Mamiyaroid 30
March 2020
News! I was on the LitCentury Podcast discussing one of my favorite novels, The End of Vandalism, by Tom Drury.
Last year around this time I wrote an account of life in my library leading up to school going remote due to the Covid-19 pandemic. I thought I’d share that this week. I miss seeing my students in person and hope we can be together in the fall.
***
At the end of January 2020, I found a giant magic 8 ball on the street near my apartment in Brooklyn. After disinfecting it, I brought it to the public high school library I run in another, less affluent, Brooklyn neighborhood. As I predicted, the students were curious but on the first day the kids were unsure what it was. One girl asked, “Miss! What is this?!” I said, “Pick it up.” She said, “Miss! I’m scared.” Another student picked it up, shook it, but didn’t ask it a question. He just shouted, as he walked away, “Big baaaaaaaaaaaaaaall.” But soon enough the kids figured it out and it became a hit.
Questions asked of the magic 8 ball:
“Am I gay?”
“Does the librarian love me?”
“Am I a virgin?”
On February 6th multiple students ask the magic 8 ball if the world is ending. The answer: unclear.
The corona virus is a distant concern to our students. There are new posters in English, Spanish, and Chinese students made in their advisory classes warning students what to do if ICE stops them. I’m depressed that this is what their formative years consist of.
A Chinese American student tells me that he was walking down the street when a car stopped and a man yelled at him, “Hey, Corona Virus.” I ask the student what he did, and he said he just glared at the man. The boy is almost six feet tall and he’s a gym rat who’s always watching videos about lifting and bulking up responsibly. I ask him to show me what his glare looks like, but he declines, saying he couldn’t make that face at me; it would be too scary and disrespectful.
A boy asks me if I can order take out for him. I say, “Absolutely not.”
A group of stoner boys see me walking down the hall and say, “there’s the liBRARian”. Many students don’t bother learning my name, which is fine. It’s less likely they’ll google me.
Students try to turn off the lights in the library and I said, “It’s a library, not a club.” They ask me why we can’t all chill.
I’m dicking around at my computer and I get nervous because a student walks behind my circulation desk and sees my open tabs, but when I look at what he sees I’m relieved it’s just a google image search of French existentialists and nothing worse.
I’m pretty sure students are vaping in the library. I’ve made a new rule that everyone has to sit on a chair, or the few couches we have. If they don’t huddle on the floor, and hide out in the stacks, they’re less likely to vape. No, I’m not a narc, but I’m getting lightheaded every day. I think I’m allergic to the aerosols in the vape. Also, vaping just looks stupid. When you vape, you look like you’re sucking on a thumb drive, just one step above sucking on your thumb. My students are not happy with this new no-floor policy, but the library is cleaner, and I no longer have to clear my throat when I see students making out in the stacks.
One of the probable vapers, the boy who asked me to order takeout for him, pretends to steal the magic 8 ball. I just watch him as he walks out the door and goes as far as around the corner until he’s sure I see him through the glass wall. I say to another student, “Is he really trying to jack the magic 8 ball?” The boy returns with the magic 8 ball and replaces it on its pedestal, a rotating magazine rack. “Have a good day, Miss,” he says.
On March 6th we get our first corona virus email from our union chapter leader.
I get on the train and sit near a young white man wearing a black knit shirt, the kind he might wear to a date at a sports bar, and he pulls his shirt up to cover his mouth. I don’t know if it’s because I’m Asian. Either way, he looks ridiculous.
The student who pretended to steal the magic 8 ball asks me for hand sanitizer. They’re starting to get worried. I tell them to wash their hands. I suspend sign-in because it doesn’t make sense to have them share pens or a keyboard when we’re trying to minimize the spread of this virus. Still, they’re teenagers who do teenager things, like huddle together as if they haven’t seen each other in weeks even though they see each other every day.
A girl who’s been playing truth or dare comes up to me and says, “Miss, can I kiss you?” I’ve been teaching since 2003 and something like this no longer fazes me. I look at her and simply say, “Sit down.” I ignore her and the group because if they don’t get a reaction out of me, they’ll get bored and do something else. If it had been a boy, I would have told him he was inappropriate. Every decision I make has a context.
Students aren’t allowed to eat in the library but of course they sneak chips and snacks. I see a girl eating takis and ask her to stand up. She knows she’s been caught, and she licks her fingers. I motion for her to follow me and I have her wash her hands in my sink. I then address the library and explain the importance of not licking their fingers, sharing food, and keeping their distance from each other. I know that many of them don’t realize how serious this is, but I implore them to wash their hands as often as possible, anyway. I’ve been sanitizing the tables and doorknobs and other surfaces with hospital grade disinfectant wipes.
My coworker shows me the emergency rations he bought at the market across the street. I tell him I started buying food the week before. I didn’t go crazy— just bread I’ve frozen, rice, beans, frozen vegetables, a polish sausage, canned tomatoes, chicken stock, sazon, and sofrito. Later that day I add a box of Japanese curry mix to my arsenal. But before that, my coworker and I are dumbfounded when we see two boys grab each other’s hands across a low bookshelf and begin to arm wrestle. I shout, “Sit down!” Later I talk to one boy and ask him to wash his hands. The other reassures me that he’s been using hand sanitizer. I again remind the students to wash their hands.
Before I go home for the weekend, I disinfect the doorknobs and other surfaces. I also disinfect the magic 8 ball because students routinely pick it up and take it to their table to share among friends, and because of this I no longer hear what they ask. Next week I will probably keep the magic 8 ball in my office to minimize risk of transmission of the virus. I wonder if they will notice. -Written March 15, 2020
Postscript:
Schools shut down over that weekend. When I reported to work for the last week without students, I placed the magic 8 ball in my office, not knowing when we’d return. It’s now March 2021 and high schools are back to hybrid learning (meaning some learn in person, others learn remotely). I’ve been fully vaccinated but I still don’t know what to expect in the fall. I just hope it gets better.
Until next time…
Adalena
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-Adalena Kavanagh