I’d Like to Start a New Conversation
Becky R.

Everyday it’s the same. A quarter cup of this. A half a teaspoon of that. Who’s husband will eat anything put in front of him. Who likes to add red pepper flakes to spice things up. Ten minutes have gone by talking about recipes for chicken “parmeeseean”. Yesterday it was broccoli soup. How many ways can there be?

“I used the office copy machine to run-off copies of my recipe for everybody!” announces one of the chefs. I can’t not take one. My smile feels like a lie detector needle.

Jeeze Louise! What leap led to reciting the names of everyone seen at church last week? Then come the accompanying entire family trees. I try to imagine the mnemonic that could work for such memory tasks. Wait, aren’t these the same people that were at church the week before last? First husbands of second cousins are critiqued. Fingers tic off the names of the children, in birth order, of each set of parents at the church. Psychoanalysis ensues of the boyfriends and girlfriends of each of the children of each set of parents at the church. Predictions of which relationships will last and which will fail are made for each of the children of each set of parents at the church. Each day this is the longest thirty minutes of my life.

At my recent performance review, the Principal sang praises to my expertise as a teacher, my relationships with students, my positive interactions with parents, my creativity and vision. My records are always up to date. My team of classroom aides is motivated and well organized.

“But you’re not seen as a team player by the other teachers here. They perceive you as being too aloof. You need to make an effort to connect with them. You need to take your lunches in the faculty lunchroom instead of at the student tables outside.”

I almost laughed. She wasn’t joking. Here I sit in a room the size of a kitchenette. Twelve women are talking at the same time. One other woman is silent, like me. I look directly at her. She returns a furtive glance. Is she afraid of getting caught? All appetite for lunch is long gone. Why don’t the men teachers have to be in here being team players?

Bunions? That must be awful. I’m so glad you persevered through the idiot shoe sales clerks at Dillard’s, Penney’s, Macy’s, Redwing, Nordstrom’s and Payless until you found shoes that fit. A tube of Crimson Coral lipstick passes from mouth to mouth at the table behind me. Yes, that is your color! The clock battery must be dead.

Holy mother of …. Not another story of someone’s darling grandbaby.

You’ve got to be kidding me. Five minutes of taking turns describing the blouses that were almost worn today? I think I know how to get detainees at Guantanamo to talk. Please, please, please can we start a new conversation? I force my mouth shut a split second too late:

“A group of my students came up with a great project for Disability Awareness month. They are putting together a proposal to take to the school board. They want disability issues included as formal components of the social studies core curriculum in middle schools and high schools. I am extremely impressed with them.”

Silent gaping goldfish mouths surround me for several seconds. The fog horn bell signals the end of break.

“Get a life!” I hear them think.