The gymnatorium had these huge heavy plasticized mats that had to be pulled out and spread over the floor before chairs could be set up, to protect the gym floor. Setting up for said concert was an all day affair, and had to be done all in one day, because even though we had 2 gyms, a Student Athletic complex, multiple fields outside and I gave them MONTHS of notice, the 2 gym teachers would only give me one day, the day of the concert, to set up, perform and tear down. And I had to send them polite reminders at least a week in advance, because this grievously affected their planning.
First concert of the year, first concert of my career. To say I was nervous was an understatement. I’d spent all day, with the help of my kids, hauling an entire sound system, choral risers, show choir risers and music stands out of the dungeon, up a flight of stairs, down a long hallway, around a 270-degree corner and the length of a high school gym to get to the stage. It was exhausting.
By fourth block, all we had left to do was test the sound system (which one of my awesome students had under control), pull out the mats and set up chairs. I requested the mats from the janitors in advance; by 4th block, no mats, no chairs. I sent a more responsible student to find a janitor. The janitors were supposed to do this themselves, I learned later – they did it for other meetings and events held in the gym. Choir was DIY for me (not the previous ladies, just me).
Whatever. It had to be done and I assigned some of my more athletic kids to this task with me. The mats were HEAVY and took several people’s effort to move.
As we were getting the last of the mats spread out, I had the remainder of my students start putting out chairs at the front. Over the din of 80+ students chatting, the banging of chairs, the squealing of mic testing and more mats being spread across the floor, I clearly heard, “Is that a condom???”
I immediately dropped what I was doing and scooted over there. I’m sure it wasn’t a condom. I mean, these were only used in a high school gym – not exactly a romantic venue. I’m sure it was something else. Also, if it did happen to be a condom, that’s gross and a disease magnet and I didn’t want anyone touching it.
The questionable section of mat looked like it had been anywhere but a high school gym. It’s sticky, grimy, covered in glitter, and there, right in the middle – a used condom. (Well, it had been taken out of the package and unrolled – I didn’t look any closer than that.) Keep it classy, School #1.
As I’m telling the kids not to touch it until we can get a janitor, (‘why? what’s the big deal? we’ve seen condoms before, Miss Reed…’ – ‘because STDs, guys!’), I hear the kids discussing who it could have come from. The last time the mats were down was homecoming. Ew. The janitor appears and I start to direct him to where the condom is and indicate that I would prefer that the area around it be cleaned somehow. It had been rolled up for a few weeks, but if it would get the kids to stop talking about it and move on, I would really appreciate it. Having met the janitor at the door, I’m walking slowly as I explain this. I realize that I’m alone. The janitor is standing to the doorway to the gym, holding nothing but one rubber glove. I turn around, walk back and said, “doesn’t this need to be disinfected?” He continues to smile, holding out the rubber glove to me. He says, “I’m sure you can handle it,”, smiles even more arrogantly, shoves the glove in my hand and walks away.
I know you’re not supposed to piss off the janitor – I was always really nice to the janitors. I didn’t call them for every little thing, I called them for big things like, ‘the heat isn’t working’ or ‘my doors won’t open’ or ‘my doors won’t close – what if there’s a lockdown?’ or ‘the lights aren’t working’. And I always made the kids be respectful and we always made sure we were as out of their way while they worked as we could be and ALWAYS said thank you. I had banned the kids from having anything but water to drink in the choir room and had banned food (except for special occasions), which had all but eliminated the mouse problem in the choir room and the bug problem was much better, too.
Why so smug, janitor?
So I put on the glove, walked over, picked up the condom, took the glove off in such a way that the condom was wrapped in it, found a trash can, and went to wash my hands. The kids thought I was hardcore for picking it up myself.
The next day, after an obligatory back-handed compliment about the how this was the first of many wonderful concerts I would have at School #1, but we would have liked to hear more music…* from Principal Hugs-A-Lot, he sat me down to ask why I was talking to my students about condoms and STDs on concert day. He didn’t seem to process anything I said about how this actually came about and dismissed me with some comment about how I should leave that to the health teachers.
So, the student council didn’t sweep the mats after their event, like they were supposed to, and neither did the janitors, like they were supposed to, but I should have somehow prevented my kids from seeing or talking about a used condom at school.
And this is why I started responding to most questions involving personal health in this manner: “Sorry, I’m not licensed in the State of Ohio to teach you about that; you’ll have to ask your friendly neighborhood health teacher, [insert the name of the oldest, least sexy gym teacher here].”
*The Church Lady’s concerts had gone on for 3+ hours. For 2 choirs, a show choir & some barbershop quartets. She had the kids up and down & off the risers after every song.
That’s just ridiculous and exhausting. We did a comparable amount of music (no medleys though… womp womp) and had everyone out in about 45 minutes. Multiple parents thanked me for how enjoyable the music was, how they didn’t have to sit through an hour of stage changes and how they were actually looking forward to future concerts now.
Again – administrators don’t get that quantity does not equal quality.
Donita Westman 