So, I made sure that every kid turned in his or her cell phone. I made sure that I turned mine off, having been warned against taking pictures of the test. I made sure that each and every student had their chance at the bathroom since I had no intention of sending anyone to the bathroom during the test. Because of all of the academic content recorded on the stalls in the bathroom, you know.
But what is the regulation involving infiltration by vermin? Here’s the scenario: a girl raises her hand, and I tiptoe over to her, so as not to disturb the cathedral-like silence that befalls the classroom during this one time of year, under threat of nuclear annihilation and zero score if they talk. She says, “I don’t feel very good. There’s a cockroach in Ruby’s desk.” She is seated at that very desk. I ask her if she would like to change her seat; since I can only send someone who is “not feeling good” to the nurse if there is a large amount of blood or a Joe Theisman compound fracture. Thankfully, she agrees, and finishes her test.
Let’s face it; the cockroach probably did photograph the test, and by the time we (read: student) had flushed it out and killed it, the little spy had probably leaked it to cockroaches all over the world, who are poised to exceed our school’s scores when they have to take the same test in a couple of weeks. It will all be traced back to me and my lackadaisical security measures, and I will be deemed an ineffective and dangerous teacher, losing my position, putting our nation’s competitiveness at even greater peril, and seeking work at Orkin.