“Sir, please get out of your car.” A security guard orders Mike as he waits at the school gate.
“Sorry?” he replies, his eyes narrowing and his good ear leaning into the gap of the window.
“Please get out of your car. You see that camera up there,” she points to the security camera mounted at the top of the school gate. Mike nods. “It is our latest technology – scans faces and movements and indicates trauma.”
“Trauma? What the?” This must be a practical joke; Mike thinks as he waits for the senior kids to jump from behind a tree. “Look, I know you think you’re funny, but the day’s done peeps. Why don’t you let a poor old teacher leave school.”
“Sir, I assure you this is not a joke. If you are a teacher here, you know there was an incident here today. The Department of Education has installed these cameras to manage the spiralling rate of motor vehicle accidents resulting from trauma,” the woman replies in a monotone.
There was a serious incident every day, everywhere. That was just life; wasn’t it? Mike watches as his colleagues pause at the gate and then zoom on through. “What about them? They were here today too. Why aren’t you stopping them?” he yells.
“The camera has scanned your driving, your facial features and body actions and believes you are traumatised. If you will step out of the car, we can have someone assess you. If there is no problem, you can be on your way.” The security guard smiles as she speaks.
This is a wind-up, Mike thinks. He lifts his hand to his forehead and sighs. He has two choices: ignore it and drive through or get out. There is no way he is leaving his car. The faculty would never let him live it down. The camera is probably filming him right now. Random trauma, my arse! The Principal told them about the new CCTV on staff development day, assuring them it was only viewable in a locked-down setting. Sure!
Mike smiles at the guard and mouths, “Sorry,” as he revs his car and manoeuvres out of the school. In his rear-vision mirror, he sees the woman speaking on a radio. Well, they certainly had all the props, he chuckles, shakes his head, and accelerates away from the school.
*
Mike pulls out the chair from under his tired wooden desk, places his coffee cup into its familiar circle, flicks on his laptop, and sits. “Here we go again,” he says to the compressed air of the recently opened staffroom and signs in. He checks the school noticeboard messages. Yeah, yeah, same old, same old, same kids doing the same stupid stuff they’ve been doing for the last twenty years. He just finds out about it quicker now it’s online. Emails next.
Good morning, Mike,
I’ve had an urgent call from the department I need to discuss with you immediately. I have organised for your classes to be covered. If you are on-site, please come to my office on arrival. If I have someone with me, let Shirley know you are here, and she will buzz me.
Kind regards
Fi
Mike looks around to see if anyone is looking at him, sniggering. He is waiting for Naz – the faculty clown – to make some remark. If the Principal was in on this, he was going to the union. It was getting out of hand.
The Faculty Head is staring at his computer, fingers tapping frantically as his mouth moves silently. Mike looks around to see if anyone is listening, then stands, picks up his coffee and waits till he has finished typing. The Head must know something – would have to so the classes were covered.
“Hey Boss, what’s going on with my classes? Fi says she needs to see me.”
“Dunno, Mike. I was going to ask you. Something about the department. Maybe you’re getting some award – you got twenty years coming, haven’t you?”
Mike smiles. Yeah, that must be it. “Better head off then,” he says and turns to leave the room.
“Oh, take your bag, mate,” the Head says. “Fi says you’ll be gone all day.”
This must be some ceremony, Mike wonders as he stands outside the Principal’s office. The door is closed, and Shirley motions for him to sit on the chair outside. It’s the one where the kids sit while they wait for their carers to arrive to discuss their impending suspension.
“Mike, come in.” Fi is in a full suit as she opens the door. Must be something important on today. Mike rolls his eyes and follows her, then stops. There are two men in suits at the table. They stand to greet him.
“Mike, this is Frank and Bo from the Department. Please have a seat, and we can tell you what this is about.”
Mike sits, depositing his bag beneath the seat. If this is a long service award, it’s bloody odd – don’t they usually just hand out certificates at an assembly or staff meeting?
“Mike, thanks for coming straight around,” the man introduced as Frank says. “Let me get straight to the point.” He pauses and clears his throat. “As I explained on the SDD, the department has introduced new staff monitoring devices as part of our work, health and safety obligations. We have been informed that yesterday, you ignored a direction from a department employee to be assessed before leaving the school.” Mike looks around the room for a camera, this practical joke has gone way too far. He waits for the punchline. The only noise is the kids, the office ladies, the constant buzz of school that fills his life.
“Mike?” Fi asks.
“Are you serious?” Mike scoffs. “This is a joke, isn’t it? Random Trauma Testing! I was the only one stopped. Fi, this is out of line. I am going to the union!” Mike yells and stands to leave.
“Mike, this is not a joke,” Fi says in a quiet voice.
“You are entitled to a union rep. Have you organised that Mrs Naxlin?” Frank asks. Fi nods.
“Mike, would you like me to call Sally in? Her classes are also covered.”
Mike’s face flushes and drains. Sally – the union rep. That’s why she volunteered for the job – so she could be the first to know about any problems and then spread the word. If Sally’s been told, everyone will know by lunch. He can imagine those TAS people, stitchin’ and kitchin’ was what they said they did – yeah right more like gossipin’ and moanin’ – a bunch of bloody old women. His hands clench and then stretch as he rubs the sweat from his palms on his jeans. He lowers his eyes and breathes slowly.
“Mike?” Fi asks again.
“What does Sally know?” Mike demands.
