When the daylight has faded

Modern Education (#damage)

"Listen up everybody!"

The teacher's voice is coming through loud and clear through the megaphone, even though I am standing pretty much at the end of the line.

"I will open the door now. I expect you to enter in an orderly fashion. You know the rules by now: Step in on your own, wash your hands for 30 seconds, dry them properly – I repeat, properly with a paper towel, which you will promptly dispose of in the bin provided. You will then disinfect your hands. Use the dispenser on the wall, using your elbows, not your hands, then rub your hands together thoroughly for one full minute."

There is a slight pause. I cannot see the teacher's expression. Her face is hidden behind a huge mask which she has shoved all the way up to her eyes in an attempt to keep her glasses from steaming up constantly.

Then again, she is too far away anyway. 24 pupils + 1 teacher + 1.5 metres apart each equals 37.5 metres. The last in line isn't even on school grounds anymore. Luckily, I managed to avoid being in this unlucky position despite the fact that I'm not the quickest cheetah in the desert. I give the poor bastard a quick grin, knowing he will be told off for leaving the premises later. Stupid distance rules. He shows me his stinky finger in return.

"You will then go to your respective table and sit down. Do not touch the table or anything else. Just sit. Hands in your laps. When everyone is seated, I will give you further instructions."

I'm not listening anymore. It's the same every day. Can't blame the teachers. They are legally required to go through the whole shebang after every break.

"Follow all the rules to the letter, pleaaase! You don't want to damage the fragile state we are in now! They might have to close the schools again otherwise, and without education and without any social interaction, where would we be?" the teacher implores us.

Slowly, the line shrinks as more and more of my classmates find their way to their designated table, interrupted only by the occasional reprimand of the teacher for us to be quiet. Talking is discouraged. It encourages pupils to forget the distance rules and it disrupts other lessons. Every class has their own schedule now, of course.

Just under half an hour and I finally reach my table. Another seven or eight minutes and everybody is finally seated.

The teacher is behind her desk now, mask off.

"You can take off your jackets now and place them carefully on the back of your seat. Then take out your textbook and put it on your lap. Nobody touches a table or we'll have to disinfect it after the lesson again."

I look at the table longingly. I can't remember the last time I touched it.

"Oh no, is that the time? I'm afraid that's all we have time for today. Please remember to leave keeping 1.5 metre distance at all times."