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body {
background-color: white;
color: darkgrey;
font-family: Futura,Impact,Helvetica,sans-serif;
font-size: 125%;
}You start your Monday at 4:30am to allow for travel time and temperature checks on campus.
Your alarm goes off and you silence it.
You and your partner are renting out a friend's garage and any noise in here echoes.
You walk over to the makeshift hanging closet and grab your outfit for the day: black trousers with an ironed black shirt. It's October in the Northern US, so you you grab a black sweater, too.
You tiptoe into the house grateful that your friends have a full bathroom on their first floor.
You shower and brush your teeth. Then you quickly change into your [[outfit]].You check Twitter and you see reports that covid-19 rates spiked over the weekend. The reporting is murky, but you infer that your University is at the center of the spike.
Your phone dings
<<set $sick = ["yes", "no", "no"]>><<set $testpositive = $sick.random()>>
You and your partner argue. It is truly infeasible to leave the baby with the sitter who may have been exposed.
But it is also infeasible to take the day off, so you agree that they will drop off the baby.
You are still a little unnerved from the argument but you are grateful that they are flexible.
You say goodbye, grab your bag, and [[head to campus|campus]].
<<if $career == "new">>You pack your lunch and dinner and as you are about to say goodbye to your partner, they remind you that the babysitter's mother tested positive for covid-19.
You had completely forgotten.
Do you [[suggest to leave the baby with the babysitter|babysitter]] or [[suggest your partner stays home|home]].
<<elseif $career == "old">>You pack your lunch and dinner and as you are about to say goodbye to your partner, they remind you that they have run out of their nausea medication.
You had completely forgotten.
Do you [[pick it up on the way to campus|pick up]] or [[order it online and hope it arrives quickly|order]].
<<endif>><<set $sick = ["yes", "no", "no"]>><<set $testpositive = $sick.random()>>You and your partner argue. It is truly infeasible for either of you to take the day off.
Luckily, their office is more flexible and they are permitted to work from home today.
You are still a little unnerved from the argument but you are grateful that they are flexible.
You say goodbye, grab your bag, and [[head to campus|campus]].
You hope your dorm-mate didn't see you in the elevator.
You have a hard time navigating the trek to class. Your wheelchair positions you lower than everyone, so all their spit and exhalation will land on you.
Everytime someone speaks you wince.
You finally make it to class and go to your seat.
You're not sure when the last time they cleaned the tables was.
Do you [[grab hand sanitizer|sanitizer]] or [[just wipe your hands on your pants|wipe hands]]?<<set $elevator = "open" >>
You feel bad, so you keep the elevator held open.
You realize that your dorm-mate is not wearing a mask.
You try to hold your breath for the whole elevator ride, but you can't.
You feel free when you finally get out of the elevator.
You have a hard time navigating the trek to class. Your wheelchair positions you lower than everyone, so all their spit and exhalation will land on you.
Everytime someone speaks you wince.
You finally make it to class and go to your seat.
You're not sure when the last time they cleaned the tables was.
Do you [[grab hand sanitizer|sanitizer]] or [[just wipe your hands on your pants|wipe hands]]?
You pick up the hand sanitizer and go to pump some onto your hands.
<<set $handsanitizer = ["yes", "no" ] >>
<<set $handsclean = $handsanitizer.random()>>
<<if $handsclean == "yes">>
Whew! There was a little left.
<<elseif $handsclean =="no">>
Uh-oh. The bottle was empty. No hand sanitizer for you.
<<endif>><<set $handsclean = $handsanitizer = "no" >>
You worry since you touched the door handle on the way in. You don't know when this table has last been cleaned. Now you're going to touch your phone and your computer and your notebook. You also are constantly touching the wheels of your wheelchair. You really hope that you haven't come into contact with any covid-19 carriers.
Your peanut butter and jelly sandwich is enough, but you miss being able to eat warm, homemade, pumpkin soup in fall.
After lunch, you want to get started on some manuscript edits.
[[You don't have time now.|commitee meeting]]<<set $aggressivestudent = "yes">>
You motion to the student to put on a mask.
They aggressively suggest that you should stay home if you're so worried.
You turn back around. Your friendlier neighbor motions for you to ignore it. Or at least that's what you think she did. You actually can't hear a word she is saying.
You look around the room and notice some students are [[using their laptops.|laptops]]You don't want to get in a confrontation. You just pull your mask tighter and hope you'll be okay. Your friendly neighbor motions to the other students who are using [[laptops]].
You both take out your laptops to try to co-edit a Google doc. You try to hone in your focus so that you can read her comments. You have a hard time because your laptop is so old. You realize that you forgot your laptop charger: since you don't usually bring your laptop to class, you don't usually carry the charger with you.
You've been working like this for 20 minutes and your professor finally winds her way through the classroom. each question takes longer for her to answer because no one can hear each other over the shouting: tables are so far away from each other you have to shout to talk to your neighbor. You see that she had to get dangerously close to the group of students with no masks.
She is standing very far away from you and you try to shout. She motions to look at your laptop, and just as she does. Your laptop [[dies]].Your professor looks genuinely sad. She asks if your neighbor can rotate her computer screen. Your neighbor does, but the plexiglass screen that sits between you on the table is distorting the graph: you wonder if the sharp dip is real or is a distortion. You nod, pretending that you understand. You'll look it up later when you get home.
You and your neighbor are struggling: she doesn't know that you stutter, so she keeps interrupting you. Without your mask on, she could see that you are trying to talk, but you don't want to risk that.
Your neighbor is getting visibly annoyed with you.
You start to get overwhelmed. You feel the walls are closing in, your pulse is racing, you can't breathe.
Your stomach starts to hurt. Your Crohn's disease flares when you're stressed and you have been very stressed lately.
You start to panic.
Do you [[leave the room to get some air|leave room]] or [[stay and start crying|stay]].<<set $classroom = "leave">>
You decide to leave the classroom. You consider going to the bathroom but you worry that there are too many germs there. You just [[leave|online class]].
<<set $classroom = "stay">>
You decide to stay.
You start having a panic attack. You grab a brown paper bag from your backpack and start breathing into it. You must remove your mask to do this. Everyone is staring at you.
