I barely step into the staff room when Mr. Cabrera calls to me from across the room.
"So what's it like?"
He sits at a table filled with round-faced older teachers. They all gaze at me, expectant. I just want to get my lunch bag and get out.
I focus on the water damage that's spread across the acoustic ceiling tiles like a giant coffee stain on paper.
"I didn't think it would look so real."
I inch towards the kitchen entrance at the back of the room.
"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Jones, a pudgy teacher close to retirement, calls from another table. "It can't last."
"Thanks."
I hustle into the galley kitchen. I make my way to the ancient brown fridge at the end of the room. I find my pink tartan lunch bag lined up neatly next to Henri's blue and yellow tartan one.
Henri is my best friend at Crescent Street Public. We bought the two bags together once as a lark.
"So we'll always stand out at school," Henri said about them. "The two weirdos of the school, bound together by weird lunch bags."
Now they sit between moldering yogurts, trays of weekly goodie exchange cookies, and grimy bits of leftovers.
I don't know enough about my coworkers to understand why they isolate Henri. I would like to think the best of them. I would like to assume that it's not because he's happily married to a man but because of his blunt manner of delivering uncomfortable truths.
But I can't know for sure. When it comes to my isolation, however, I know the reasons why the other teachers don't socialize with me. And those reasons have nothing to do with them.
I've never really hung around the staff room. For the last three years, the school has had a yard duty bot and we teachers are completely free at recess and lunch. It was the first bot that came into the school.
I'd thought at the time that a bot could never do what a teacher did, not for children, not in the classroom. I thought that my job required a human mind, not a dumb machine.
So when I no longer had to trudge outside in snow and on ice anymore, I was happy to settle into a routine of eating in my classroom. Lunch and recess were precious times to get caught up on work. It was an ideal situation.
The few times I ventured into the teacher lounge, I'd been bored by the talk of university bound children and retirement plans. I was still at the beginning of my career, thinking too much about my work to care about quotidian concerns.
I didn't have much to say to the other teachers. But there was one exception. When I close the fridge and turn around, he's materialized.
"Whoa, you startled me," I say.
Although Henri is lean, the kitchen is barely big enough to fit the two of us comfortably. He looks down at me through his tiny square glasses.
"So, what's the machine like?"
"I really don't want to talk about it."
"It's stupid. It won't last long. Replacing teachers with machines? Come on."
"Well the kids like it, anyways."
He stares at the ground. Sighs.
"Did they say anything to you?" He nods towards the staff room.
"Just the expected garbage."
"No, not the teachers...so predictable." He rolls his eyes. "The principal. What's next?"
I raise an eyebrow. "Don't you mean who's next?"
"Oh, don't give me that. I heard you chose to leave."
"What? Who--"
"Come on, it's all over the school. You should know everyone's talking about it."
He puts his hand on one hip. "But seriously, Andrea, what are you going to do with this? You can't just stay?"
"They want me to take a pay cut. They want me to sit on my hands while they test it out. To see if I can be replaced by free labor. If we all can. You really think I'd be a part of that?"
Henri strokes the close-cut grey fuzz on his head, then crosses his arms and looks at me with wide eyes.
"So what now?"
"I don't know. I guess I'll have to talk to the union rep. I've only been in seven years. I don't even know what's going to happen to my pension now."
"Oh, they have to give it to you. There's no way the union is going to let this fly. They can't just get rid of you for no reason. Did you read the contract?"
My eyes drop.
"Oh, come on, Andrea. You have to at least read the contract. This can't just happen. You have to do something. You know they're saying I'm next, don't you?"
"I know you don't believe that. You're fine. I'm fine. It won't last, you said that yourself. By the end of the month I'll be back in that classroom. You know I will."
"So you're just going to...what? Putter at home until they bend to the union's will? Calling their bluff, are you?"
I hadn't thought about what to do. I hadn't thought beyond going home for the rest of the day and now that the nausea has passed, spending some quality time with rocky road ice cream.
"And what if you're wrong? What if the project goes through? Think about it, Andrea. No one has ever been fired from this board for no reason before. Do you really think a robot is a good reason for ending your career?"
My shoulders collapse as I gaze at the pink lunch bag in my hands.
"I guess maybe I should dust off my old resume."
"That's horseshit," Henri exclaims. I intake air sharply. "I haven't given a decade to this place just to be shoved out the door on my ass. It's not allowed."
He raises his voices and slams his palm on the counter. "And if you're not going to fight it, I am." He turns and storms out, stomping the floor with each step.
My cheeks are hot. I take a moment to recover from my shock and then I follow him out. I ignore the glances of surprise from the tables of clustered teachers.
"Where are you going?" I call after Henri as he slams open the door to the hallway.
But I already know the answer.
"To Goodman's office," he shouts back over his shoulder.
I jog down the hall to keep up with his determined stride.
"Henri, think about this. My job is already gone. Nothing you can say can change--"
"Don't say that," he interrupts, slowing his pace.
"What? I--"
"Andrea, you are coming back. You have to. That stupid machine can't possibly replace you." Indignation drips from his voice. "It can't be what you are. Or do what you do. Can it?"
"No, I know it can't," I reply. "But what am I supposed to do about it? Leaving here is the only way to send a message."
"You could fight it. Here and now."
He turns down the hall towards the office again.
"Okay," I say to his retreating back. "But this is my fight, Henri. If you do this, you could be out of a job too."
"Yeah, right. And if I am? So what. I'm going to lose it anyways."
"You shouldn't panic," I say. "You have a family to think about."
"Can't you see?" Henri turns back to face me. "First it was lunch duty. Then the janitor, then the librarian. Now you. You're the least senior member of this staff and I'm the second least senior. Who do you think goes next, Andrea?"
"You can't know that for sure."
"Live in denial if you want. I'm not going without a fight."
He slams his palm into the double doors of the outer office.
I can't stop him. I stand by, impotent, while he screams himself out.
Goodman, who is sitting at her desk prodding at her monitor when Henri bursts in, stays perfectly calm throughout the exchange.
"I'm sorry, Mr. Lapointe," she says when he pauses for breath. "But Ms. Anderson has already made her decision."
"We'll see about that," Henri exclaims as he turns to leave. "We'll see what the union has to say about it."
I see the composure slip from Goodman's round face as Henri leaves the room.
I mouth the words, "I'm sorry," to her. But by that time her jaw is set in a hard line.
(Continued in Chapter 4...)
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