Outhouse in the Office
Outhouse in the Office
I walk in the main doors of William Aberhart High School at 8:30 in the morning, the slam of the door echoing in the empty foyer. Fumbling through my bag for my keys I skip up the stairs to the second floor. As I come up from the landing that divides the stairs into two sets I see a light seeping out from under the door of the Advocate office. Smiling, I stop looking for my keys and reach to push open the door. My hand hit the door and I feel the catching of the lock, just a second too late to react. My face slams into the wood and I fall back to the floor, dazed.
The lock clicks open and Jesse pokes her head out the door. She sees me lying on the floor and grimaces. “Ouch. You okay Al?”
“Yeah.” I say, taking her hand. She pulls me up and I follow her into the office. I drop my bag onto the table against the wall and pull out last night’s homework. I sit down at the other table, the one in the middle of the room, and try to get at least some of it done.
“Hey, we still meeting at lunch?” Jesse asks around a mouthful of eggs and toast.
I tilt my chair back on two legs, resting the back of it against the propped up cubical wall behind me. “As far as I know.” Every Wednesday the entire editorial staff met at lunch to discuss the next issue.
******
The Advocate is Aberhart’s school newspaper. Started in 1994, it began as a four page, quarterly publication. By 2002, the average copy had twelve to sixteen pages and came out biweekly. It is written and put together entirely by students and gives them a medium to share their thoughts and opinions through.
I was the Photo Editor for The Advocate from 2002 until 2005. In my first year I was the only one on the editorial staff in grade 10. Jesse, the grade 12 Art Editor, always hung out with me in the mornings before class.
******
Jesse gets up to throw her away garbage. On the way back she makes a detour to the white board that takes up half of one wall and puts a red checkmark next to her name. The editorial comic is done then. Looking down the list of names I can see that, for the first time ever, almost all the articles are already in. Excellent! Usually we end up phoning writers on Thursday layout nights to beg, or threaten, them for submissions. Having to track down articles usually stretches layout night until 11 o’clock or midnight, but it looks like this week we might finish early. There’s only one article, the new French teacher, Mme. Daigle, not submitted yet.
“Hey, can you check off soccer photos for me?” I ask.
Jesse makes the mark and sits down on the table, scooting back to lean against the wall. “They on the camera?”
“Yeah. I’ll take them off at lunch.” I hear a rush of water above me and quickly leaned the chair forward. The water comes down behind me and runs through the urinal to my left.
“You know,” Jesse says. “There is something very wrong about having our office in a guys’ bathroom. Especially when there’re only two guys on staff.”
“But if we didn’t have the urinals, where would we put our flowers?” I wave to the three bunches of plastic daisies stuck in the top of the urinal tanks. “Besides, the sinks are useful.”
Jesse wrinkles her nose. “It’s still weird. At least this thing’s covered up though.” She kicks at the toilet under the table.
“Well, just think; next year the office’ll be moved upstairs.”
“And after all the work we put into painting this place.” Jesse shakes her head. “It’s nice you’re finally getting out of here, but they won’t let you paint the new office.”
I nod. It had been nice to be able to paint. The original hospital-green colour had been on the walls for as long as the school had existed. At the beginning of the 2002 school year the principal finally gave us permission to paint the room any colour we wanted, which ended up being a light steel blue. There are still some spots of the paint on the carpet and drips left on the tile covering the lower half of the wall. The table I sit at has a circle of dried blue paint from where the lid of the paint can had rested upside down. A year of picking at the paint has left clean patches along the ring.
“We’ll have to take photos of the tiles too.” I say. “Speaking of, do you know what you’re going to put on yours?”
Jesse shakes her head. “Not a clue.”
“Better figure it out. You only have a few weeks now.”
Signatures of the graduating editorial staff from previous years decorate random tiles around the room. It is tradition that the graduating staff leave messages behind at the end of every year. ‘98 staff forever. Maybe now the Trojan’s will win. May my reign never be forgot. There are even a few comics drawn alongside the signatures. A cartoon of Jesus, a dancing condom, the letter ‘A’ dressed up as a superhero.
“I’m thinking I’ll do something with Batman.” Jesse smiles at me. “You can never go wrong with the Bat.”
“Well, good luck with that.” I put my homework, still not finished, back in my bag. “I gotta get Mme. Daigle’s photo before class starts.” I grab the camera bag from its filing cabinet and toss it in my backpack.
“See you at lunch.” Jesse hops off the table and walks me to the door. I’m halfway down the hall, already lost in the crowd, when she yells after me, “Don’t walk into anymore doors!”