You manage to calm yourself down after a few minutes and return to the lesson. Before long, class time is up. You collect your stuff and head back to your [[dorm|online class]].
Your next class is a large lecture class so it's online. You go back to your dorm and plug in your laptop charger. You open your computer and Twitter pops up.
You see a video of another Black person getting killed by the police. That person could have been your brother, or your friend, or you. You see the anti-police-violence protests are happening near your home in Atlanta. You've already lost two family members to covid-19 and you're aware of the racial disparities in outcomes. You are sick with anxiety for your community, your family.
You sit for a few minutes and just [[cry]].
You log into your online class and at least you can leave your camera off so no one can see your puffy face.
After class, you close your computer and reach over to take your [[anti-depressants]].You realize in all the stress of coming back to campus, you forgot to refill your prescription. The pharmacy has limited hours and is already closed, so you’ll have to skip it and hope you don’t experience brain zaps like you did last time you missed a dose.
[[You cry yourself to sleep]]. When you wake up, you head over to the pharmacy to get your anti-depressant prescription refilled.
You notice that they are offering free covid-19 testing.
You remember the recent Trump administration ruling that health care can be withheld from trans folks. You wonder: if you test positive, will you be denied care on the basis of your trans identity?
You worry, but you don't want to be unknowingly passing the virus to others.
You [[get the test]].<<if $handsclean == "no" >>
You test positive. You start feeling brain zaps from withdrawal from your anti-depressants. You definitely need to see a doctor. You think about how this semester could be [[going...|conclusion]]
<<elseif $handsclean == "yes" >>
Whew, the test is negative. You grab your prescription and head back to the dorm. You start feeling brain zaps from withdrawal from your anti-depressants. You think about this semester could be [[going...|conclusion]]
<</if>>You grab your prescription and turn to head home. You start feeling brain zaps from withdrawal from your anti-depressants.
You look up and it looks like that person from your class.
<<if $aggressivestudent = "yes" >>
They were mocking you in class yesterday. They're still not wearing a mask. You raise your hand. Your professor motions that it will be a few minutes. She's trying to answer other questions, but each question takes longer than usual due to masks and social distancing.
While you're waiting, you look around. You see that a neighboring student is not wearing a mask.
Do you [[motion for the student to put their mask on|mask on]] or [[pull your own mask tighter|own mask]]?
It is October 1st, 2020.
Data suggest covid-19 is spiking in some areas of the US, yet many universities have decided to remain open for face-to-face classes. You have been on campus for three weeks.
You are one year shy of tenure at Most Distinguished University of the North. Thankfully, your University paused tenure clocks but funding in biology was already tight, and you are worried.
You and your family in China are constantly checking in. Your new baby is only 8 months old and they want to video chat with the little one constantly. You also guess that they want to check in on you. They know that your arthitis has been flaring and you are at higher risk.
It is nearly the end of the week and you are trying to push through.
You wanted to teach all your classes online. Instead, this is your day.|feed baby
You wanted to take all your classes online.
But the Board of Trustees met and decided that residential instruction was too important.
So the Chancellor wrote a nicely-worded letter about the importance of students to the University.
And the Deans Tweeted about the teaching mission of the University.
And the Department Chairs have measured 6-foot distances between chairs in classrooms.
And the Professors have altered their active-learning plans.
And the Graduate Student Instructors have not been consulted.
For the good of the students, they won't let you take all your classes online.
But what about you?
Resources and guidance:
Accessible Campus Action Alliance: [[Beyond "High Risk":Statement on Disability and Campus Re-openings|https://sites.google.com/view/accesscampusalliance]]
Just one day.
The worst one.
Created by Cait S. Kirby
[[Website|https://caitkirby.com]]
[[Twitter|https://twitter.com/caitskirby]]
© 2020 Cait S. KirbyYou worry about what this means for your students. University policy requires that they are tested every week, but you wonder if the swabbing is all for show.
Some of your students have expressed discomfort with the levels of surveillance.
You agree with them. The new University building protocols require that you leave for your lecture 30 minutes earlier than usual to account for the screenings to enter buildings.
Before covid-19 you would only pack lunch, but now you must pack dinner because you are also teaching in the evening. The University set this schedule to minimize high-volumes of students in a single place at a time. It has mostly minimized your contact with your baby.
Your partner takes the baby and you pack your meals|meals. After a 30-minute wait in a socially-distanced line to enter your building, your temperature is measured, you are asked if you have had any covid-19 symptoms, and then you are given a badge.
This feels like a violation each and every time.
You look to the Other Building Named After an Old White Man and see that students have been waiting so long to get into their dorm, they are sitting on the ground. You wonder what the hold-up is, but you are ushered along [[into your own building]].
<<set $lunch = ["yes", "no" ] >>
<<set $luncheat = $lunch.random()>>
You only pack foods that aren't refrigerated so you do not need to use the shared fridge.
You open your bag to grab your lunch.
<<if $luncheat == "yes">>
You grab it and [[eat in your office|office]].
<<elseif $luncheat =="no">>
Oh no. In the stress of the morning you must have [[forgotten your lunch.|forgot]]
<<endif>>The 30-minute screeing protocols make it impossible for you to leave the building to get lunch. You cobble together some snacks from the back of your desk drawer.
You will have to figure out what to do for dinner later.
[[You don't have time now.|commitee meeting]]
Your graduate student has a committee meeting today.
While your department has encouraged virtual meetings when possible, the Chair of this committee insisted that you return to business as usual. Since you aren't yet tenured, you reluctantly agreed, hoping your petition would be accepted.
You enter the large lecture hall with masking tape in the shape of X's across chairs, indicating which seats must be left empty to ensure proper social distancing.
You try to move along the edge of the room so that you keep as much distance as possible. You are worried about bringing coronavirus home to your family. You still wonder why your petition was denied.
Over the course of the next hour, you are so impressed by your graduate student's [[poise and intellect]].When you mention the mask policies, the committee Chair erupts in laughter.
Your face gets hot. You look over at your graduate student who is in tears.
Thankfully, another committee member steps in and [[ends the meeting|tea]].
