Furnace Trolls and Other Winter Woes
In Michigan, when a tornado is expected, a tornado advisory siren sounds. Similarly, right before winter comes, we have this extended get-yourself-ready-for-winter warning known as fall.
In fall, I wake up experiencing what I am sure is the early onset of frostbite. I locate my coat, mentally berating myself for not locating my winter gloves when I had more time, before tramping across the eternal supply of fallen leaves to my vehicle. I drag this awkward Midwestern tool called an “Ice Scraper” across my dashboard until I’ve successfully etched out a hole slightly bigger than a Frisbee…which is the biggest size hole my morning time crunch will allow for.
I leave for work, praying I won’t pass any cops or my overprotective parents strangely traveling 50 miles from their house before the heater melts the rest of the ice away. I sail through undetected this morning, though I can feel the rest of traffic judging me for my shoddy ice-removal at every intersection.
When I get to school, I discover that my room is apparently part of a prestigious international study on how below zero temperatures affect learning comprehension.
It turns out low temperatures do not improve learning, so we spend the first fifteen minutes designing various contraptions to stick into the furnace to wedge the vents open. This is not only History, but Magnum P.I. 101.
Our contraption-poking incurs the wrath of the infamous furnace troll, Frank, which is the best explanation for the horrible thumping that sounds like an overgrown toddler trying to escape from inside the metal furnace box.
Frank is not a morning person—or a morning troll, rather, so he’s always a little growly, a little gurgly. It takes most of first hour for him to vent his frustrations. This is Frank on a good days. Some days, though, he’s just plain nasty—clamoring up enough noise that we imagine tiny traffic accidents involving miniature semis overturning inside the heater box.
Sometimes, like this morning, Frank is just plain obstinate. He seems to be kung-fu kicking the inside of the metal furnace with his steel toed boots.
“What’s that?” A couple students sitting at the table closest to the furnace ask.
Its just Frank, I tell them. He won’t hurt you, but you can move to another seat if you want.
They roll their eyes. “Its getting louder.”
I tell them he’s re-enacting the American Revolution for them.
One of the kids says he thinks he can hear a cannon.
The other kids scowl at him, like please do not encourage the crazy skinny white girl who poses as our teacher.
I am pretty good at ignoring Frank, though the kids are not. They suggest we should call someone more adult than me or maybe move to another classroom. I already asked someone to look at the heater earlier this year. My response was a half-page email outlining how school furnaces are not like home furnaces and they sometimes spit out cold air because they draw air from the outside through their heater coils or something like that which made a whole lot less sense that a furnace troll named Frank.
“Mrs.Cunningham, the water is stuck on again.” Someone calls out, temporarily diverting our attention from Frank. We have those annoying water faucets that you push down to get a five second stream of water. Only lately, its been more like a five minute stream of water.
I send the smartest kid in the class to look at it. He comes back declaring its stuck on.
Just then, the lights go off. There are quite a few absences in a school this size and on a cold day, the few students in attendance are on the left side of the room-the side of the room that the motion detector eye cannot see.
Someone has to get up and walk to the other side of the room, waving their arms, to restore the light. They argue for a minute on who should have to get up before getting stuck in a stubborn stalemate.
But for one minute it is silent. No one moves. The lights are off, the faint sound of running water trickles in the background, and even Frank seems to have gone to bed. Peace. This is the one moment in my day when things seem alright.
It of course doesn’t last. The arm-waver gets the light back on, which stirs Frank and he continues to pound out his disgruntled messages in Morse code throughout the class period. But like you’ve had your morning coffee, I had my morning peace. And those few minutes are the ones I look for and hold onto as my day unfolds.
To read about our adventures with Paul Revere, click here.