I am writing this in the midst of chaos that only days ago would have been unimaginable. I am sure you have seen it on the news. I have to assume every television program was interrupted for late breaking updates. It would not surprise me if leaflets had been dropped throughout the country. I am speaking, of course, about Potential Tropical Cyclone Eight.
Oh, does that not sound terrifying to you? That is only because you do not understand the gravity of the situation. If only you had the wisdom and understanding of, say, my local county school district, you would accurately perceive the peril at hand. Honestly, there is a non-zero chance that as you read this on Tuesday, I am already dead. Please assume this is the case if I do not respond to comments in a timely manner.
But I digress. Yes, the school district in their infinite wisdom canceled school Monday — oh, I’m sorry, they transitioned us to an “e-learning day.” The phrase “e-learning day” reminds me of the quip about the Holy Roman Empire, that it was neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire. In 2021 and 2022, the district sprinkled these e-learning days liberally throughout the academic calendar. After discovering what parents had figured out 5 minutes into remote learning during COVID, that e-learning tends to be heavy on the “e” and light on the “learning,” they are now pretty much only used for inclement weather.
I realize that some parents are upset, given that the decision to canc— ahem, transition to an e-learning day came late last night, around 9:30pm. But the district said on their website that they were waiting for the National Hurricane Center’s 6:00pm guidance before making a decision. What were they supposed to do, NOT wait an additional three and a half hours before notifying people?
Do I sound like I disapprove of their decision-making process? Far from it! Do I think that there is a better-than-even chance that the district makes major decisions by handing a raccoon a Magic 8 Ball and seeing what it says? Yes.
Wait, no! I meant no. I do NOT think that. The reason I do not think they make decisions that way is because if they did, I think we’d see more good decisions.
As I drove to the gym this morning the road was full of other people apparently as willing to roll the dice as I was. I passed a shirtless man jogging. Putting my window down, I screamed for him to take shelter, but he pretended not to hear me. I can only assume he was suicidal. No sane man can hope to defy Potential Tropical Cyclone Eight in such a brazen manner without consequences. Perhaps I should have done more.
The district did a Facebook Live this morning to explain their decision-making process. I don’t have access to the page yet, but I feel confident it comes down to a “commitment to safety” or something. Yes, it genuinely can be dangerous to cross some of the bridges in Charleston when there are high winds. I understand that. Yet, all teachers are required to be physically present at their schools, which means the district feels it is safe enough for adults to drive. Who takes children to school, again?
Are “cancel school/don’t cancel school” really the only choices? Why not leave schools open, but announce that you will not be recording absences for that day? That way, parents who are concerned and able to keep their children at home can do so, with minimal disruption. Perhaps other solutions were too complicated to consider. I don’t think that would be particularly persuasive to the thousands of parents who had to figure out childcare arrangements at 9:30pm on a Sunday. I suppose they could just miss work.
This is really just an excuse to rant and have some fun, but the inability to think of solutions beyond the ones that are already known irritates me. I have been in meetings where people complain about their limitations and I want to point out (and sometimes do) that, in fact, they are in charge and can do what they want. They are completely free to explore other solutions.
There’s a hilarious moment in a really terrible movie, Hot Shots: Part Deux. The heroes are fleeing from enemy forces and encounter a waist-high picket fence. When the leader tries to open the gate, he announces to the group with the utmost seriousness, “It’s locked.” One of his comrades shouts in despair, “We’re all gonna die!” I guess I just feel like I’m watching someone tell me that there’s no way past the waist-high fence because the gate is locked. Curse you, Potential Tropical Cyclone Eight.
Pure genius, I tell you...GENIUS!
Well, if FEMA isn't going to do anything about this, I suggest you start a GoFundMe page. Please put the link in the comments.