When you pull your mask tighter, the Chair of the committee seems to take notice and extends a hand for a handshake.
Your graduate student loudly gasps.
You look over at your graduate student. Your face gets hot.
Thankfully, another committee member steps in and [[ends the meeting|tea]].
Near the end of the committee meeting, you look over and notice the committee Chair is not wearing a mask.
You try to hide your discomfort behind your own mask, but they ask you what's wrong.
Do you [[mention the mask policies|policies]] or [[pull your mask tighter|pull mask]]?
After committee meetings, you always take your students out for coffee or tea. You know that committee meetings can be stressful so you usually highlight the best parts.
Given the realities of covid-19, that is just not feasible.
You schedule a Zoom meeting for tomorrow, but you wish you could console your student [[now]].
Your student has just emailed you to inform you that they may be late with their lab report.
Your student is very apologetic, but they explain that the funeral is on Monday and they don't think they will have enough time.
This is the second family member they have lost to covid-19.
[[You start sobbing]]. You remain in the empty classroom until you've calmed down.
You cannot imagine the grief your student is feeling.
Once you feel ready, you grab your bag and head to your car.
It's late and you're not used to being on campus at night.
You're uncomfortable.
Do you [[call Campus Security|security]] or [[hurry to your car|hurry]]?
In just a few minutes you're home.
When you open the door, you are met with complete silence.
<<if $career == "new">>The baby is asleep. You enter the dining room and make-shift home office to find your partner furiously typing.
They explain that the baby was fussy. They barely got any work done. They will be up for hours.
You feel guilty, but you're exhausted.
You climb into [[bed]].
<<elseif $career == "old">>Your partner is asleep. You see the empty pill bottle on the counter and your stomach drops.
You feel guilty, but you're exhausted.
You climb into [[bed]].
<<endif>>You wind your way to the largest lecture hall on campus.
It takes twice as long because you can only use the elevators to go up and the stairs to go down and you can't be in the elevator at the same time as another person. You usually take the elevator anyway, for your arthritis, but now there is a lot more waiting involved.
Once you make it to the classroom, you look around and see some students with their masks pulled down to expose their noses.
Your campus utilizes Mask Police, though they call it something less overt. To preempt this, you begin every class session with a few slides about [[proper policies]].
While you're glad everyone is now wearing a mask properly, you are struggling to understand your students.
You have high-frequency hearing loss. It makes it harder to determine words sometimes, so you often lipread.
The inability to lipread means that your students need to repeat themselves multiple times before you can understand them.
In the past, you've used a throwable wireless microphone so that students' voices were amplified. That microphone ball would act as a fomite and passing it around to students would ensure immediate spread of covid-19.
After a few disastrous team-based strategies, you ask each student to work independently.
With ten minutes left in class, you begin to call each student, one by one, to leave the room.
You stagger their departures to prevent transmission.
You've spent 15 minutes on covid-19 related policies.
You need to check in with your [[graduate student]].You have a Zoom meeting with a graduate student.
They are nearing the end of their 5th year and do not have independent funding for next year.
Your department requires one first-author publication before graduation and there are still experiments to be completed.
Your student had a kidney transplant three years ago and is immunocompromised.
They had hoped that the requirements for graduation could be altered, given the circumstances. You reached out to the department Chair and they are unwilling to [[bend the rules]].
The next day you wake up and take the baby for a stroll to the pharmacy to pick up your immunosuppressants.
You notice that they are offering free covid-19 testing.
You flinch as someone's eyes linger on you just a little too long. You remember the violence against Chinese folks at the start of the pandemic. You worry when you enter grocery stores and other public places. You wonder if this will be the time that that violence strikes you.
You consider leaving, but you don't want to be unknowingly passing the virus to others.
You [[get the test]].It is October 12th, 2020.
Data suggest covid-19 is spiking in some areas of the US, yet many universities have decided to remain open for face-to-face classes. Students have been on campus for over a month.
You are a staff member at Most Distinguished University of the North.
It is the beginning of another grueling week.
You wanted the campus to move online.
Instead, this is your day:
• [[as a 15-year member of the custodial staff|custodial staff]].
or
• [[as a non-tenure-track staff member|NTT]].
<<set $location = "US">>You are five years into your position as a non-tenure-track lecturer at Most Distinguished University of the North. Your University renewed your contract one week before the beginning of classes.
Expecting that you would not have your contract renewed, you and your partner moved in with a friend 30 miles away from campus. Your partner is now 30 miles away from their doctors and the medical treatment required to manage their worsening Lupus flare. You might have moved in with your Irish immigrant parents, but they moved into a nursing home just last year. You constantly worry for them, as you know that a single case of covid-19 in a nursing home has led to high numbers of deaths of residents. You maintain frequent communication with them, always hoping that their nursing home is safe.
It is Monday - a new week begins. [[Your alarm goes off|wake up]].
<<set $location = "international">>This year marks 15 years of service on the custodial staff at Most Distinguished University of the North. The University has not committed to hazard pay for any staff members, yet relies on staff members to maintain the cleanliness of the campus.
You immigrated to the US from Mexico nearly two decades ago and have been a dedicated and tireless worker at MDUN.
You've been paying attention to the news and you know that Latinx folks like you are disporportionately contracting and becoming ill with covid-19, especially Latinx children compared with white children. The custodial staff is overwhelmingly Latinx and Black at MDUN, so the stakes feel higher for you and your colleagues.
You wish that the University would keep most students at home to limit your exposure, but you worry that if you share your opinion, your contract will be terminated.
It is Monday - a new week begins. [[Your alarm goes off|wake]].
Double-click this passage to edit it.You used to arrive at your building at 3pm to start your cleaning. This made it less likely that people would be in the rooms while you needed to clean them.
Due to covid-19, someone needs to go into the classrooms between class periods to clean the desks and chairs.
That person is [[you|you]].
It takes 10 minutes, but it's important because some students have already been required to self-quarantine after contact tracing identified them as having potential exposure.
Each day when you enter your class, you are unsure who will be there or when the last time they heard these policies.
After your 10-minute introduction, you move to the actual [[course material]].This morning is a college-wide faculty meeting led by the Provost.
