Standing Post

One of many duties I perform as a teacher is standing post at a designated area on our campus during one lunch period.  My job consists of one imperative: to make sure no student skips past me without a pass.  I've been doing this job since the beginning of January.  I have checked two passes. Both legitimate.  I have seen no potential skippers.  

Today irked me more than usual because it is only thirty degrees outside.  A dusting of snow has been falling throughout the day.  It is when I sit down on my watch bench for my lunch duty that I start to feel the creeping numbness work its way over my hands.  My nose is next.  My eyes water as I watch out for any adolescent who seems suspicious.  There are a total of five or six students outside to watch that are stupid enough to leave the hearth of the cafeteria.    

It is too cold.  Way too cold for me to be sitting out here.  But I manage by bringing a book and putting my hands in my coat pockets. I make it across two pages of reading before getting distracted.

And then the battle ensues.  The constant deliberations of the brain begin to ratchet up.  Do I leave my post because it is far too cold for someone in their right mind to stay longer?  Or, holding on to one's nobility, do I brace winter's frigid assault and rail against the logic of retreating to the warm confines of my classroom?

I listen to each defense lawyer in my brain with their assessments.  For the motion to leave, he is quick to point out the absurdity of the situation: no one can expect another to suffer to badly.  For the motion to stay, the lawyer boasts of lofty virtues like nobility, persistence, and commitment to one's duty.  All of these sound so grand on paper, in our times of prayer, but the morals of one sitting here in the miserable cold start to drift off.  

Who will even see me leave?  Who will even see if I stay and suffer?  Does my suffering warrant any good?  Will it enhance the school in any way?

And if I stay and suffer in the snowfall, isn't this just someone "doing what's right" anyways, leaving no real room for admiration?  

Our culture doesn't reward suffering as it once did.  One's suffering joins the ranks of almost everybody walking this earth.  Maybe this is because our culture socializes us to believe that suffering is meant for the shadows, seldom brought to light unless ushered out by only an intimate companion.  Suffering is one's own, and not for public display.

I ended my suffering by using the restroom for a longer time than usual.  After I was through, I walked back to my class just in time for my duty to end.  

I didn't skip altogether.  I wanted a slice of virtue to my name.  I'm ok with just a slice.  The whole pie makes one too haughty.