The staffroom. A place that, in theory, should be a haven—a refuge from the chaos of corridors, hormonal teenagers, and lessons gone awry. In reality? It’s a soul-sucking pit of passive-aggressive comments, soggy sandwiches, and people who’ve clearly given up on life.

Karen was already there, laminating something. Because of course she was. There’s always one, isn’t there? The Laminator Queen. No one asked her to bring in her personal stash of pastel cardstock, but here we are, watching her craft the world’s least inspiring motivational posters. Today’s gem: “Teamwork Makes the Dream Work!” If by “dream work” she means barely scraping through the day without throwing a chair, then sure, Karen. Sure.

Steve the PE teacher breezed in, still wearing his whistle like it’s some kind of status symbol. “Busy morning, Susie?” he asked, smirking. Busy? Yes, Steve. While you were watching kids kick balls around and calling it pedagogy, I was trying to explain enjambment to a class of Year 10s who can’t read a full sentence without pausing for breath. Stewart caught my eye from across the room and raised an eyebrow. A silent, shared understanding passed between us: Steve is the human equivalent of a deflated football.

The coffee machine was broken. Again. The school spent thousands on this monstrosity, and it can’t even manage a basic flat white. Karen chirped, “I’ve brought instant coffee if anyone wants!” You might as well have offered to pour dishwater into my mug, Karen. I’ll stick with my caffeine withdrawal headache, thanks.

Tracy, the fresh-faced newbie, was attempting to eat a salad. Bold move, considering the staffroom fridge smells like something died in it last term and no one’s been brave enough to investigate. “I just think it’s so rewarding, you know?” she gushed, her voice grating like nails on a chalkboard. “Teaching isn’t just a job; it’s a calling.” If it’s a calling, Tracy, mine must have gone to voicemail.

The staff meeting email came through. Subject line: “Urgent Discussion on Marking Policy”. Great. Another hour of listening to the principal drone on about "efficiency" while we all silently scream into our tea, because you know, broken coffee machine. Karen, predictably, announced she’d already prepared a draft of suggestions for the meeting. Of course she has.

Stewart sat down next to me and muttered, “How much do you reckon it’d cost to put Steve in a cleaning cupboard for the rest of the term?” I snorted into my mug. Stewart’s the only thing keeping me tethered to reality. He gets it. He understands that teaching isn’t a noble profession; it’s a slow descent into madness, punctuated by the occasional fire drill or "wellness workshop." If we ever stage a coup against Karen and her laminator, Stewart will be my second-in-command.

The bell rang, signalling the end of break. As the staffroom emptied, I looked around at the discarded coffee cups, the crumpled worksheets, and the faint sense of despair lingering in the air. Back to the trenches. Stewart caught my eye as we headed out. “See you in the meeting,” he said with a smirk. Oh, you will, I thought. Because misery loves company, and Stewart’s the only company I can stand.