORD. If you want to have a discussion about this, I will send you to the office right now and you may tell the principal all about your rights. You may also tell her why you thought it was appropriate to talk back to me, why you thought it was acceptable to laugh at me, and why you are now interrupting my ability to start this class. If you think that I will not send you to the office, just say one more word.”

The student fell silent. After class I sent an email home to tell Yolanda’s parents about what happened and to ask that they talk to her about her behavior.

(sigh)

Five minutes into my lesson about vitamins and minerals, Amanda began braiding Rachel’s hair (neither of these are their real names). The girls faced away from the smartboard and neither student was paying attention to the lesson.

I cleared my throat. “This is not a cosmetology class. This is Culinary Arts.”

“We know that,” scoffed Rachel. “We’re not stupid. Er – what’s cosmetology?”

“Cosmetology is the practice of making one’s face, hair, and skin look nice.”

“Amanda nodded in reply. “I knew that,” she said.

“So did I,” lied Rachel. “I just forgot.”

“If you know that this is a Culinary Arts class then you should also know of my expectation that you will take notes.”

“But I still need my hair braided,” complained Rachel.

“Not during instruction,” I replied.

Turning my attention to Amanda I asked her to stop braiding Rachel’s hair. The student ignored me and continued twining her friend’s long hair together.

“PUT THE HAIR DOWN!” I snapped. “Pick up a pencil and take notes!”

“Geez,” grumbled the teenager as she reluctantly released the hair. “You don’t have to be so grouchy.”

“If I sound grouchy it’s because you didn’t follow instructions the first time I asked you to stop. Please remember that I allowed you to choose your own seats. If you are going to abuse this privilege by not taking notes and braiding hair during a lesson, I will separate the two of you and you will each have new seats.”

Amanda hugged her friend. “Don’t separate us. Rachel is my bestie.”

“Then listen to what I am telling you and follow directions.”

As I turned away from them, I heard a whispered comment about how mean I was. I ignored this comment with the hope that the students in question would be so annoyed with me that they would drop my class so as to become somebody else’s problem.

Although the rest of the class went well, I was relieved when the day finally ended.

I do not know what it was that set my cats off but when I got home, three of my four cats took one look at me and came running. As I sat in my recliner to watch the news, Buki Boy climbed into my lap. Chi Chi climbed onto my chest to sniff my face. Her brother, Hunter, sat on an arm rest with his front legs draped over my right arm.

I felt like a patient being examined by three medical practitioners. I can only imagine what they must have been thinking.

“I’ can smell elevated levels of cortisol, norepinephrine, and epinephrine in the patient,” observed Dr. Chi Chi. “Our patient is suffering from elevated stress levels. Keep him warm, Buki. Hunter, elevate your purring to level five.”

“Level 5?” Hunter peered at his sister. “Are you sure? Can humans even tolerate that level of purring?”

“Do it!” snapped the feline tortie. “STAT!“

As the sound of Hunter’s purring grew louder, I could feel the tension oozing from my pores. Buki’s warm presence on my stomach was making me sleepy.

“WE’RE LOSING HIM!” mewed Chi Chi. “I’m beginning chest compressions.”

“One-two, one-two,” she counted as she began making biscuits over my heart.

“What are you doing?” I asked.

“The patient is delirious,” observed Chi Chi. I’m going to administer mouth to mouth!”

The tiny tortie licked me on my lips.

I erupted from my seat and the cats went flying. “Ewww! Germs!” I hurried to the bathroom where I scrubbed, rinsed, and sanitized my face. Since I don’t know if any of Chi Chi’s saliva had made it into my mouth, I gurgled some mouthwash.

“You’re welcome!” said Chi Chi (pictured below) who had gracefully landed on her feet.

Later that night, I got online with Infinite Campus, my district’s on-line gradebook. After calling up the records of the five students who had been tardy to my last class, I emailed their parents so that I could begin creating an electronic paper trail regarding their tardiness. I also sent a separate email to the parents of the two students who distracted themselves with braiding hair.

Having an electronic paper trail will allow me to begin writing discipline referrals if any of these behaviors are repeated in following classes. Per school policy we have a progressive management plan that includes gradually escalating consequences when students misbehave. As part of this plan, teachers are required to give students a warning regarding their behavior. If the students continue having a problem, we are then required to contact the parents.

While other teachers then have to refer students to the counselor and to subsequently have a parent conference, since I am autistic and am not particularly good at talking to students about their feelings, my workplace accommodations allow me to write discipline referrals for any student provided I have previously issued a warning and have also contacted the parents.

Although 7th period started as my problem class this week, writing home appears to have solved the problem with tardiness since no students were tardy on Friday. This was a nice way to end the week.