When Teachers Don't Have Their Shit Together
Sometimes, the things that annoy you aren’t grand betrayals or systemic injustices—they’re the little, daily habits that grind you down. And as a teacher, I’ve seen my share of these frustrations. Every day, I’m subjected to the same tired conversations and half-assed efforts that make me wonder if some of my colleagues have ever learned how to manage their own lives.
This week, it was all about student cell phone usage and the ever-recycled debate on in-school suspension (ISS). Every morning, without fail, one of my coworkers launches into the same monologue, circling back to the same points about how students are glued to their phones and how that leads to constant disruptions. I nod, I agree, and I keep my internal urge to yell, “I get it—now shut the fuck up and let’s talk about something else!” buried deep inside. It’s like having a song stuck on loop all day; eventually, it drives you insane.
And it doesn’t stop there. Picture our daily moment of silence before the pledge—a time meant for calm and reflection. Yet, this same guy decides it’s his moment to break that silence, spewing out commentary that not only shatters the peace but sets a lousy example for the kids. It’s maddening how the same trivial topic can be dredged up over and over, like a broken record that just won’t stop.
Then there’s the ridiculous issue of door access. We have a door at the end of our hall that a few teachers conveniently use because it’s closer to their rooms. Only a couple of them even have keys. The rest? They expect someone else to open it every single time. I’ve started ignoring the incessant knock-knock routine because, honestly, if you can’t manage to let yourself in, you’re doing something terribly wrong. Imagine having a front and a back door at your house, but choosing the one you don’t have a key for because it’s "more convenient"—it’s absurd. How are these people supposed to function as adults if they can’t even figure out the simplest part of their day without hand-holding?
It’s not that I’m against asking for help once in a while. I’m more than willing to lend a hand when something genuinely new comes up. But when it’s the same old, basic shit repeated ad nauseam, it’s enough to make me want to tear my hair out. I sometimes wonder if these teachers are just incapable of handling their own responsibilities. Maybe they’re drowning in apathy or anxiety, or perhaps they simply don’t give a damn enough to push through the mundane aspects of their jobs.
I’m not a saint either—sometimes I feel on edge, and I’m tempted to let loose and say exactly what I think. But in a school setting, with kids watching, there’s always that invisible pressure to keep my cool. I walk around on eggshells, constantly monitoring my tone and my words, even when all I want to do is scream, “Grow the fuck up!”
It’s ironic. Here I am, a teacher who prides himself on being able to handle life’s challenges, yet I’m left fuming over the predictable, repetitive bullshit that others seem so comfortable with. I’m single, I struggle, and yet I manage my own damn business without relying on someone to hold the door open for me every day. I know what it takes to be independent—and sometimes, I wish that the adults around me could do the same.
The constant need to put on a front, to filter every instinct and emotion, is draining. I long for a world where I can be 100% authentic without worrying about repercussions. But in the meantime, I’ll keep nodding through the endless loop of complaints, hoping that one day, someone will finally break the cycle. Until then, I’m stuck in this perpetual dance of suppression, where even the simplest disruptions feel like a personal affront.
