How to Turn an Entire School Against You

Mess with Teachers’ Parking Spots

Parking was always a third rail issue at A. Elementary.

We had more employees than available parking spaces. In Los Angeles that is considered a violation of our human rights.

The single staff member contractually-guaranteed a parking spot was the nurse. Everyone else, from the principal to the cafeteria ladies, had to fend for themselves and their car. Unless, of course, you had the advantage of being handicapped. But even amongst the few disabled staff members who possessed those precious blue placards I believe there was stiff competition for the few blue spots.

Despite a brand-spanking new, two-level parking structure along with a smaller back lot, A. elementary employees still suffered under the bane of tandem parking.

Some of us had to park one behind the other and, basically, trap each other into the lot. Imagine a mini-version of the claustrophobic Hollywood Bowl parking situation, cars stacked one behind the other, you at the mercy of whoever parked behind you. You never wanted to be the “bottom” car but sometimes you just found yourself “topped” by old Mrs. O’Leary and her stupid Chevrolet.

Whenever a blocked person needed to leave campus, they would have to call the main office to relay the make, model, and license plate number of the offending automobile to an office secretary. It was like reporting a stolen vehicle.

The secretary would then get on the schoolwide public announcement system and boom to the entire population of the school, “Will the owner of a gray Toyota Camry license plate number blah blah blah. Please. Move. Your vehicle!”

It was like teaching at a car dealership. Or inside an In-N-Out waiting area where they screamed out order numbers all day.

The announcements were loud and disruptive and constant and annoying.

For a couple of years, I was an out-of-classroom teacher during a period of severe budget cuts which basically meant I became the principal’s bitch. He had a lack of support staff and so when he said jump, I was supposed to say how high. However, I threw myself into the role because I thought if I worked hard enough maybe I could make the school run better.

To this end I organized a meeting where the faculty collectively agreed to implement a less disruptive parking system. The goal was to reduce the number of total school disruptions and make it easier (and quieter) to identify who was blocking who.

We decided, communally, to hang parking placards on our rearview mirrors, or display them on our dashboards, with identifying numbers so that the school’s main secretary wouldn’t have to interrupt the entire school with a clamorous public announcement and instead could identify and call the owner of the specific vehicles directly.

Simple and straightforward, right? Yeah, right.

I was in charge of implementing the system.

I purchased car tags from the school’s supply budget and disseminated the placards to all staff members with cars.

As the new school year started in 2010-11, I warned the teachers that we would need to begin displaying our placards on our parked cars because I would be calling L.A. city’s parking enforcement to begin patrolling the school’s parking lots in three weeks. The muscle would be coming.

Week one passed. I placed friendly little notes in the faculty’s mailboxes informing them of the impending change.

Two weeks passed. I went out into the parking to observe who wasn’t yet displaying their tag and placed even more reminders on their windshields, prompting them to Please use your parking placards.

Three weeks passed. I announced to the staff that parking enforcement would soon be called. They should really display their parking placard.

I called parking enforcement. Release the Kraken!

Of course, a slew of heedless teachers received $60 parking tickets. Which to them was like receiving a ransom note for their children from the Mexican mafia.

Here’s the immediate lesson: teachers are the worse followers of directions in all of the professions combined. Actually, they may be second only to cops who can give directions but not follow them.

Teachers are like fat doctors who smoke. There is a special place in purgatory for all the educators who give directions to students all day long and expect them to follow them but won’t display a simple parking placard on their own vehicle.

Oh my god. Once the staff had to suffer consequences for their actions they were incensed!

The enforcement of the parking system had riled them up as if their pets had been murdered. And they all came after me. I was soon public enemy numero uno.

But I was unrelenting. I told y’all this was happening and y’all ignored me, was the sassy gay attitude of my response. Imagine me with my right fist planted on my hip, smacking gum, curling my pigtail with my finger, and rolling my eyes at them as I said this. Of course, they wanted to murder me.

At the faculty meeting that week, the pitchfork-and-torch crowd showed up in full, collective force ready to battle.

My principal was unhelpful, as usual. He kind of backed me up for about a minute, and then backed away as the ferocity of the staff’s rage increased. He fed me to the wolves without missing a beat. I was alone.

But I still wouldn’t back down. Right then and there I signed up to be the Joan of Arc of Parking Tickets, willing to burn at the stake for my actions and beliefs in the use of placards to identify staff member vehicles. I couldn’t think of a more worthy cause.

The faculty meeting revved up into a heated argument, me against the entire staff.

Voices were raised. People stood up and pointed shaking fingers at me when they spoke. They were spitting as they yelled at me.

But I was not backing down. Nuh-uh. Bring it on, was my stance.

That same week, the previous school year’s state test scores had been released. Third grade math scores had plummeted. As the faculty meeting devolved into a loud argument, I lit a match over the pool of gasoline the gathering had become and let it drop.

Incredulous at their rage over not following simple rules, I shouted back to them, “I didn’t see you guys get this upset over the drop in math test scores in third grade!”

It was a very teacher-centric comeback. And a low blow. I went straight for their professionalism, attacking them as incompetent and petty educators.

Ka-boom!

The faculty meeting disbanded with shouts and groans of displeasure. People grabbed their sensible lunch totes and stormed out of the lunchroom back to their tandem-parked cars.

I was the only one who agreed with me.

I became an instant pariah.

No one would talk to me afterward except to lambast me.

The principal backed down and called Parking Enforcement to have the tickets forgiven. He asked them to stop patrolling our parking lots.

But they wouldn’t. They kept coming. And teachers kept getting tickets. And people kept getting mad at me.

Then the secretary starting announcing to the whole school whenever the parking enforcement was in the parking lock giving out tickets. Teachers would have to run out to their cars to display their placards to avoid getting tickets. It was ridiculous.

Parking enforcement once showed up while I was leading a professional development. The teachers were pissed. “This is all your fault, Richard!” one screamed at me. “We’re trying to get you fired!” another yelled.

Just use your stupid placard, was my response.

The hard truth was that I was a genuine product of A. Elementary.

I had worked at no other school for the past decade. I had witnessed the faculty rip District presenters to shreds and make some facilitators cry. I knew what I was dealing with. Fire with fire.

I was just as stubborn as they were.

And the battles were just beginning.