The Hottest Cold Day

(Note: some foul language)

It’s literally 80 degrees in my classroom right now, Mrs. Ferris texted her principal. 

She looked over her class of 3rd graders. Winter coats and holiday sweaters littered the floor, despite the hooks in their cubbies designed to hold such items. It was the day before winter break started. They just had to not melt for two more hours until they could flee into the parking lot and bus loading zone at 2:25. 

I’ll try Maintenance again, Principal Beck texted back, but they stopped taking my calls two weeks ago. 

Mrs. Ferris actually growled, which her students thankfully couldn’t hear over the sound of oscillating fans on each side of the classroom. 

The Facilities and Maintenance department was under the impression they were gods of the Riverbend School District. When the pandemic hit, they took it as their time to shine. After all, they were the only ones allowed in the buildings. The schools and administrative offices became their exclusive domain. They had “specialized” equipment and chemicals to work with. Everyone else called it N95 masks and bleach, but Maintenance staff treated those luxuries like they had been bequeathed with swords and shields by the Queen (governor) of Oregon herself. 

In March of 2020, the schools shut down right before spring break. Most teachers took their laptop and curriculum guides home just in case the lockdown lasted more than two weeks. We know what happened after that. 

In June of 2020, teachers were finally allowed back in their classrooms. An email informed each teacher of their designated time to come by the school, to ensure social distancing. Mrs. Ferris arrived when she was supposed to and was not-so-warmly greeted at the front entrance by two Maintenance staff standing guard like Secret Service agents. She was promptly ushered inside and given sterile gloves and a clean replacement mask. She was annoyed by then – did they think she was going to lick the walls? – but understood they were being careful. What pissed her off was learning that another Maintenance goon was responsible for escorting Mrs. Ferris to her classroom and supervising her as she packed her personal belongings. It was her classroom. A teacher’s classroom is like their second home, for better or worse. And this asshole she’d never met before had to babysit her while she stored chapter books in the closet and packed her favorite flair pens? Absolute bullshit. 

Yes, she knew Maintenance played a significant role within the school district. But this team had astronomical levels of attitude even four years later. 

“Mrs. Ferris?” one boy called from across the room. “Can we take our shoes off?” 

The teacher hesitated, thinking of how bad their socks could possibly smell, but relented. Several students were wearing winter boots, which couldn’t be comfortable in this unnecessary heat. 

“Yes,” Mrs. Ferris replied. “You can all take your shoes off, but please keep them tucked under your desk so I won’t trip on them.”

The students cheered, dropping iPads on their desks before pulling off their shoes. 

“Can I take my pants off, too?” yelled another boy.

“No, Jaxon, your pants must stay on at school. We talked about that yesterday.”

Mrs. Ferris looked across the hall to the other 3rd grade class. Mrs. Quinn’s students were bundled up in their coats, hats, scarves, and gloves. At least one student had a blanket, too. Could she see their breath? The students seemed to be coloring while Mrs. Quinn was on her phone, probably texting the principal like Mrs. Ferris had. 

The 3rd grade classes were supposed to be watching The Polar Express this afternoon. It was tradition, but also the easiest way to waste time before winter break started. Unfortunately, another teacher had tried to use an electric kettle to make hot chocolate. That was enough to blow a fuse and cut power to random outlets in nearby rooms. The projectors in the 3rd grade classrooms were out of commission for now. 

The electrical wiring in this school is as fucked as the HVAC, Mrs. Ferris thought. 

She looked longingly at the windows and back door. It was 27 degrees outside, about the coldest this part of Oregon was going to get. The windows couldn’t open and she wasn’t allowed to prop the door open for security reasons. Cold air was so close and so far away. 

The classroom phone rang and Mrs. Ferris slumped back into her chair before answering it. 

“Maintenance just called.” The school secretary, Deanne, sounded apologetic. “They said their system shows all classrooms in your hallway are at 70 degrees.” 

“We’re melting in here!” Mrs. Ferris almost cried. “And Quinn’s class is shaking, they’re so cold!” 

“I know,” Deanne said. “You have a thermometer in your room, right? Can you send a photo of it to Beck? I think he’s going to drive over to the Maintenance building if they keep ignoring him.”

“I can do that,” Mrs. Ferris sighed. 

“Hang in there.”

Mrs. Ferris leaned her head back and yelped as the claw clip in her hair smashed between the chair and her scalp. 

