Dear Teacher with Car Rider Duty,
Car rider duty is one of the countless joys they never tell you about in your Ed Foundations courses.
I have taught a few college courses as an adjunct instructor. My favorite was LAE 3324 (Teaching Language Arts in Middle and Secondary Schools). Most of the students in this course were one semester away from entering the lion's den. I didn't want them to be eaten alive, so I took it upon myself to sprinkle in real-world knowledge whenever applicable. In retrospect, they should have scratched the fancy name and merely called it, "Stuff they don't teach you in college."
I gave them the insider's scoop on all the struggles I wish a professor had shared with me when I was in college like how to keep your handwriting from going all crooked at the board or how to work a projector without using profanity. They seemed grateful for the practical lessons, but I neglected to tell them about car rider duty. That's why I am writing about it now. My oversight needs to be rectified.
I should have told them you haven't really lived until you've stood in car rider line in 127% humidity and returned to class looking like you stepped out of an 80's mosh pit at the county fair in July. I should have also warned them that parents love to schedule impromptu parent conferences in the rain as little Johnny is hauling his Lightning McQueen backpack out of the backseat. "How's he doing in class?" they yell out between bolts of lightning. "Schedule a conference. We need to talk," you reply (but only in your head).
If I had been on my A-game, I would have also mentioned that some parents don't find shoes or pants a priority until the teacher flings open the car door to discover a partially-clothed kid gnawing on a cherry Pop Tart. These are the same parents who want to tell you that Oscar has an eye appointment this afternoon at 1:00 and that his grandmother will be picking him up early. "Well actually it's not really his biological grandmother, but he calls her granny since the divorce," she clarifies. For extra emphasis, she adds, "She can't drive well in traffic. Her eye sight is as bad as Oscar's, and since the bridge is out because of the barges, it might be closer to 12:00 when she gets him."
With 26 cars wrapped around the school, she finally gets to the point. "She's not on the check out list, so can you add her?" Your patience wears thin. "Sure," you reply without realizing you just consented to letting a blind child leave with Charles Manson simply because you want that line to move more than you want your next breath.
The smooth flow never returns. Drenched kids in ponchos keep trickling out of Monster trucks with soggy sausage biscuit wrappers stuck to the bottom of their light up shoes. The line gets longer.
That's when you know it's going to be a messy day that you're education classes didn't prepare you for in the least.
I apologize for this delayed advice, but if I could offer it now, I would tell you it's okay to lie, negotiate, or cheat to get out of car rider duty.
If you cannot, bring a poncho, and remember it's also okay to say, "Could I get you to pull up and park in a visitor's spot if you feel it necessary to kiss your daughter 37 times before she gets out of the car?"
-CDB
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