It is the fall of 2023.
It is lunchtime, and the woman is scarfing down her salad before the bell rings and she has to face another class of unmanageable 9th graders who simply do not turn and talk when asked. It’s as if they don’t find humor in the Bard’s wit, and this is baffling. She is overwhelmed and stressed, wondering why she traded an easy restaurant job that you couldn’t take home with you if you tried for this? But she is surrounded by colleagues, people who have been there before and who are reassuring and wise. They give her tips; they discuss the ways in which perfectionism is rooted in white supremacy; they do their own venting about a student who - get this - did something absolutely insane; they discuss books they’re reading and family drama; they share their lesson plans and their chocolate candies; they give her a sense of peace or at least, of knowing that she’s not alone and that she is doing okay. They are a much-needed daily respite from the teenaged hordes. Thank goodness for Lunch Bunch. Then the bell rings and they scramble off. They will do this again tomorrow. And the next day. Over the weekend, one of them will call, and they will talk for an hour and a half about school and the stress of it all before moving on to the topics of imminent dates and how praying to St. Anthony actually works if you’ve lost an earring.
Isn’t it funny how people whose existence was unknown three years ago can become one’s crew just like that? These are salty sailors, and this is not their first voyage, but they have come aboard ready to raise the sails.