ABC has truly hit the jackpot with "Abbott Elementary," to the point where I worry I'm overusing the five-star rating. But honestly, it's that exceptional. It's the kind of show that sparks lively watercooler chatter and draws in a diverse audience. In an era where streaming content thrives—and, let's be honest, is verging on overwhelming—TV series have the versatility to cater to niche interests, making it a rarity for a single program to captivate everyone. It reminds me of a Twitter photo I stumbled upon, depicting a massive crowd in Times Square huddled together to watch the "Seinfeld" finale in 1998. Granted, I was just a toddler when that episode aired, but I vividly recall the camaraderie of tuning into teenage network shows like "Gossip Girl" or "The OC" in the mid-2000s.
Quinta Brunson aimed to bring back that communal spirit when she created "Abbott." In an interview with Seth Meyers, she expressed her love for network television, highlighting its accessibility, even noting that prisoners can watch it. It revives the days when families gathered around the TV, enjoying a shared bonding experience rather than hiding in separate corners lost in their favorite programs. Don't misunderstand me; as an avid TV fan, I cherish the abundance of options we have today. Yet, there's a unique magic in sharing these moments with fellow humans. It's also a bridge that spans the generational divide, which seems to be widening by the day. In a conversation with Variety, Brunson pointed out that the show attracts a demographic that typically doesn't tune into network TV. "Abbott is intriguing because of the audience it brings back to network TV," she said. "I can't pinpoint it. Some say millennials, but it's more nuanced. It's a specific type of viewer who wasn't watching network TV, and 'Abbott' has given them a show to watch."
Janine and Barbara's relationship perfectly encapsulates how vastly different the world is today compared to just a few decades ago. Janine represents the newer generation of teachers, nurtured on participation trophies and "safe spaces" in college, while Barbara embodies the older generation who believe in "pulling oneself up by one's bootstraps." This dynamic creates delightful sparring and subtly imparts lessons that both generations can learn from. When given the chance to propose new cafeteria menu items, Janine passionately advocates for a new juice for the students. It has two more ounces than the current juice, with less sugar and more real fruit juice, so Janine views it as a "no-brainer" win for the kids. Barbara firmly opposes the change, offering the timeless advice, "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."
Janine can't fathom any drawbacks to the new juice, so once it's approved, the whole school embraces it—except Barbara's kindergarteners. As the students settle down after lunch, Janine notices a side effect of the juice: the extra ounces are filling their bladders faster than usual. One by one, her students keep running in and out of the classroom to use the bathroom. Realizing her bathroom pass is frequently in demand, she decides to take the entire class on a field trip so everyone can relieve themselves. In the hallway, Gregory's classroom is also lined up, and he remarks to Janine, "I guess two more ounces means two hundred more trips to the bathroom." Janine tries to see the bright side, claiming that increased peeing equals increased hydration. The toilets see so much action that the plumbing gives out, rendering all the first-floor bathrooms unusable and forcing their classes to use the ones on the second floor.
In an effort to spare their students the arduous task of climbing stairs to access the restrooms, Gregory proposed a novel solution: utilizing Barbara's private kindergarten-class bathroom. Though hesitant, Barbara eventually concurred, stipulating that its use be reserved strictly for emergencies. Alas, what began as a rare concession soon transformed into a veritable flood of "emergencies," with lines forming outside her bathroom door, relentlessly disrupting her teaching sessions. Frustrated beyond measure, she evicted the intruders, lamenting that her students shouldn't be punished for Janine's juice-related blunder.
Janine and Gregory initially adhered to Barbara's terms, but patience soon wore thin as they found themselves repeatedly descending to the second-floor facilities. Observing that Barbara's classroom was vacant during a free period, leaving her bathroom unoccupied, they saw an opportunity. They stealthily ushered their children in and out, until disaster struck—the toilet broke down, apparently sabotaged by the very same pupil who had been among the last to use the first-floor facilities before they too succumbed to malfunction. (One wonders what mischief he was up to.)
Barbara, catching them in the act, delivered a stern rebuke for flouting her express wishes. Now stranded without viable options, she was compelled to redirect her students to the third-floor bathroom. This arrangement proved particularly trying, given that one of her students required the use of a wheelchair. To compound matters, the city informed Janine that repairs couldn't be effected for a week.
The daily trek to the third floor turned into an ordeal for all, prompting Barbara to lambast Janine with "I told you so's," insisting she should have adhered to her initial advice against the juice. Janine countered, arguing that had Barbara explained the rationale behind her opposition, the situation could have been averted sooner. She posed a poignant question: "Didn't you have a mentor who guided you through the ropes when you were starting out?" Barbara admitted she hadn't, prompting a moment of reflection for both. Suddenly, Barbara had an epiphany and declared, "Janine, now is your chance to make things right." She marched to Melissa's classroom, retrieved a bat stashed under the desk, and, with a swift swing, rendered the third-floor toilet inoperable. This act transformed Abbott Elementary into a crisis zone, necessitating immediate repairs. Recognizing the wisdom in her actions, Barbara struck a compromise with Janine, agreeing to offer monthly—well, singularly—office hours.
Meanwhile, Melissa grappled with her own generational clash in her classroom, adjusting to her new aide, Ashley. Ashley was Melissa's polar opposite, her quirks rendering her more of a distraction than an assistant. Her antics, which included spinning quarters and performing parodies of Megan Thee Stallion's "Body" (a personal favorite of mine), left Melissa struggling to maintain control. Desperate for assistance, Melissa enlisted Ava, who agreed to observe the class. Ava was not only entertained by the "Body" parody but also recognized one of her old tops on Ashley, who had sourced it from Ava's Depop account, @AvaFlaaaaaaaaaav. A bond formed instantly, with Ava dubbing Ashley her mini-me. Ashley soon began assisting Ava with auctioning her clothes, much to Melissa's exasperation.
After unloading his frustrations regarding Ashley's presence, Jacob assumes the mantle of rationality, proposing that perhaps if Melissa actually interacted with Ashley, their endeavors might yield more fruitful results. Thus, when Ashley initiates a class activity, leading the students in rhythmically tapping out the beat to "Grindin'" by Clipse, which she firmly believes to be the archetype of the so-called "cup song" (and the more I contemplate it, the more I concur), Melissa seizes the moment, embraces the idea, and even suggests allowing Ashley to organize such lively sessions once a week, considering the children's immense fondness for her vibrant spirit. This gesture of camaraderie bears fruit, as Ashley begins to take on some of her responsibilities, illustrating that we can all glean valuable lessons from one another.
