Thoughts in a Work Meeting

Once a week I meet with a small group of teachers to observe a classroom. We gather around our principal who guides a few students through a learning activity. We take notes as we observe, then meet for a short debrief intended as an opportunity to learn from each other’s perspective. This, incidentally, doubles as an opportunity for everyone to discover I’m an idiot. 

Every week I’m amazed by my coworkers and their ability to sound intelligent. I mistakenly assume that we are all of the same ilk: insecure, unprepared, inept. But it turns out that’s just me; these people are bright and can respond to questions without stammering and dripping sweat. It’s jarring. The fact that Devin, who wears his hair like that, is able to effortlessly rattle off a take-away both relevant and helpful is just plain deceitful. If you spend all day with a pencil tucked behind your ear, you’re a moron. You shouldn’t be allowed to talk smart. 

When asked to “think about what I observed today”, my mind goes blank. What observed? Where? Who are you? Every time I’m asked that question I glaze over and can think of nothing besides the coffee ground stuck in Amy’s tooth; namely the way it stays glued between her incisors, impervious to her yammering. But nobody wants to hear about that. They want to hear about the observation of students, an observation of which I remember nothing. When it’s my turn to share, I flip feverishly through my notes full of gems like, “students had four calculators (one per)”, and “broken pencil — sharpened”. Eventually I am forced to opt for some variation of, “piggy backing off what she said”, assuring everyone that my response will not only be incoherent, but it will be unoriginal too. I ramble on until everybody’s mouth is agape, finally trailing off in an unintelligible muttering. Once I’m done and they have all stopped staring, the next person will go, effortlessly and without their eyes bugging out of their head.

When the meetings are over I will start to think that maybe I should see someone. That maybe convulsing when asked to act professionally is a warning sign of a troubled psyche. But then I will look at someone like Devin, in a pink plaid shirt, and think, “Where do you even buy pink plaid? Now there’s a guy who needs help.”