As with any other morning, your temperature is checked before you can enter the building.
You file in and take a seat, which is flanked by two empty seats on either side.
As more faculty enter, you realize that you do not see any higher-level administrators or executives.
Eventually, a staff member approached the podium and [[clicks a few buttons|screen]].On the screen appears the Provost.
From all the town halls over the last 6 months you recognize that she is in her home office.
She welcomes you and thanks you for attending.
She explains that the University is so grateful for your cooperation and flexibility in teaching.
She mentions that your cooperation is necessary - for the good of the students, and the survival of the University.
Do you [[raise your hand|hand]] or [[sit in silence|sit]]?
The Provost replies that a team of experts and executives have reviewed the data and are sure that this is the best course of action.
She thanks you for your continued cooperation.
As she begins her concluding remarks, you notice a line of Campus Security Officers has entered the large auditorium.
Your stomach drops. You wonder what could be [[next]].The Provost's face is replaced by the University logo.
A Campus Security Officer approaches the podium and informs you that you will all be required to undergo covid-19 testing today.
Without any additional explanation, you are ushered into a line of your faculty colleagues.
You wait in line for thirty minutes until it is [[your turn]]. <<if $testpositive == "yes">>
You are shuttled into the longer of two lines. This feels dystopian. You are required to sign another waiver and are instructed to move your classes online. After a few minutes of confusion, you realize you must have tested positive.
You wonder if they are avoiding actually saying the words to relieve themselves of any culpability.
You see that the teacher who would serve as your "backup" in class is in this line as well. If you both get sick, [[who will teach your students?]]
<<elseif $testpositive == "no">> You are shuttled into the shorter of two lines. This feels dystopian. They tell you that you have tested negative. You are required to sign another waiver and are instructed that you may remain teaching face-to-face.
You look over to the longer line and you see the teacher who would serve as your "backup" in class. If you get sick, [[who will teach your students?]]
<<endif>><<set $sick = ["yes", "yes", "no"]>><<set $testpositive = $sick.random()>>
You and your partner argue. Finally, you agree that you will pick up the medication.
You are not sure how you fit this into your schedule but you feel for your sick partner.
You are still a little unnerved from the argument but you are grateful that they are flexible.
You say goodbye, grab your bag, and [[head to the pharmacy|pharmacy]]. <<set $sick = ["yes", "no", "no"]>><<set $testpositive = $sick.random()>>
You and your partner argue. Finally, you agree that you will order the medication.
You could not imagine a way to fit a trip to the pharmacy into your schedule.
You are still a little unnerved from the argument but you are grateful that they are flexible.
You quickly try to order the medication via the [[computer]].It is now evening and you have an additional class.
You never teach classes this late and you are exhausted from trying to prepare all of your classes in three formats.
As you boot your laptop to Zoom in the students who are taking the class from home, you realize that the internet in the classroom isn't working.
Unfortunately, IT is not open this late.
Students will be arriving to class shortly, but you don't know what to do.
You hurriedly write an email on your phone to cancel class and hope it sends.
You hang around in the classroom just in case anyone shows up.
After about thirty minutes, as you are about to leave, your phone [[dings]].<<set $stumbled = ["yes", "no" ] >>
<<set $fall = $stumbled.random()>>
<<if $fall == "yes">>
You fall. On a better day, you might be okay, but you've been on your feet all day. Your throat catches. You get up and make your way to your.
<<elseif $fall =="no">>
You catch yourself. You imagine that a fall might have been devastating. Your throat catches. You make your way to your.
<<endif>><<if $career == "new">>You slept through your alarm. You wake up and find your partner has taken the baby for a walk. You scramble to make it to [[campus|morning]]. <<elseif $career == "old">>You slept through your alarm. You wake up and find your partner is sick in the bathroom. You apologize, but you need to leave. You scramble to make it to [[campus|morning]].
<<endif>>You head into the pharmacy to pick up your partner's medication.
Thankfully, it's ready.
You grab it and head to [[campus]].It takes longer than it should, but you get the order in. You hope it makes it to your home soon.
You say goodbye, grab your bag, and [[head to campus|campus]].You wanted to take all your classes online.
But the Board of Trustees met and decided that residential instruction was too important.
So the Chancellor wrote a nicely-worded letter about the importance of students to the University.
And the Deans Tweeted about the teaching mission of the University.
And the Department Chairs have measured 6-foot distances between chairs in classrooms.
And the Professors have altered their active-learning plans.
And the Graduate Student Instructors have not been consulted.
For the good of the students, they won't let you teach all your classes online.
But what about you?
Resources and guidance:
Accessible Campus Action Alliance: [[Beyond "High Risk":Statement on Disability and Campus Re-openings|https://sites.google.com/view/accesscampusalliance]]
Unfortunately Campus Security has limited availability due to covid-19.
They instruct you to be careful and wish you luck.
With your eyes darting all around, you hurry to your [[car]].With your eyes darting all around, you hurry to your [[car]].You raise your hand.
You ask to see the data supporting this [[assertion]].You sit in uncomfortable silence.
Then a colleague asks to see the data supporting this [[assertion]].Your student must return to lab to complete experiments so that they can graduate.
To obtain an additional year of funding, your student could serve as a TA, but that would require on-campus teaching.
Your student bursts into tears.
You promise that you will figure something out.
You make a plan to ask for alternatives and then you schedule a follow-up meeting.
You look up and it's already [[noon|lunchtime]].You clean up the high-chair and place the toddler on the floor.
Once she's busy with her toys you scroll through your [[new emails]].In the first message, your therapist confirms your next meeting will be in two months. With so many therapists out sick and an increase in patient acute care needs, you will spend the next two months without mental health care.
In the second message, your supervisor and their supervisor have both been instructed to work remotely. As the most experienced TA, you are now in charge of the other TAs. You are instructed to report to campus within the hour. Your partner has not yet returned from lab.
In the third message, you are informed that in your new role as lead TA, you will be responsible for managing TA and student PPE. You need to collect and count the remaining PPE before class.
These emails are [[exhausting.]]
You realize you don't have much time to get to campus.
