It's okay, password...I'm insecure too (Why Amy has to go to remedial training for Data Safety Practices)

Superintendent's Conference Days are always a gamble. Will we be trapped in the auditorium for hours to learn how not to harass one another (I've been signed up for remedial training in that area as well)? Will we be forced onto a video conference call with an intolerably enthusiastic speaker who insists on group participation? Will there be doughnuts in the morning? Do we dare hope for lunch? Will we get any time to meet as a grade level team...to work in our rooms...to engage in inter-collegiate conversations that will inevitably lead to the betterment of education as a whole?

This past conference had some highs and some lows.

We were, of course, delighted that a teacher appreciation luncheon had been organized by our high-schoolers. I had a momentary pang of regret that I hadn't treated them better when they were in 4th grade. As mature, rational adults though, we were, nonetheless, devastated to discover that lunch bit into our morning doughnut dreams. No worries, 4th grade team held a pre-conference meeting the day before to plan a doughnut delivery. "If only," I had intoned mournfully, "we knew someone who drove past a Dunkin' on the way to school tomorrow morning." Marissa sighed and pulled out a paper and pencil. "What'll it be?" she snapped, popping her gum and adjusting her name tag. Gleefully, we offered her our "dream" doughnut selection and then a back-up pastry (Just in case...we've been burned before.). She arrived the following morning to the auditorium, lugging our morale-boosting Boston Cremes, just as I was lamenting not bringing my prop stage knife with the retractable blade for our "Workplace Violence" seminar. "It's avoiding workplace violence, Amy...not condoning it," Katriel hissed at me from down the aisle, body tensed, ready to spring should I provoke a fake rampage. Fortunately, my doughnut placated my horror when I discovered that, according to the seminar,  I could be classified as a level one offender. Wow. Chuck one foam ball at a speech therapist's head and get labeled forever. 

In the five minute potty break between our "Workplace Violence" seminar and the much-anticipated "Data Privacy Seminar," 4th grade team took an online survey determining what your dream doughnut says about you. My artistic, optimistic friend Brooke turned out to actually BE her dream doughnut...a pink pastry with sprinkles. Ugh. I was furious to find out that I was just a glazed doughnut. Boring. Unassuming. Unadventurous. This upset me so much that, when my friend John called on me to share my expert tips on data privacy, I let him down epically.

"Happy to help, John," I said, raising my voice so the entire auditorium could hear (including the state official that was brought in to lead the seminar), "First, I post all of my passwords right on my computer lid for easy retrieval. Then, I share all of my passwords with Katriel so I have a convenient and reliable back-up source." I paused so that Katriel could bask in the accolades and wave to the audience but her shoe must have needed to be tied because she suddenly ducked down beneath her seat. Before I could go on to describe my giant, laminated poster of passwords printed in 48 sized font, John abruptly cut me off, thanked me for sharing and, for some reason, began to profusely apologize to the state official. We heard a muffled, "They're not all like her," before the speaker began to offer some rather ridiculous methods of keeping our data private and safe. Trust me, nothing is safer than Katriel.

When it was finally time to depart for our conference call meeting, I tried to catch John's eye but the dim lights of the auditorium must have been hurting his eyes because he seemed to be inexplicably glaring at me.  

For the next few hours, we meticulously gleaned relevant and meaningful information from our conference call. Team 4 (Amy) soon became distracted and concerned when a small, inset-screen camera view of one of our colleagues was aimed at what seemed to be either a voodoo doll or Chucky. Bravely, I ventured forth to investigate this matter further (No, Amy...don't go down the basement stairs to find the source of the mysterious noise). Some accused me of just wanting to get away from the conference call seminar. How insulting. My intent...my resolve...was to solve a mystery and possibly, save lives.

It turned out to be the kindergarten room. Why was I not surprised? "What's with the demon doll in the corner, there?" I asked them, interrupting their studious note taking... breaking their rapt attention from the fun phonics instructions they were receiving. This weird, red-light district doll soon began to under-go a transformation that defied logic and decorum. She was soon sporting a sign, glasses, and nibbling corn-on-the-cob (because she'd missed her morning doughnut) beneath a rain of glitter. Audience attention veered between diphthongs and developing doll dramatics as it occurred in real-time on the screen before our wondrous eyes. 

Suffice to say, you get out of Conference Days what you put into them. A little humor can be a doll-ightful way to get through a long day. But enough was enough. "Time to put away the toys," I shouted down the hall, "Let's go get some barbie-que!"