What Lurks Behind the Door of the Teachers’ Lounge?

By Ryan Crawley

There are mysteries in this world that will never be solved. Who killed John F. Kennedy? Watch Kevin Costner in the movie JFK and you will walk away knowing it could have been any number of people. Is there intelligent life on other planets? Sometimes I question whether there is intelligent life on this planet. What’s the deal with the Bermuda Triangle? I have no idea, but I plan on never finding out.

All of these great mysteries are quite puzzling, but there has always been one mystery that has haunted me throughout my childhood. The mystique of, in all places, a room in every school building. What lurks behind the door of the teachers’ lounge?

My father was a high school Science teacher, and I would always pester him about telling me what was behind the teachers’ lounge door. The secrecy behind it all would make our own government envious. My father never once told me.

I figured out after awhile that the only way to know for sure was to become a teacher myself. Either that or break into the school one night, but I knew I was way too pretty for prison. I decided on the much longer process of doing it legally.

    As I was finishing up all my Education classes, I was getting closer and closer to solving the mystery of this fascinating place. In my head, I pictured the teachers’ lounge as a very swanky restaurant. There would be maitre d’ greeting you as soon as you entered. Little fancy foods that I never know the name of would be presented on a silver platter. Drinks would be freely offered, some alcoholic. And teachers would discuss and solve the world’s problems.

    My first day of student teaching, I immediately headed down the long hall to the teachers’ lounge. Would I have liked to have met my supervising teacher first? I had my priorities. I was out to solve a mystery. I was like Robert Stack, minus the cool voice and the fog swirling around me.

As I turned the doorknob, I wasn’t even sure I was allowed in this hallowed room. I was only a student teacher, not the real thing yet. But I couldn’t wait any longer! Once I swung the door open, I couldn’t believe my eyes. I don’t think I have ever been more disappointed in my life. I actually double-checked the nameplate on the door just to make sure I didn’t accidentally enter into the janitor’s room by mistake.

    It was like a potpourri of garage sale trash! There was a green and yellow couch against the wall that appeared to have come off someone’s porch. Someone that hated teachers. I’m almost positive that the couch was not originally green and yellow, but that the mold was slowly encompassing it more and more every day.

    The long table in the room was like a glorified indoor picnic table. If I sat down and ate my lunch every afternoon at this table, I’d spend the next hour removing splinters from my forearms.

    Off in the corner, there was a microwave and coffee pot tucked away. I don’t believe I have ever seen whole electrical cords wrapped up in electric tape before. I am pretty sure this was a fire hazard. Although, if a fire engulfed this room, it would be a mercy killing.

    The microwave’s control panel basically had an on-off button. I learned that the sound emanating from it when it was running was equal to a plane landing in your front yard. I could only imagine how much radiation this microwave was throwing off. There should have been a lead blanket you had to wear while using it. I bet most of the male teachers in the school were sterile just because they used this microwave.

    There was only one redeeming item in the teachers’ lounge. An old soda machine on the opposite wall. It still worked, and it charged 50 cents a soda. However, I had never heard of the different sodas that it offered. Kolla, Orange Crash, and Mountain Do all were brands that I was not familiar with.

    I left the room in a fog. (Although, maybe it was actually smoke coming from something that had just short-circuited in there.) As I met with my supervising teacher and completely tuned her out, I realized why there was such secrecy about the teachers’ lounge. The school’s staff is embarrassed by it. Every day educators with various Masters degrees, whose duty is to shape the minds of the youth, meet in a glorified tree fort.

    Childhood dreams die hard. Things always seem more mysterious when we are younger. Romanticizing something as simple as the teachers’ lounge was my own fault. We all have our own things that we held up on a pedestal when we were kids. Sometimes they disappoint us. However, Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny have yet to let me down!

Ryan Crawley is a writer/educator from Illinois. Born into a family of eleven, he spent most of his childhood watching old reruns of Three's Company and Happy Days. He has his Masters in Reading and Literacy, and is a certified Reading Specialist. He spends his free time writing, working out, and hanging with his two dogs Flair and Smoosh Face.