Despite all my well-laid plans and Pinterest dreams, my back-to-school reality has been what it usually is – far from perfect. I headed back into school to set up my room (ahead of when I’m supposed to be there, of course, so I could get everything ready before things got challenging.  Bwhahahahahahaha, what was I thinking!), only to find that my carpets had not yet been cleaned, my new laptop had not been delivered, and the new phone system does not work. In other words, things are back to normal! But it could be worse. In fact, some years my back-to-school experience has been a bit more like a (literally) take-your-breath-away horror movie, complete with the creeping crud, horrendous odors, banishment, and a party line. However, I’ve always lived to tell the tale, and my students have survived undecorated offices and unexpected office glitches. You and your students will survive too, no matter what kind of scary movie your back-to-school experience becomes.

My very first year as a school counselor, which was at a high school, went the best as far as setting up my office, probably because I was clueless about the workload that was about to hit me. Of course, when I arrived I didn’t have an office, but that was soon rectified by a last minute administrative decision that I would be “put” in the office that had until that moment belonged to a certain academic department which will remain nameless. Imagine how glad those teachers were to have me on the team! Way to start building relationships!   

The cinderblock walls were painted a moldy-pea-soup-green, but nothing could be done about that since it wasn’t actually my office, as was made clear to me. I scrounged some furniture, brought in some lamps and silk plants (the room was windowless), and hung some posters. This was in the pre-pre-pre-pre-pre-Pinterest days, but I did a pretty good job, if I do say so myself. The room was welcoming and as bright as I could make it, but there was a limit. Let’s just say it looked like a somewhat spiffed up version of this, minus the natural lighting:

Once they got over the shock of their office space being taken away (they moved into their adjacent lounge), the teachers (all men) were really quite friendly. One of them stopped by and complimented my décor, then, staring at a reproduction of a flower painting, said, “That’s really sexual.” Um, excuuuuse me???? I looked at him incredulously, dumbfounded that anyone would actually utter such a thing. “Well, it’s a Georgia O’Keefe, right? You know,” he said, in an apparent effort to impress me with his background in art criticism (if it was an attempt to intimidate, it didn’t work), “there are a lot of sexual overtones in her work.” “It’s a POPPY,” I replied, giving him the look I reserve for dogs who are about to jump on the couch. He left, and after that we had cordial, but brief, non-art, innuendo-less interactions.    

“It’s a POPPY!”

One of the things that made my presence especially problematic for the teachers in that department was that there was no longer a phone for them to use (cell phones were in their early days.) This problem was “solved” by the administrative team, who decided to install two phones on one line. Yes, it’s true, my confidential counseling office phone was a party line! (Which had nothing to do with any kind of a good time.)

Every time I spoke to a parent or service provider about a student I had to explain/apologize profusely for the fact that I couldn’t guarantee confidentiality and that our conversation could be interrupted at any point by someone picking up the other line. It took me several months of advocating before this horrible situation got rectified. The administrators (including my director) didn’t want to “make waves” with the teachers. Although my co-counselors were supportive and backed me up, it was really difficult as a first-year counselor to have to push back so hard against administration.

Have I mentioned that “my” office door was directly across a skinny little passageway from the single-stall men’s room? Both the bathroom and my room were windowless. Let me just say that I became far too intimately acquainted with a certain teacher’s um, personal schedule, and that I basically had to adopt a closed-door policy during his planning period. Yup, sometimes that job really did stink! It was really, really horrid.

Should have been standard issue. Wasn’t.

Fast forward a bunch of years, to my current school, but back in the days when the carpet cleaning was done in-house, late in the summer, with a machine that did not have adequate suction. After a few humid days in my (again windowless) room, I started developing a rash on my arms. Soon it had spread to my entire body. Yes, it’s true, I was allergic to my room, but that didn’t take away the fact that I had all kinds of work to do to get ready for the kids to show up!

Maintenance brought in lots of fans to try to dry out the carpet. I went to the doctor, who told me to stay out of my room, so I moved to the conference room to work. After a while the rash started appearing any time I was in a space with a carpet, which is just about everywhere in our school. My co-workers’ faces would contort with horror as they watched the spread of my creeping crud. On the third day, I started having a weird, barky cough and other respiratory distress. I rushed back to the doctor, who told me that I couldn’t go in the school building. “What!” I said in horror. “I have to go in! School starts in two days! I’m the school counselor!” No dice, I was banished.

“What do you mean I can’t go into school???? I’m the school counselor!”

I had a meeting with a district level person, who acted like I was faking it, until all kinds of people at school, including the principal, testified to witnessing the symptoms. The material data safety sheets were produced, and an occupational medicine specialist identified the cleaning chemicals that were still in the carpets at school. The district had to hire a company with an industrial strength, truck-based vacuum to come in and make the carpets safe. I wasn’t allowed back in the school building until the carpets had dried completely, so I started the school year working with individuals, meeting with parents, running groups, and teaching classes from a picnic-table command center behind the school. (And driving to a co-worker’s nearby house to go to the bathroom.) Luckily, it was a beautiful, sunny September. Things could have been worse!

It definitely could have been worse. I do sometimes feel like I need to shovel off my desk, but I don’t mean literally.

Periodically the secretary and kids who got picked to be my special helpers came out to check on me, convey messages, and deliver supplies. When I was able to go back in the building, I had to start with short periods of time and work in the P.E. office, which is the only space in our building without carpet. My banishment only lasted a week and a half, but it seemed like forever. But being able to say that I was literally allergic to my job is a great conversation starter!

So this years’ problems aren’t really all that bad. Since I couldn’t put my room back together (the carpet cleaners were “on their way”) I cleaned out four filing cabinet drawers, which was some kind of cross between a trip down memory lane, an archaeological excavation, and an alphabetized episode of Hoarders.) Because I couldn’t do any work on the computer, I spent an afternoon camped out in the computer lab, where nobody found/bothered me. And since the phone only made outgoing calls . . . there was definitely a benefit to that, at least in the short term.  

Welcome back! A dirty floor, no computer, a fancy but non-working phone, and a rusty filing cabinet.

Once the carpets got clean, I did a quicky version of setting up my room, which means that no decorating or organization of materials has happened, because I needed to start doing actual work. (I crossed exactly one item off my to-do list on Friday, but I had some really important impromptu meetings with parents, and made lots of calls to agencies and sending schools.) Yes, all my posters are in a heap on the floor, my rusty filing cabinet is going to stay un-Pinterest worthy (best-ever solution: cover it with student drawings), and who knows when I’ll get to set up my games and toys. But truly, it could be much worse.

My own little disaster zone!

I can’t wait til the kids get here (one more week)! They don’t care what my room looks like, and they show up whether my room and organizational systems are “ready” or not. And what really matters is that we’re ready in our hearts, ready to care, and listen, and believe in them. So despite ugly filing cabinets, bare walls, and out of control to-do lists, I’m ready. And so are you.  

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