I walk in the main doors of William Aberhart High School at 8:30 in the morning, the slam of the door echoing in the empty foyer. Fumbling through my bag for my keys I skip up the stairs to the second floor. As I come up from the landing that divides the stairs into two sets I see a light seeping out from under the door of the Advocate office. Smiling, I stop looking for my keys and reach to push open the door. My hand hit the door and I feel the catching of the lock, just a second too late to react. My face slams into the wood and I fall back to the floor, dazed.
The lock clicks open and Jesse pokes her head out the door. She sees me lying on the floor and grimaces. “Ouch. You okay Al?”
“Yeah.” I say, taking her hand. She pulls me up and I follow her into the office. I drop my bag onto the table against the wall and pull out last night’s homework. I sit down at the other table, the one in the middle of the room, and try to get at least some of it done.
“Hey, we still meeting at lunch?” Jesse asks around a mouthful of eggs and toast.
I tilt my chair back on two legs, resting the back of it against the propped up cubical wall behind me. “As far as I know.” Every Wednesday the entire editorial staff met at lunch to discuss the next issue.
******
The Advocate is Aberhart’s school newspaper. Started in 1994, it began as a four page, quarterly publication. By 2002, the average copy had twelve to sixteen pages and came out biweekly. It is written and put together entirely by students and gives them a medium to share their thoughts and opinions through.
I was the Photo Editor for The Advocate from 2002 until 2005. In my first year I was the only one on the editorial staff in grade 10. Jesse, the grade 12 Art Editor, always hung out with me in the mornings before class.
******
Jesse gets up to throw her away garbage. On the way back she makes a detour to the white board that takes up half of one wall and puts a red checkmark next to her name. The editorial comic is done then. Looking down the list of names I can see that, for the first time ever, almost all the articles are already in. Excellent! Usually we end up phoning writers on Thursday layout nights to beg, or threaten, them for submissions. Having to track down articles usually stretches layout night until 11 o’clock or midnight, but it looks like this week we might finish early. There’s only one article, the new French teacher, Mme. Daigle, not submitted yet.
“Hey, can you check off soccer photos for me?” I ask.
Jesse makes the mark and sits down on the table, scooting back to lean against the wall. “They on the camera?”
“Yeah. I’ll take them off at lunch.” I hear a rush of water above me and quickly leaned the chair forward. The water comes down behind me and runs through the urinal to my left.
“You know,” Jesse says. “There is something very wrong about having our office in a guys’ bathroom. Especially when there’re only two guys on staff.”
“But if we didn’t have the urinals, where would we put our flowers?” I wave to the three bunches of plastic daisies stuck in the top of the urinal tanks. “Besides, the sinks are useful.”
Jesse wrinkles her nose. “It’s still weird. At least this thing’s covered up though.” She kicks at the toilet under the table.
“Well, just think; next year the office’ll be moved upstairs.”
“And after all the work we put into painting this place.” Jesse shakes her head. “It’s nice you’re finally getting out of here, but they won’t let you paint the new office.”
I nod. It had been nice to be able to paint. The original hospital-green colour had been on the walls for as long as the school had existed. At the beginning of the 2002 school year the principal finally gave us permission to paint the room any colour we wanted, which ended up being a light steel blue. There are still some spots of the paint on the carpet and drips left on the tile covering the lower half of the wall. The table I sit at has a circle of dried blue paint from where the lid of the paint can had rested upside down. A year of picking at the paint has left clean patches along the ring.
“We’ll have to take photos of the tiles too.” I say. “Speaking of, do you know what you’re going to put on yours?”
Jesse shakes her head. “Not a clue.”
“Better figure it out. You only have a few weeks now.”
Signatures of the graduating editorial staff from previous years decorate random tiles around the room. It is tradition that the graduating staff leave messages behind at the end of every year. ‘98 staff forever. Maybe now the Trojan’s will win. May my reign never be forgot. There are even a few comics drawn alongside the signatures. A cartoon of Jesus, a dancing condom, the letter ‘A’ dressed up as a superhero.
“I’m thinking I’ll do something with Batman.” Jesse smiles at me. “You can never go wrong with the Bat.”
“Well, good luck with that.” I put my homework, still not finished, back in my bag. “I gotta get Mme. Daigle’s photo before class starts.” I grab the camera bag from its filing cabinet and toss it in my backpack.
“See you at lunch.” Jesse hops off the table and walks me to the door. I’m halfway down the hall, already lost in the crowd, when she yells after me, “Don’t walk into anymore doors!”