I'm Not a Secretary, Ma'am

During lunch in the school office, a blend of laughter and the shuffling of papers creates a vibrant atmosphere as I pop my homemade meal into the microwave, the aroma of savory leftovers wafting through the air. Sitting at the empty table, I take a moment to savor each bite while simultaneously grading papers—green pen in hand, I provide encouragement alongside constructive criticism to budding minds. As friends pour in, eager to share stories from their classrooms or hilarious anecdotes from the morning, our conversations instantly transform the otherwise mundane lunch break into a delightful exchange of ideas and camaraderie. Between sips of water, I find myself giving quick nods of acknowledgment and laughter as we bond over shared challenges and triumphs in our personal lives. As the clock ticks closer to the end of our brief respite, a hush falls over the room while we each focus on finishing tasks before the bell rings.

While I expertly navigate the remnants of my messy lunch, a fork still clutched in one hand, the sharp trill of a phone ringing from the room next door jolts me into action. The urgency of the call pulls me away from my meal, and I quickly wipe my mouth with a napkin before dashing to the phone, leaving behind the remnants of my hastily consumed meal. “Hello?” I say, slightly muffled as I chew on the last bite. It’s a cheerleader's parent on the other end, their tone a blend of expectation and concern—a reflection of the chaotic world they juggle daily. "This is Juanita’s mom. May I please speak with Miss Taylor?" they ask, and for a fleeting second, I can hear the background bustle of their own busy day: the faint sounds of a dog barking mixed with the steady hum of a washing machine.

"She's teaching class at the moment," I reply. "Would you like to leave a message?"

A long silence fills the phone line, punctuating the urgency of the moment, before her voice crackles with frustration. "I need to speak to Miss Taylor right now!" she barks, the abruptness of her tone cutting through my thoughts like a knife. The call came unexpectedly, a mere afterthought during lunch, yet the fervor in her demand sends a surge of adrenaline coursing through me.

"Miss Taylor is teaching at the moment, so she can’t come to the phone," I repeat, my voice a mixture of formality and warmth echoing through the receiver. The soft murmur of my colleagues talking in the background spills over like a gentle tide, punctuating the busy atmosphere of the office. “Do you have a message for her?” I ask, keenly aware that Miss Taylor values every connection with her students and their families.

The angry woman’s voice sliced through the air like a jagged blade, demanding, "You need to get her on the phone this minute!" The urgency in her tone was palpable, creating a tense atmosphere that hung heavily around me. I could feel the annoyance bubbling up inside, a visceral reaction to the way her impatience seemed to snipe at my own rhythm. Yet, amidst the brewing storm of emotions, I consciously inhaled deeply, allowing the air to fill my lungs and expand my chest, holding on to that breath as if it were a lifeline tethering me to calm. I visualized the oxygen sweeping in, washing over my irritation and effacing it like waves erasing footprints on a beach. What was meant to be a simple task had transformed into a theatrical drama, with anxiety as the backdrop and frustration as my uninvited co-star. Yet I remained committed to maintaining my composure, reminding myself that navigating the tumultuous waves of human emotion was a marathon, not a sprint.

Glancing at the clock on the wall with its relentless ticking echoing through the empty office, I felt a surge of urgency; the bell was about to ring, signaling the end of my lunch, and I needed to head to class. "I will tell Ms. Taylor you called," I replied with as much patience as I could muster.

The piercing scream echoed over the phone and through the office, sending shivers down my spine. “You are the worst secretary ever! Get Miss Taylor now or I will make a complaint,” she declared, her tone laced with fury.

Now I had reached the end of my patience. "I am not the secretary, ma’am, I am a teacher on lunch break. Do you have a message for Halley, or not?"

“I am calling TAC and having you fired. You need to do your job!” she repeated with a harried sigh, her frustration palpable. The fluorescent lights above flickered intermittently, casting long shadows across the cluttered cubicle stacked with open folders and abandoned coffee cups — I propped my butt on the desk while thinking of an appropriate reply that wouldn't get me fired.

"Again, I am not a secretary, ma’am, I am a teacher. You will need to call Miss Taylor after school," I huffed, feeling the familiar rush of irritation bubble to the surface. It was a busy Thursday afternoon, with papers piled high on my desk, the scent of freshly printed worksheets still lingering in the air, and the end of my ruined lunch break. As silence filled the phone line, I couldn’t help but reflect on the stereotypes that often cloud the teaching profession—those outdated notions that equate a teacher's function solely to administrative tasks. As a teacher I wear many hats: I am a mentor, a counselor, a motivator, and yes, a developer of young minds. I work relentlessly to create an engaging atmosphere where my students feel valued and inspired to learn. While I appreciate the challenges parents face, I long for the understanding that supporting a child’s growth involves collaboration, where respect for each professional's role is at the forefront. With a deep breath, I softened my tone, reminding myself that education is a partnership. "I will let her know you called."

With a sigh longer than Rapunzel’s hair, the mother began her tirade about my shortcomings as a secretary—her voice rising with each syllable, punctuating the air with her frustration—I felt an overwhelming wave of exasperation wash over me. I couldn't believe the woman still thought I was a secretary, even though I had corrected her on that point TWICE. Instead of succumbing to the weight of her words, I made a decisive choice; I hung up the phone, allowing the echo of her disappointment to fade as I shifted my focus to putting away my lunch and heading to class.

As I stepped into the classroom, the familiar sounds of laughter and chatter enveloped me like a warm embrace, melting away the tension from the phone call. I glanced around at the friendly faces of my students, each one a reminder of why I had chosen this path.

Taking a deep breath, I moved to the front of the classroom and flashed a smile, instantly reigniting my enthusiasm. "Alright, everyone! Let’s dive into today’s lesson!" The room buzzed with excitement, and for a brief moment, the frustrations of the outside world faded into the background.

Later that day, I spotted Miss Taylor in the hallway, and I quickly related the details of the phone call. As I recounted the incident, we chuckled at the absurdity of the situation. Halley promised to call the parent and explain the situation, and then I returned to welcome students to the last period of the day.

The next day over lunch, I shared the story with my fellow teachers; they all agreed I was a crappy secretary! In the end, that incident bonded us through laughter, reinforcing the importance of clarity in our roles as teachers—not secretaries-—while celebrating the folly of public education.