While working remotely, you can put the toddler in her playpen and keep her safe for about thirty minutes at a time. This allows you to get some work done.
As a single parent, you have had to enroll your toddler in daycare, even though you are worried about her covid-19 exposure.
She has asthma and you have psoriasis. Between her steroid treatments for her lungs and your immunosuppressive medications, you both are at higher risk. Unfortunately, your University was very slow to determine disability accommodation policies. When they finally shared their policy, your University required labs to be taught face-to-face, so you had the option to take an unpaid leave of absence or teach the introductory lab course. You can't afford to go a whole year without pay.
You are forced to put your health and your toddler's health at risk to secure your [[Teaching Assistant stipend]].
You wanted to do your teaching remotely.
But the Board of Trustees met and decided that residential instruction was too important.
So the Chancellor wrote a nicely-worded letter about the importance of students to the University.
And the Deans Tweeted about the teaching mission of the University.
And the Department Chairs have measured 6-foot distances between chairs in classrooms.
And the [[Professors|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October1st2020.html]] have altered their active-learning plans to accommodate multiple plans for Fall.
And the [[Graduate Student Instructors|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October5th2020.html]] have not been consulted.
And the [[Undergraduate Students|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/Fall%202020.html]] are worried about returning.
And the [[Staff|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October12th2020.html]] are keeping it all together.
For the good of the students, they won't let students do their studies remotely.
But what about you?
Resources and guidance:
[[Accessible Campus Action Alliance: Beyond "High Risk":Statement on Disability and Campus Re-openings|https://sites.google.com/view/accesscampusalliance]]
[[A collection of petitions for safer campuses in Fall 2020|https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RJp3UnavXS_aWPBrxMtyK8U7sveI9dvynZKomGztwJk/edit?usp=sharing]]
But the Board of Trustees met and decided that residential instruction was too important.
So the Chancellor wrote a nicely-worded letter about the importance of students to the University.
And the Deans Tweeted about the teaching mission of the University.
And the Department Chairs have measured 6-foot distances between chairs in classrooms.
And the Professors have altered their active-learning plans.
And the Graduate Student Instructors have not been consulted.
For the good of the students, they won't let the students learn remotely.
But what about you?
Resources and guidance:
[[A collection of petitions for safer campuses in Fall 2020|https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RJp3UnavXS_aWPBrxMtyK8U7sveI9dvynZKomGztwJk/edit?usp=sharing]]
After dropping off your toddler, you get to campus and head to the lab classroom.
Someone has left you typed instructions for your new role. You are shocked that you aren't even given the opportunity to ask questions.
Underneath the instructions is an opened box of face shields and paper gowns plus two boxes of gloves. The instructions inform you that this should last you the week.
You look to the whiteboard on the wall with the schedule of lab sections and students. You quickly do the math - 12 students per section multiplied by 4 simultaneous sections per day multipled by 5 days. That's almost 250 students.
There is not even enough PPE for [[10 students]].You understand. Only the Teaching Assistants get PPE.
You cringe. You know that masks and face shields work best when worn by the infected person. In a class of 12 students without PPE, if one student has covid-19, every student will have covid-19.
You don your mask, faceshield, paper gown, gloves, and goggles, and get to work [[setting up the lab]].You call the University daycare and ask if your toddler can come in early today as it's an emergency. They agree, but will charge you double the typical rate for the extra few hours. You complain, but they cite additional cleaning policies.
Frustrated, you agree. You pack up the little one, throw together a lunch for yourself, and drop her off at [[daycare]]. You quietly return to the garage and grab your laptop and charger from your shared makeshift desk.
You try to leave it tidy so your partner can use it. Their contract was not renewed, so they are contact-tracing covid-19 cases to make a little money on the side.
You are grateful that your partner is so accommodating.
You pack up and get the car to head toward [[campus|campus2]].You sit in traffic for what feels like days; no one who has a car is using public transportation anymore, so there are many more cars on the roads.
While stopped at a light, you look into the car next to you. An adult at the wheel with three children in the backseat, all wearing masks. The adult has tears streaming down their face. They cough and you feel your whole body tense up. They are a whole car away, but it doesn't soothe your discomfort.You turn up the radio.
The light changes and you [[speed off]].You park and exit your car. You juggle three bags - laptop, food, and a flower arrangement.
You make it to your building and go through the thorough security theater like you do every morning. While most transmission appears to be pre-symptomatically or asymptomatically, you are still required to fill out a survey about symptoms on a phone app and get your temperature checked.
Anyone with access to Google Scholar knows that this is a waste of effort.
Your colleague spoke up about these policies and her contract was not renewed, so you keep these thoughts to yourself.
You make it into the building and head to your floor through the labyrinth of one-way hallways.
Do you take the [[elevator]] or the [[stairs]]?You decide to take the elevator, which is good for your knees. You touch the up arrow with your elbow.
While you wait for the doors to open, you think about how your arthritis has been acting up. You're not sure if it's because you've been working 16 hour days to prepare your courses or if it's because you've been having to walk so much more than usual due to the one-way hallways and the circuitous path required to navigate campus.
The elevator dings and the doors open.
You see a colleague from the Chemistry department. He smiles and then as if he suddenly realizes his mistake pulls his mask from his pocket and puts it on his face.
You instinctively hold your breath as he passes.
You realize he's been standing in this elevator without a mask for at least a minute.
Do you [[take the elevator anyway]] or [[turn around and head for the stairs]]?
You head for the stairs.
While you huff and puff up the stairs, you think about how your arthritis has been acting up. You're not sure if it's because you've been working 16 hour days to prepare your courses or if it's because you've been having to walk so much more than usual due to the one-way hallways and the circuitous path required to navigate campus.
You make it up the 5th flight of stairs and pull open the door to the hallway. You see a group of graduate students drinking coffee together across the whole hallway, clearly not social-distancing.
You walk toward them slowly, hoping they move out of the way.
You try to clear your throat, but it catches.
You hug the wall as you pass them, [[holding your breath|peek inside]].
You get in the elevator anyway.
You try to hold your breath the whole way up. By the time you get to your floor your lungs feel like they're burning and now you're stressed out that you've spent too long among his respiratory droplets.
