RoboNomics

Chapter 9 - 2016

The children rush to the back of the room, where the coat racks lines the wall. Immediately, Ajay and Phillip have their heads together over Ajay's backpack.

The rest of the students busy themselves with changing into outdoor running shoes for afternoon recess. The I. I. U., meanwhile, this machine they call "Teacher ", stands near me and watches the kids with her head flicking back and forth rapidly.

Ajay pulls a superhero action figure out of his knapsack. The android, just like a novice teacher, doesn't notice.

"Ajay, put it back," I call to him. "You and Phillip can play with the toy after the final bell."

Ajay's head snaps around to look at me and he lets the figure slide out of his hand and back into the bag. But his hand still hovers near the pack.

"Zip it up, please," I add gently.

He watches me and I nod. He looks at the I.I.U.

She -- it -- does nothing. It only smiles vaguely at the entire class in general.

"Ajay," I call his attention back to me. "You know the rules. You are not allowed to bring toys to school. Now put it away until school is over."

"All right."

He sighs in frustration and does up his bag. He starts putting on his outdoor shoes.

Maybe I shouldn't have reprimanded him. Maybe I should let her fail. I should let the classroom go to chaos.

That way, they would see that she can't replace me. All I have to do is curtail my professional habits.

Besides, I think, it's not as if I'm paid to manage this classroom any more.

The bell rings and the children, as they have every day for three weeks, line up at the classroom door. They march out towards the playground.

The machine follows them looking as eager as a new puppy.

"Thank you, Ms. Anderson," she says as she exits.

My skin crawls when she speaks to me as if we were colleagues.

I sink down onto the bench under the coat rack. I lean back against the cool cinderblock wall.

Under the bench, the line of indoor running shoes is crooked. Now that they have a robot for a teacher, my class is losing the sense of order I instilled in them during those first few weeks of school.

I remind myself that it's no longer my concern. I'm now here to look after the machine and not my kids' education. They aren't even my kids anymore.

I am happy that Jay left when he did. After the morning sessions, when the bot went mechanically through math and language arts lessons, he told me that everything seemed in order.

I wouldn't see him again, he said, for two weeks. That's when he would come back to examine my first set of notes and her first set of calculations.

It was not a difficult day. The children were only mildly misbehaved in the presence of the robot and the hours flew by.

But I'm exhausted. It's the humiliation at having to take this position that has run me down, made worse by his presence.

I now have a job so below my talents and skills, at a pay well below what I use to make and what I should be making. After reading my contract carefully, I found out that it's only a part-time position.

I am only required to be at school three days a week. That accounts for some of the reason behind the massive pay cut.

I look around at my classroom. This had been my domain for seven years. The reading carpet that I set out under the windows, the group work table with its familiar scent of fresh modeling clay, and the electronic display that projects the classroom rules.

"Guidelines for a Respectful Classroom," it announces in colorful lettering. I wrote those rules. I bought that modeling clay. I set out the rug.

This was my classroom. It would never be hers. It would never belong to the machine.

I remember when the schools were modernized, just before I decided to become a teacher. It was supposed to be a cost savings, as well as an investment in the future.

The accounting dictated that the end of consumables such as paper, paint, crayons, and pencils would make up for the initial investment in computer-desks for each student and for integrated networks and high definition displays in every classroom.

But the process produced a massive deficit for the Toronto School District as they cast aside tools of education as old as my grandparents and replaced them with expensive components. It was all supposed to be borne out by test scores. That, and the quality of new Ontario workers.

The students coming out of high school would be well prepared to find work in a world wrapped in information technology. But instead, it forced schools to cut costs.

So the labor force that peopled the libraries and the administrative offices were replaced with machines. And now they were cutting even deeper. Now I had been declared redundant.

My phone, still in the pocket of my skirt, suddenly buzzes with a text message.

Heard UR back. It's Henri.

Yup. And it's awesome. Before I hit send, he saunters into the room and spots me immediately.

"So, you're never coming back, are you? You can't come back?"

(Continued in Chapter 10...)

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