Cara Romero thought she would work at the factory of little lamps for the rest of her life. But when, in her mid-50s, she loses her job in the Great Recession, she is forced back into the job market for the first time in decades. Set up with a job counselor, Cara instead begins to narrate the story of her life. Over the course of twelve sessions, Cara confronts her darkest secrets and regrets, we see a woman buffeted by life but still full of fight. I arrive in the Media Center and start pulling open windows with my backpack still on my back. It’s the end of September and the room will be boiling by noon if we don’t get fresh air circulating early. I begin dumping my stuff in the small office behind the circulation desk. I share this space with the technology aide at our school. I unload my lunch, water bottle, work computer, notebooks, and pens. It is literally one of the only quiet moments in my day. The art teacher, also one of my best friends, stops by to chat. I decide to work on an anchor chart listing out the procedures for quiet reading time while we catch up. The art room is connected to the media center and we spend most of the day touching base when we can. After being a classroom teacher on a team, being a specialist is strange. I’m used to doing the same job as 2-3 other people in my building. There is only one Media Specialist (librarian), which can be great and lonely simultaneously. We are finishing chatting when the art teacher goes to spend some time with a student who has come to visit her. Each staff member at our school has been asked to donate some time to do a check in with a student who is at risk for having a tough day. This could be negative behaviors but also a propensity for sadness, low attendance, trouble at home, etc. I make a mental note to reach out to the teacher of the student I signed up to meet with this school year. My watch alarm goes off to alert me that classes are starting and I take a deep breath. Here we go. Adjusting the lesson and creating, printing, and hanging the signs takes the full 40 minute break to complete. I stopped once because an email from the music teacher shared that my son was having trouble in his saxophone lesson and there was a link for a neck strap that would help. I quickly purchased it because I knew I would never remember later. I also chatted with people who stopped by. A few tutors and aides who don’t have an empty classroom will take their breaks in the library. A teacher came to ask if I was going to be proctoring the makeup testing that I facilitate a few times a year. One student came looking for their water bottle. The library is the heart of the school (literally and, in my mind, figuratively) and people come through all day every day. My officemate has gone home and it’s blessedly quiet. I have to proctor district testing makeups tomorrow, so I decide to organize all my sub plans and materials so I can just work on running reports tomorrow. I blast a true crime podcast because this is how I relax. By the time I’ve written out the plans and printed materials for the lessons the sub will do tomorrow, it’s 5:15 p.m. and the after school program is about to close. I hustle to pack up my belongings, jot a few notes for things I’d like to remember tomorrow, and strap my backpack onto my back. So there is my day-in-the-life. This is a lot. I am wordy and rambly and I still cut half of my editorial stuff. Today I did not order, catalog, or cover books. I did not work on my weeding project. I did nothing to prepare for the book fairs, no cleaning tasks, and I did not use the lab. I talked to approximately 100 students and about 15 teachers. Like I said, this job is not for the weak. However, I’m proud as hell to do it. I just need a nap.
