Claustrophobic Student

It's my last hour of teaching. I'm being lax in dealing with the kids, probably too lax, but I'm so close to the finish line, I'm not remotely interested in laying down the law. As a consequence, the kids are running around and causing small-time mayhem. One student, we'll call em Punk, decides to pull a new stunt.

My whiteboards are affixed to a cabinet system with shelving units behind them. The boards themselves are on tracks and roll back and forth to suit my educational needs as well as allow access to the shelves. Punk thinks it will be a funny idea to push one segment of the whiteboard aside and squeeze emself into a shelf. Actually, Punk's just a bit too big to fit, so eir rear end causes the shelf piece immediately above em to somewhat protrude out of place. Then, Punk closes the board shut in an effort to hide.

Punk isn't really hiding, as I've watched em do the whole thing; I'm just choosing not to care. If Punk thinks this stunt is amusing and keeps him quiet and out of my sight for a while, more power to em. After some time passes, Punk begins banging on the whiteboard frantically for someone to let em out. Initially, I ignore what I dismiss as a ploy for attention, assuming ey could get emself out if ey so desired, but when Punk persists, I move closer for a better inspection.

There are two locks on the whiteboard, both of which have been pushed into the lock position. They exist in case the teacher feels it necessary to secure items they store in the shelving unit, something I've never once attempted to do. I pull on the board to see if I can open it, but indeed I cannot. Meanwhile, Punk is still screaming for someone to let em out quicker. I yank harder, hoping the locks are not too effective, but to no avail. Upon discovering I cannot get the door open, Punk goes into a full on panic attack. Ey shouts, bangs, and swears ey's getting claustrophobic and needs to be let out immediately. I can tell from eir tone that this situation is legitimate, so I, too, slip into panic mode.

Though I have never locked the whiteboards before, I must have the key, I figure. I search through all of my keys, but none of them fit, prompting Punk to go into an even bigger spasm. Punk thrashes about even though there is barely room for em to wiggle and complains that ey can no longer breathe. I believe this description to be inaccurate, but certainly Punk's fear is real.

This is it, I think. After two years, in my final hour, this incident is going to be the one that defines my teaching career. I'm going to end up on the news for this one. I'm going to have to call for help.

Finally, I break every cardinal rule in teaching and leave my classroom unattended to ask a neighboring teacher for eir whiteboard key. I don't expect it to match up with mine, but it is worth a shot. I return and find that it does fit, and, at last, Punk is set free. Punk, who generally puts on some front like ey is a tough guy, is visibly sobbing and shaking.

I feel bad for Punk. In some ways ey deserved it, but in others that seems unnecessarily cruel. Altogether, ey was frantically in the shelf for five minutes, a long time to suffer a panic attack. Though one of my other students must have intentionally locked Punk in, understandably, no one fessed up to it. It's not as if I would get whoever in trouble, this incident is hardly one I would willingly report to the administration. I figure Punk is going to keep quiet about the ordeal, too, both afraid to spread the story and get in trouble for eir role in it.

None of this seems fair. I gave my students their finals a day early, but they're testing me right to the last moment.