Sour Frank took a sip of Rosa’s fresh brew and started in on the teachers. “What are they crying about? They were offered a 20 percent pay raise! I wish I had summers off.”
Rosa set her coffee pot down. “All my friends who teach use their summers to work two part-time jobs just to pay the rent. And that 20 percent pay raise is based on the same old tired cuts and gimmicks Gov. Ducey’s famous for.” Rosa’s voice was trembling with uncharacteristic anger. “I support the teachers, Frank. Every last one. One hundred percent.”
“Why? Give me one good reason why should I support your crybaby teachers, Rosa.”
Rosa looked Frank in the eyes. “Because I am one.”
Lurlene and Romero gasped. Frank shrank and sputtered. Rosa shrugged. “Waiting on you jokers helps to pay my bills.”
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Our heads spun like dust devils.
“Yup. I’ve been teaching fifth- graders at Cactus Flats Elementary since I was 28. You want cream and sugar with your coffee? And without a single raise in all that time. And I’m a great teacher.”
“Very funny. You’re joking, right?”
“My paycheck’s a joke, but you don’t see me laughing. … Raising two kids on my own, living paycheck to paycheck. I’m the problem you didn’t want to throw money at for decades, Frank.”
Lurlene looked ashamed. Romero, too. Rosa pointed to the end of the counter. “See that tip jar? By the cash register? Carlos lets me have the tips to buy school supplies.”
Carlos, the cook, slapped the bell. “Orders are ready, Rosa.”
She fetched our breakfasts. “Salt? Pepper? Need any ketchup? When it slows down I grade papers in the back. Can I get you anything else, Frank? A bathroom pass? A makeup quiz? Some extra-credit work?”
Sour Frank shook his head.
Lurlene testified. ”My kid’s public school has lost its nurse, both counselors, a resource officer, a journalism teacher, a music program and three librarians. My kid’s textbooks are older than Padre Kino’s Bible and his computer ain’t worth Gila monster spit. In case you wondered, Gila monster spit is worth less than rattlesnake lips on the San Pedro Stock Exchange.”
Lurlene stood and proudly modeled her “#RedForEd” T-shirt for all of us. Rosa gave her a high five across the counter.
Sour Frank squinted into Rosa’s exhausted eyes.”Can I ask you something?”
“Raise your hand first. Don’t make me move you to the back of the class.”
“Didn’t you choose, in spite of the lousy pay, to teach because you love it?” The question tumbled in the air like a lit stick of dynamite.
“I also love having a roof over our heads and food on the table.” Rosa’s voice began to crack. “Do you think it’s right that l earned more when I was waitressing full-time? I have a master’s degree. All my friends are quitting. I’m about to give up. And I’m a great teacher.”
Frank raised his hand. ”Why did you turn down Ducey’s offer?”
“Because I know when someone hasn’t done their homework. He copied his answers from a Koch brothers’ cheat sheet! This is about funding our public schools straight up without budget fairy dust and rainbows.”
Romero offered his thoughts. “And no more tax cuts for Ducey’s pals paid for out of the pockets of saps like us.”
Carlos applauded from the kitchen.
Rosa gave Frank her best parent/teacher conference smile. “Frank, I’m giving you an ‘A’ for participation. Gov. Ducey has refused to talk to us. He only talks to his corporate dark money donors.” Rosa topped off Frank’s coffee. “Did you ever consider becoming a teacher?’
Frank looked like he’d been asked if he ever considered eating scorpions. “For chump change? No way.”
“Welcome to your golden teaching moment, Mr.Market Forces. No one wants to teach here. Every ‘Jaime Escalante’ I know has stood and delivered himself out of here, to a state that pays its teachers a decent wage.”
Between breakfast burrito belches, I offered up my analysis. “Politicians have been robbing from our public sector workers, like cops, firemen and teachers, to pay for their — urp — tax break giveaways to corporate welfare queens for —urp— decades.”
“And,” said Rosa, the new Norma Rae of the Arroyo Cafe, “like the educators in West Virginia and Oklahoma, we are sick of it.”
Romero stood up. “I’ll march with you, Rosa!” Lurlene nodded. “Me, too!” Others in the cafe stood and cheered.
Momentarily stunned by her friends’ support, Rosa turned her back to refill her coffee pot and wipe away a tear. When she turned back around, Sour Frank’s hand was raised again. “You? What do you want?”
“Let’s start with a T-shirt, sister.”
Contact editorial cartoonist and columnist David Fitzsimmons at tooner@tucson.com
David Fitzsimmons
Cartoonist