“Only that there is a matter which may require union assistance. This matter is being dealt with confidentially and professionally,” Fi replies.
“I bet!” Mike spits back and stands to leave.
“Mr Benton, please sit down,” the other man says. “I can see you are concerned. That is why I am here – to help. My name is Bo, and I’m an assessor. As your Principal indicated, no one has been told about this matter, and you are free to have any support person you require with you. Is there someone other than your union rep. you would prefer?”
“Mike?” Fi asks again, her tone flat as she spreads, then clasps her hands together over a folder on her desk. Mike stares at her and then looks at the folder. It has his name on it. It’s his personnel file – it is inches thick.
“No. I want no one else. I’ll listen to what you have to say, and then I’ll call the union directly. They will want to hear it from me – every little bit. You don’t mind if I take notes, do you?” Mike says as he sits down, pulls the chair closer to the table, then reaches beneath his chair for his bag. He pulls out a pad and clicks a pen, ready.
“Of course, Mr Benton. Do you have everything you need? Would you like a glass of water?” Bo asks.
“Nope. All good. Fire away with your questions.” Oh, he will be taking notes alright, and they’re going to roll for it. Singling him out like this. It’s always been this way. First his mother, then the nuns, his ex-wife, always his fault. Telling him he needed to take responsibility. Those girls yesterday, the security guard…
“Mr Benton, did you hear me?” Bo asks.
“No, I have poor hearing in one ear. Can you repeat that?” Mike says. It’s not his bloody hearing. Stupid department people – always talking- so much rubbish – you never know when they are talking to you or just about you.
“Sure. Mr Benton, may I call you Mike?” Mike nods. “Mike, we are here to ensure the safety of the Department staff. The Department realise that traumatic events happen in school, and this can affect attention, and we want to minimise risk to you. The camera has an evidence-based AI algorithm that suggests when staff are stressed. This is then flagged to the security officer who has been trained to consider whether the AI tool is functioning correctly. If necessary, staff will be offered an online debriefing session before driving. This all happens within school hours, so there should be no inconvenience. Our information was that you refused this assessment.”
“Of course I bloody did. I thought it was a practical joke. An opportunity to laugh at old BENTon with his crooked eye. That…that guard of yours said I…twitched, my facial features…something…what do you think?”
Frank shifts uncomfortably in his chair as Bo speaks. “I can see your point of view, Mike. That is why we have the human check. If you don’t mind, can I ask you some questions to complete our process?”
“Sure,” Mike grunts.
“The incident yesterday. I understand two girls were injured in a science experiment, an eye injury. Did you see it?”
“No. Not my faculty. Just heard about it.”
“And how did that make you feel?”
“Sorry for them, I guess,” Mike says. What do they want him to say? How should he feel?
“Anything else?”
“Maybe, worried for colleagues or the school. I’m assuming there will be an investigation?” he looks towards Fi, who nods.
“Are you worried you will be included in that investigation?” Bo asks.
“No, why would I be? Look, it’s just some random accident, I’m sure. I am not responsible for everything that happens in this school,” he says slowly.
“Of course. Randomness is a funny thing; wouldn’t you say, Mr Benton?” Frank interjects.
“No, not really. I’m not sure you understand the meaning of the word,” Mike replies turning to Fi. “In English, we teach kids that random means something that happens without reason, like your camera, selecting me WITHOUT reason.”
“Yes, trauma can be a bit like that too,” Bo replies. Mike stares at him. “Mike, I am also a clinical psychologist. And in my line of work, we have found that the impact of trauma or what traumatises individuals is also somewhat random. An event that is ‘ho-hum’ to some is overwhelming to others.”
“Let me get this straight,” Mike says slowly, looking at each person in the room. “You are suggesting that an algorithm has assessed me as having a trauma response to an event I did not even witness, by observing my facial expression through a car window?”
“Mike, I know it can be difficult to understand…” Fi interjects.
“Difficult. Difficult!” Mike yells. “It’s ridiculous.”
Frank makes notes as he speaks and then stops at a beeping sound. “I am sorry to interrupt, but unfortunately, we are due at another appointment.”
“I bet you are! All the other traumatised people who have been detected – there must be thousands! So, what happens now?” Mike demands.
“Mr Benton, thank you for your time. We will complete a report for you and your workplace supervisor, Mrs Naxlin. Until the Department is satisfied that you have not been unduly affected by your duties, you cannot return on-site.”
“What?” Mike is standing, his arms wide as the men nod and leave the room. The Principal follows and then returns, shutting the door.
“Mike, I am sorry, but what the Department says goes. You will need to leave the school today. I will let your Faculty Head know, and I will be in touch as soon as I know more. Is there anyone you would like me to call?” Fi speaks softly as she stands to usher him out.
Mike clenches his jaw, unspoken words belting against the enamel of his clenched teeth, as he shakes his head and stands to leave. I bet you will, he thinks. Bloody woman principal, couldn’t wait to be rid of him. Women didn’t like him. It was his crooked eye. Those girls in the science lab – accident my foot. He had them for a casual cover last week. “Why is your eye so bent, Mr Benton?” they had chorused, and he had made a story up. Said it happened at school. The nuns had done it, flicked a cork at him when he was too naughty. They had laughed at him. “Sure, Mr BENTeye…oh sorry, Benton.” How was he to know they would test it out? Stupid girls. Not his fault.
He wasn’t responsible for every bit of random trauma that happened in this damn school!
Photo by Michał Jakubowski on Unsplash