The elevator doors open to the hallway and you breathe a sigh of relief when the hallway is empty.
You head to your office and [[peek inside]].
You make it up the 5th flight of stairs and pull open the door to the hallway.
You're huffing and puffing, carrying so many things.
You open the door to the hallway and breathe a sigh of relief when the hallway is empty.
You head to your office and [[peek inside]].The scent of lysol immediately hits your nose, even through your mask.
You dump your belongings on the table and get to work.
You only have 2 hours until your office mate needs to use your shared office.
University policy mandates that you leave the door open to the empty room for 30 minutes between uses, you only have 90 minutes. You start your timer and [[get to work]].
You grade exams for 75 minutes, gather up your belongings, and start the decontamination process.
You lysol every surface you've touched and every surface you got near. Since your chair touches your office mate's chair, you lysol that, too.
You need to hurry to make it to office hours on time.
Ironically, you can't hold office hours in the office, since the room is too small and the ventilation is poor.
You head back out into the hallway and text your office mate that it's free to use in 30 minutes.
After ensuring you have all your belongings, you head back down the 5 flights of stairs to the back entrance where the patio is.
You told your students to meet you for [[outdoor office hours]].<<set $umbrella = ["yes", "no" ] >> <<set $haveumbrella = $umbrella.random()>> You make it to office hours and sit on the bench. It's a little chilly. You look toward the Quad and realize it's about to rain. <<if $haveumbrella == "yes">> You're in luck - you remembered your umbrella. <<elseif $haveumbrella =="no">> Uh-oh. You realize you must have left your umbrella in the office. At this point it's too late to go back to get it. <<endif>>
It starts to drizzle and a student approaches you. Luckily, he's wearing a mask and keeping his distance. You can't tell for sure, but he looks like he's been crying.
You chat for a few minutes until the rain pours and the thunder gets too loud. You see a lightning strike and gasp.
You apologize but tell the student you need to reschedule. There just aren't any rooms you can use inside - every lecture hall is being used or cleaned all day to accommodate the new guidelines.
Spooked by the lightning, you need to find somewhere to warm up to write the student an email to check in.
Do you [[go to the cafeteria]] or [[head back to your car]]?
You head to the cafeteria and find a secluded corner. You keep your mask on and type out an email on your laptop.
While you wait for the student to respond, you grade a few more exams.
You hear a ding and check your email.
The student responded, but his email is mostly incoherent. You can't tell if he is very confused about the course material or if he is in distress.
You fill out the form for students in distress. You get an automatic reply and close your laptop.
Your phone alarm goes off and you grab your things.
You head to your car in the pouring rain - at this point it's raining sideways.
You get in the car [[thoroughly soaked]].As you head back to your car, you see that same student sitting on a bench just off campus.
He's sitting in the rain, without an umbrella, clearly distraught.
You approach him and ask him if he's okay. He seems to look through you.
You get his attention and convince him to walk towards the counseling center with you. Once the front desk clerks confirm that he will be seen, you head back outside and take a deep breath.
Your phone alarm goes off and you hurry toward your car - at this point it's raining sideways.
You get in the car [[thoroughly soaked]].Once in your car, you turn on the heat and take off your mask. It's the first time you've been able to breathe all day.
You head over to the other campus where you serve as an adjunct. The paycuts required you to pick up a second position, but the pay is lousy and the travel time is miserable.
You pay $7 per day to park on campus and still have to walk half a mile.
You head to the classroom and rearrange the desks again. The class before yours ignores all social distancing and forms tight circles of desks.
The old building has poor air circulation and you worry that the virus isn't being eliminated properly.
You set up at the front of the classroom. You don your home-made face shield with built-in microphone and set up the plexiglas body shield on wheels.
You switch to the powerpoint slide that indicates students can begin entering and play the entry music your students have come to know and hate: [[the Jeopardy theme song]].You normally love the mobile desks that students can move around during active learning strategies and during group work.
Now, that mobility feels like a curse.
You are constantly reminding students to remain stationary and not to do group work.
All your favorite pedagogical tools are now potential disease spreaders. Your favorite strategy - the jigsaw - where students group together and become experts on a topic and then shuffle into groups to learn about topics on which they're not experts is now your most dangerous strategy.
Your lectures have become marathons of shouting.
Your throat is sore and you could really use some water, but you don't dare take off your mask.
By the end of class, you're exhausted.
Two students stay behind to ask some questions and you must remind them three times to separate themselves.
Once they leave, you sit down and [[sneak some water]].
You open your laptop and fill out a student of concern form for the student you walked to the Counseling Center. You want to be sure he's doing okay and you don't want to forget. The rest of your afternoon is so busy.
You grab your belongings. You would normally stay on campus for office hours in the large atrium, but today is a little different.
You [[head back to your car again]].You check your email and see a message from the Department Chair.
A colleague has contracted covid-19 and needs you to cover their class.
The email states that there will be no additional compensation, but it will appear favorable for your contract renewal.
This would be on top of your 4 other classes this semester.
The email assures you that this will only be for "a few weeks up to a few months" and can be up to "50% online." You understand that this colleague must be sick. You feel obligated to help out.
You have too many other things on your mind right now.
You put the phone away and drive back to campus.
[[It's time.]]
You park just off campus and leave your laptop in the car.
You make sure to grab your umbrella this time and the flowers.
You head toward the chapel and see a steady stream of folks headed that way.
It's jarring - the colorful masks and umbrellas juxtaposed against all the [[black outfits]].
You file in behind a young professor from the Anthropology Department.
You recognize her even with her mask on, given her eccentric footwear; of course she wore them even here.
She's carrying a tablet in front of her chest and you can see the faces of a few older faculty members on the screen. You realize they must have been too worried about the risk of entering this place of mourning. They're watching from afar.
You realize it probably is too much of a risk, but you knew her. She was the Chair of the Department when you first started teaching here. She was a mentor to you and you can't believe you didn't know that she was at high risk.
She was teaching labs in-person just a few weeks ago. It all happened so fast. You only heard she had covid-19 a few days before she was hospitalized. She was one of the first to [[get sick on campus]].
You recognize her son from the photos in her office. He's much taller now.
