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Wednesday, Mar. 01, 2006 - 9:04 P.M.
Mary Had a Little...Cat?
When our students enter our building each morning, they have to go through one of our two search areas. We used to pat them down, but times being what they are, we can't touch them in searches anymore. So, they have to take off their coats, and we search them thoroughly. They turn their pockets inside out, take off their shoes and show us the insides, and show us the tops of their socks. Then we use a metal detector wand. For the younger students who bring in backpacks, we hand search those. Anything we find, we keep. Parents can come and get the items, our we can mail them, or they can sit in our large tub of ever-growing goodies until the end of the school year. Most any clothing we take, we give back at the end of the day. Students cannot wear combinations of gang colors, colored shoe laces, or any clothing with stars, pitchforks, crowns, or inappropriate images or words.
Now none of this should be a surprise. Every student is told to bring NOTHING! They and their parents are given lists of contraband and our policy on confiscation. Several times throughout the year reminders are sent home. They can't bring more than $5 or we take it and keep it for the parents. They know this. No hoodies. They know this. No more than 1 set of ear rings...no unsealed bottles of water or juice...no rings or necklaces...Yet every morning I get hassled by no less than a half dozen kids bitching about how I am such a bitch, like I just want to fuck with them, like I make up the rules JUST to ruin their day.
The goodie bin is full and it's only March 1st. The bootie is quite diverse. Cigarette lighters, condoms (ew, they were so old the package was cracked), watches, medallions, baseball caps, dew rags, deodorant, lotion, candy bars, radios, cell phones, badges (?), makeup, perfume, brushes (TONS of brushes), combs, a few hair picks, ear rings, and every color rubber bracelet you can imagine.
Every day we try to see who can take the prize. I've held it for quite some time, having confiscated from one young man a black ski mask and a wrench. He forgot he had it in his pocket. Puleeze. Like I said, I held the record.
Until today.
I heard our principal calling for a clinician over the radio..."I need a clinician to the back search area asap." In our place, "ASAP" means get your ass here now! The term "IMMEDIATE STAFF" usually means "get here now, but you're already too late." So anyway, I hear several calls. My station was finished, so I wander down to see what kind of commotion is going on so early in the day. One of our little gals was sprawled out on the floor, weeping her alligator tears, engaged in a fairly passive tug-of-war with her back pack and the clinical psychologist. The principal smiles at me and says, "I think I have the record now." With that, the clinician wrestles the bag away, and opens it for me to see.
Mittens. That's what her tags said. That also verified that it was indeed her cat and not some strange stray. According to the child, her mother was fully aware that she'd brought her kitty to school, zipped up in her back pack. She is what we call, in technical psychological terms, a "liar."
The really funny thing is how Mittens was discovered. We were short on staff today, and one of our assistants, who is retired from the Department of Corrections and can be a little crusty with our kids, decided to lend a helping hand. This is a first. She literally NEVER helps in searches. Never. Ever. So she unzips the back pack and freaks when she sees two eyes blinking back at her. Add to this startle the fact that....are ya ready....she is phobic about cats. Not finicky. Not scared. Phobic. So she drops the back pack and screams "SSSSHHHHIIITTTTTTTTT!!!!!!!!"
So Mittens spent the morning in my office, exploring, playing Kitty T.V. with the aquarium, and sitting in my lap and snuggling, purring and dozing off from time to time. I could get used to that. I think they should let us have cats in school. They are good for lowering blood pressure. That is, unless you're phobic.
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