People often ask me what it’s like to teach at a city public school, so I figured I’d go ahead and create a pat answer that almost anyone can relate to.

You know that feeling you have when you’re trying to fold a fitted sheet? It’s like that.

But instead of one sheet, you’re folding 30 sheets at the same time.

And every sheet has its own unique challenge, in addition to the inherent challenge of it being a GODDAMN FITTED SHEET THAT WON’T FOLD.

Some of the sheets have holes in them, and no matter how gentle you try to be, you end up accidentally ripping them more, because they’re just too damn fragile.

Some are as stiff as cardboard and simply can’t be bent in any direction, no matter how hard you push, tug, and pull.

Some smell like stale sweat so you have to figure out a way to fold them without breathing, lest you vomit.

Some are falling apart at the seams.

Some have bed bugs.

Some are tear-stained.

Some are straight up covered in pee.

But you’re still expected to fold all 30 of them every single day, all at the same time, and put them neatly away. In a pristine pile. In a tiny, overheated closet that can’t possibly hold a pile of 30 sheets.

Then at 3pm, EVERY SINGLE DAY (even on the days you DO manage to create an actual pristine pile, which happens an average of 1 day per decade), the sheet manufacturers come by, rip open your tiny closet, rummage through your neat pile, and derail everything you worked so hard to do.

But don’t worry, you get another chance to fold them bright and early the next morning.

And every morning.

For the rest of your life.

But yeah otherwise teaching is great!