He won't even look up from the floor. He's crying - inconsolable.
At that moment, a group of students files in the back entrance carrying a banner thanking their favorite professor - the student from earlier is there. It all clicks for you - how could he possibly be in a state to learn at those outdoor office hours when his professor just died?
How could any of your students be prepared to take their exam next week given these circumstances?
The current Chair of the Department gets up to give [[the eulogy]].
In a testament to her impact, it is hard to socially distance at this memorial because she impacted so many people. We are pushing the limits of six-feet-apart, but thankfully everyone is wearing a mask.
Notably, the memorial is being live-streamed to the isolation dorms on the edge of campus where nearly 100 covid-19-positive students are currently staying. You've heard that the custodial staff brings them supplies each day.
We all sit reflecting on her accomplishments and her passion for teaching and research.
The Chair of the Department is wrapping up the eulogy and tells his favorite story about the former Chair - about the time she taught in costume dressed up as a mitochondrion.
The room lightens and you all being laughing.
And then.
It happens.
From the row behind you, someone's laugh turns into a cough.
You instinctively turn around.
And then.
[[They sneeze|sobbing]].
Instead of your usual afternoon shift, you now wake up at 4:00am.
You hurry and grab your face shield, box of gloves, and three masks. You never know when you'll need another mask.
You're trying to be careful about using up your gloves, your next online order won't arrive until next week, but due to the ongoing issues with USPS, you don't know if they will arrive in time.
Your University provided gloves for the first few weeks, but quickly advised workers to "reassess the overuse" of gloves. It is now your responsibility to buy [[protective gear]].
You pack up your lunch - only a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and pretzel sticks - since you no longer have access to any of your normal rest areas. You are essentially required to work without breaks, unless you take your breaks outdoors. Either way, you no longer have access to a refrigerator - all shared items have been taped shut to prevent transmission of the virus.
The fall weather has you yearning for a warm cup of tea at 3pm, but your thermos only keeps it warm until lunch.
Your kids are still adjusting to the new normal of having you out of the house during the day. Both of your kids are home all day - the local college your older son attends moved online in July. He is now in charge of keeping your middle-schooler son on task.
As you're preparing to leave, you realize you should leave something so your boys know you're thinking of them. You never know what they'll get up to during the day.
You write a note and leave it [[on the table]] or [[on the TV]].You write a note and leave it on the table, hoping that they eat a real breakfast and get started on their work.
You received an email that your younger son isn't engaged in his online lessons, but as a single parent, you can't stay home with him.
You hope that your older son will be a [[good influence]].You write a note and leave it on the TV, you recognize that it's just too hard to expect them to get work done right now.
You received an email that your younger son isn't engaged in his online lessons, but as a single parent, you can't stay home with him.
You hope that your older son will be a [[good influence]] on him and will start working after just a little TV.You drag yourself out the door, checking that you have all your necessary belongings, including the greeting card you bought for a professor. You have a particularly long, emotional day today.
You head outside and [[get in the car]].<<set $car = ["yes", "no" ] >> <<set $carstart = $car.random()>> You put the key in the ignition and start the car. <<if $carstart == "yes">> You're in luck - the starter grinds a little but the engine turns over. You know that your car needs work, but you just can't afford it with the expenses of protective gear. [[You're grateful]]. <<elseif $carstart =="no">> Uh-oh. You try to start the car but the engine won't turn over. You try again to no avail. Frustrated, you check the time: 4:38am. If you hurry, you can catch the bus at the end of the street. [[You take off running]]. <<endif>>You spend the next 30 minutes in traffic. You pull up to the parking garage where you spend $7 on parking. This is ludicrous that you have to pay this much to park at your own [[place of work]].
You make it to the bus stop just in time - the bus is rounding the corner toward you.
You throw on your mask and a pair of gloves as you fumble to pull out your bus pass. You feel lucky that you live in a place with good public transportation and also you feel your stomach drop as you see how packed the bus is for a 4:40am pick up.
You get on the bus and try to keep your 6-foot distance, but it's a bus. The air is recirculated anyway. The bus lurches forward as it picks up speed toward on the long stretch of road. You instinctively grab the handle and flinch. You settle down once you remember you're already wearing gloves.
A few minutes go by and the bus lurches to a stop. A rather intimidating person gets on the bus, wearing a mask. He sits one seat to your left. You look up at him, and as you make eye contact, he [[removes his mask]].
The security theater feels different this early in the morning. There are no lines to wait in to get into the building. There are cameras and you must record yourself checking your temperature and filling out electronic surveys about your symptoms.
One day you had a dehydration headache from cleaning a building without air conditioning the day before. When you truthfully reporteed that symptom, you were instructed to leave campus immediately and take the day off without pay. You no longer answer these surveys honestly.
After the invasive process, you enter the building and drop off your belongings in your isolated locker. These lockers are spread out throughout the building so that employees don't congregate together. It's just one more way that your tiny community at the University has been destroyed.
You disinfect your gloves and grab your cleaning supplies. You head to the largest lecture hall and [[start there]].
You pivot your head in the other direction and try to slow down your breathing. You pull out your cleaning goggles and put them on.
You try to be inconspicuous and calm. You don't want to anger this person who seems committed to starting some sort of argument.
You look at the window and realize you're just one block from campus.
You pull the bus cord to indicate you'd like to get off the bus.
Finally, after an hour of anxiety, you arrive at your [[place of work]].You begin by opening all three windows in the lecture hall. You're not sure if it will work on the virus, but the new standards require you to use even more odorous chemicals than usual.
Usually you would wipe down the desks and vacuum the floors once per week. Now, you are assigned to wipe the desks 3 times each day, wash the floors at least once per day, and clean these new mobile plexiglas walls after each class. Sometimes a professor even asks you to wash the plexiglas wall again because they're [[nervous]]. You're required to do these cleanings quickly in between classes, often with only 30 to 60 minutes between class sessions.
Since the room is required to be empty for 30 minutes between each class, you have limited time to carry out your cleaning and no time to air out the room before you enter it.
You are making these rooms clean for everyone else, but putting your own health and life on the line.
