The kids got their school supply lists from their teachers today, and we began the arduous task of amassing them.
I used to be one of those teachers who gave parents a supply list, only because if I didn’t, parents got confused, and I had to spend even MORE time answering questions about what supplies their kid would need for my class.
Dominic and Josephine’s lists feel equally as haphazard. I want to email these teachers and say “Be honest with me. How many lessons do you have planned where my kid is going to use this fucking glue stick? Because we all know it’s just going to end up melted at the bottom of his backpack, and he’s going to forget it’s there and use YOUR glue stick anyway.”
Eventually, I pared my class’ supply list down to three things: something to write with; something to write on; and a box of tissues, because for whatever reason, Kleenex at my school are like cigarettes in prison. Once cold season hits, there’s nothing more disgusting than watching 30 9th graders wiping their noses with their sleeves. Pre-Covid, I used to also ask for a bottle of hand sanitizer, but since the school district has decided this liquid gold is their primary method of flattening the curve in our buildings, I’m issued a vat of it the size of an LA Looks hair gel container from 1993.
Probably the most infuriating supply on the kids’ lists is a ream of copy paper. This is annoying because A: we’re one of the most affluent school districts in the country, and a kid supplying his own paper feels unnecessarily Dangerous Minds to me; and B: do you really think these parents are going to Staples and buying a ream of paper? FUCK NO. They’re going to their job and stealing a pack from the copy room. You’re essentially telling parents you want your kid to learn this year? Better pilfer some office supplies from your corporate overlords.
This is exactly what I did to furnish this item, and the fact I work for the same school district just makes it deliciously ironic.
I Don't Belong Here. 