“My daddy says those hair clips kill people in car accidents,” a girl informed her. 

“I promise not to wear it in the car,” Mrs. Ferris replied, rubbing the back of her head. 

A lot of the students were chatting now, iPads forgotten, and Mrs. Ferris absolutely didn’t care. She glared at the clock on the wall that seemed to be moving slower by the second. 

She noticed Mrs. Quinn standing just outside her classroom door, trying to warm up from the little bit of heat in the hallway. Mrs. Ferris darted out of her own room. 

“Do you want to switch rooms for a while?” she asked. 

“God, yes,” Mrs. Quinn said without hesitation. “I can’t feel my fingers!” 

Each teacher lined up their respective students, who sprinted to the opposite classroom once they learned the plan. 

Mrs. Ferris’s students dropped into the icy classroom like they finally reached dry land after a shipwreck. Some laid down on the tile floor, others collapsed onto desks and caressed the cold surface of the tables. 

Mrs. Quinn’s students were jumping up and down in the overheated classroom. They flung their coats on the floor and turned off the fans. Mrs. Ferris stared at them, imagining that’s what the inside of a popcorn bag in a microwave looks like. 

The students got restless after about 10 minutes of sheer joy. The teachers met in the hallway again to conspire. 

“Is 90 minutes of free time too much?” Mrs. Quinn asked. 

“Not today!” Mrs. Ferris declared. “What if we set out all the indoor recess bins, like the Legos and stuff, and just let them go back and forth between rooms?”

“Sounds good to me!”

The teachers enacted their plan, and the 3rd grade section of the hallway descended into chaos. None of the students wore shoes and would slide across the tile floor between classrooms. Mrs. Ferris and Mrs. Quinn stayed near the doorways to vaguely supervise the shenanigans. 

With about 30 minutes left in the day, Mrs. Ferris watched through a classroom window as Ms. Holloway gathered her 2nd graders at the carpet area. Ms. Holloway smiled lovingly at her students and showed them the picture book she was going to read. It was a long, sort of sad story about remembering the people you love during the holidays. Mrs. Ferris was sure the young teacher imagined this as a heartfelt moment to be shared with her class and remembered forever. The 7- and 8-year-olds surrounding her, however, looked like they would be willing to cut their own arm off for a chance to run and play. One boy, Carter, was actually rocking back and forth with the effort of sitting still. 

Ms. Holloway appeared to be tearing up at her favorite part of the story when a boy’s screaming voice echoed out of Mrs. Quinn’s classroom: “I AM A JEDI MASTER AND I WILL CUT YOUR HEAD OFF!” 

Ms. Holloway’s students started to giggle, but stopped quickly at the deadly look on their teacher’s face. 

After what felt like 3 years later, it was time to pack up for the end of the day. The students, with much prompting, cleaned up the toys and supplies and returned to their original classroom. They stacked chairs, retrieved their lunchboxes, and lined up with their backpacks. 

“Thank god this day is over,” Mrs. Ferris whispered to herself before leading the class outside. 

A staff group chat notification pinged on her cell phone: Quick stand-up meeting in the library once students are gone. 

Mrs. Ferris resisted rolling her eyes, still surrounded by students and parents. 

Teachers filed into the library once the buses departed. Mrs. Jones, a 4th grade teacher, was holding her purse and angrily fidgeting with her keys, like she had been planning to go directly to her car. Mr. Taylor, a 5th grade teacher, wasn’t there at all.

“Hey, sorry about the meeting,” Principal Beck began as he walked in the room. “I know you all want to go home. But I wanted to give you a heads-up that some projects planned for winter break, like waxing the floors, may not happen. There was a minor emergency at the Maintenance building today. Someone set the wrong time on a microwave and started a fire. Everyone is fine, but their breakroom is in bad shape.”

Mrs. Ferris and Mrs. Quinn made the mistake of looking at each other. They burst into villainous laughter. 

“Did they try checking on the room through remote systems?” Deanne asked, giggling. “I’m sure they would find everything in order!” 

Principal Beck was obviously trying not to laugh. “I’ll make sure to recommend that before I leave today.”

“Weren’t you at the Maintenance building earlier?” Mrs. Ferris asked him, barely managing to halt her laughter long enough to speak. 

Principal Beck gave them a wide smile. “Merry Christmas, everyone!”