You've finished this large lecture hall and must move on to the next room. Next on your list are the two [[bathrooms on this floor]].While most people are not that worried about catching covid from the bathroom, most people are spending just a few minutes in the bathroom at a time.
You have been instructed to deep clean the bathroom throughout the day to keep those other people safe. This means that you spend 20 to 30 minutes in each bathroom 3 or 4 times per day.
You heard on the news that covid-19 can be spread by toilets, but the cost of toilet seat covers was deemed too expensive by the University.
You've heard of stories of people standing up for these requests and losing their contracts, so you don't push the request.
Meanwhile, you've already gone through 4 pairs of gloves.
You finish the bathrooms and one other lecture hall. You walk out into the hallway and see that a few faculty members are mingling in [[the hallway]].The faculty members are talking in hushed, somber voices.
You nod at them, but don't speak. You've had too many miscommunications because it's hard to understand everyone with masks on, especially given that English is not your first language. Last week, when you didn't understand a professor, he removed his mask so you could hear him better. To avoid this, you just don't speak.
You understand that this is a difficult day, but you can't help but be resentful of the restrictions placed on you. You have lost your common space, your locker has been isolated from others, and you've been instructed that if you are seen congregating, your contract will be terminated.
The precariousness of your situation keeps you in constant fear.
But you worry that if everyone left campus, you would be out of a job. While you mull all this over, you realize that the faculty have dispersed and you can make it down the hall to the shared adjunct office.
University policy now requires you to disinfect all of the surfaces between each use so that those who share offices don't infect each other. The office users clean the office themselves, but you are still [[mandated to clean them]].
Your day is so structured now - you have such small windows in which to clean the classrooms.
You have just 15 minutes to clean the large laboratory classroom, so you wait outside the classroom while students file out. You realize that this may increase your exposure even more, but it is the only way to ensure you don't waste time traveling to the classroom while it's empty.
Everything is a calculated risk between keeping yourself safe and keeping yourself employed.
Finally, well after 2pm, you head to your locker to grab your lunch and take a break. You have to time this well to avoid all the students leaving the classrooms at the same time.
You head to the Quad to take your lunch break. It's drizzling, so you find a covered area under which to [[eat your lunch]].
While eating lunch, you notice the stream of students in and out of tents that are set up along the quad for students to eat in. It's pretty chilly out, and you wonder how these tents will work as the weather cools off more and more.
You pack up your pretzel sticks.
Classes are canceled for the rest of the afternoon so folks can head over to the chapel. You see a steady stream of folks headed that way.
It's jarring - the colorful masks and umbrellas juxtaposed against all the [[black outfits|black outfits 2]].
You file in behind a young professor from the Anthropology Department.
You recognize her even with her mask on, given her eccentric footwear; of course she wore them even here.
She's carrying a tablet in front of her chest and you can see the faces of a few older faculty members on the screen. You realize they must have been too worried about the risk of entering this place of mourning. They're watching from afar.
You realize it probably is too much of a risk, but you knew her. She has been here since you started working here. She always supported the custodial staff union and you can't believe you didn't know that she was at high risk. You leave the sympathy card you brought on a table at the back of the chapel.
She was teaching labs in-person just a few weeks ago. It all happened so fast. You only heard she had covid-19 a few days before she was hospitalized. She was one of the first to [[get sick on campus|get sick on campus 2]].
She wasn't the only person to get sick on campus, though. You know at least four staff colleagues who have gotten covid-19. The dining staff worker who passed did not receive a campus-wide memorial.
You scan the room. You recognize her son from the photos in her office. He's much taller now.
He won't even look up from the floor. He's crying - inconsolable.
At that moment, a group of students files in the back entrance carrying a banner thanking their favorite professor. You wonder how those students can be learning anything right now when their professor just died.
The current Chair of the Department gets up to give [[the eulogy|the eulogy 2]].
In a testament to her impact, it is hard to socially distance at this memorial because she impacted so many people. We are pushing the limits of six-feet-apart, but thankfully everyone is wearing a mask.
Notably, the memorial is being live-streamed to the isolation dorms on the edge of campus where nearly 100 covid-19-positive students are currently staying. It's your responsibility to bring them food and supplies each day.
We all sit reflecting on her accomplishments and her passion for teaching and research.
The Chair of the Department is wrapping up the eulogy and tells his favorite story about the former Chair - about the time she taught in costume dressed up as a mitochondrion.
The room lightens and you all being laughing.
And then.
It happens.
From the row behind you, someone's laugh turns into a cough.
You instinctively turn around.
And then.
[[They sneeze|litter the floor]].
You flinch. They had removed their mask while they were coughing.
They apologize - they assure you that it's just allergies, but it's October and you're doubtful.
The memorial ends and everyone files out.
You stay behind as part of the cleaning staff to sanitize after the memorial.
While classes were canceled, your responsibilities to keep the campus clean have not stopped.
You barely have time to recover from the sneeze and the grief of losing this respected faculty member.
You wipe your face, grab a new pair of gloves, and start picking up the tissues that [[litter the floor]].You wanted the students to do their studies remotely.
But the Board of Trustees met and decided that residential instruction was too important.
So the Chancellor wrote a nicely-worded letter about the importance of students to the University.
And the Deans Tweeted about the teaching mission of the University.
And the Department Chairs have measured 6-foot distances between chairs in classrooms.
And the [[Professors|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October1st2020.html]] have altered their active-learning plans to accommodate multiple plans for Fall.
And the [[Graduate Student Instructors|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October5th2020.html]] have not been consulted.
And the [[Undergraduate Students|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/Fall%202020.html]] are worried about returning.
And the [[Staff|https://caitkirby.com/downloads/October12th2020.html]] are keeping it all together.
For the good of the students, they won't let students so their studies remotely.
But what about you?
Resources and guidance:
[[Accessible Campus Action Alliance: Beyond "High Risk":Statement on Disability and Campus Re-openings|https://sites.google.com/view/accesscampusalliance]]
[[A collection of petitions for safer campuses in Fall 2020|https://docs.google.com/spreadsheets/d/1RJp3UnavXS_aWPBrxMtyK8U7sveI9dvynZKomGztwJk/edit?usp=sharing]]