Failure

As a fifth grade teacher, I am often forced into the role of judge, jury, and executioner (figuratively speaking, of course - usually). As part of the judicial process, I gather witnesses and interview them. After consulting the witnesses, I reach a verdict and issue a sentence. Quite often, the testimony of two independent witnesses is enough to provide me with a reasonable degree of certainty that the offending party is indeed guilty.

This last week, I fell victim to my own judicial process. You see, based on the confirmed testimony of two independent witnesses, it appears that I am a failure. Because there was no plausible way for the witnesses to collaborate, their testimony must be rock solid.

It was difficult for me to accept at first, since I have always considered myself to be fairly successful, but you can’t argue with the truth, especially given the evidence. It all started on Tuesday afternoon. I went into the teacher’s lounge to make some photocopies. After patiently waiting my turn to use the machine, I entered in my four-digit user ID. Immediately after pressing the “Confirm” button, the machine replied with a message for me, “User Login Failure.”

“Wait a minute,” I said to myself. “I’m the user trying to login. Is this machine calling me a failure?” I shook it off, trying not to take the insult personally. I rationalized the pain away by realizing that I must have pressed a wrong button The copy machine had probably assumed that I was someone else, someone who had a history of failure. I re-input my four digit ID and once again pressed “Confirm.”

“User Login Failure,” the machine again informed me.

“Yeah, well you’re not such a winner either, you paper-jamming, botched duplexing, stapleless looser!” I exclaimed in frustration. Then I took a deep breath and a long chug of Diet Coke. “OK, maybe I messed up again,” I thought to myself. Now that the Aspartame was beginning to course through my veins, I felt prepared to once again carefully input my four digit ID. “I can do this,” I mumbled as my index finger oh, so carefully moved from one button to the next. If only I could understand what **** really meant, then I could confirm that the number had been entered correctly. Since I don’t speak asteriskian, I had to go with my gut. I once again confirmed my action and waited for the response.

This time, I was just crushed. I knew I wasn’t a failure, but this machine was absolutely certain that I was. Nothing I could do would convince it otherwise. It wouldn’t even let me have a chance to prove myself with my duplicating prowess. “Can I borrow three copies?” I said to the teacher in line behind me. “It appears that this machine thinks I am a failure.”

With my borrowed copies in hand, I headed back to my classroom. It was time to login to the online grading program to check on some test scores that had been scanned in earlier in the day. I clicked on the bookmarked site and waited for it to load. Seconds later the login screen appeared. I typed in my user name, and then entered my password. “Login failed,” came the reply.

“What!” I shouted. “How can this be?” I quickly retyped the information and clicked the login button once more. Same response, “Login failed.” I flashed back to earlier in the day when I had relied on the testimony of two independent witnesses to convict a child of wrongdoing. I had told the felonious youngster that because the two witnesses had not spoken to each other since the incident and their stories corroborated each other, that their testimony must be true. He was thus guilty as charged.

I sat at my desk absorbing the reality of the moment. Two independent witnesses had come up with the same story about me without ever having met. They were three hundred yards apart in separate buildings, for crying out loud! Based on my own theory, I had to accept the fact that I am indeed a failure. That was a difficult moment for me. Feeling dejected, my work ethic for the day dissolved, I gathered up my things and headed for the door.

As I was locking up, a sliver of hope crept into my mind. Maybe, just maybe, the copier and the online grading program had conspired against me using the campus computer network. That would completely negate both of their testimonies, thus rendering their failure verdict null. Since I alone am the judge, jury, and executioner, I quickly ruled in favor of the defendant and dropped all charges. Case dismissed.