I belong to the twilight generation that witnessed the zenith of the D.A.R.E. program; I vividly recall filling out questionnaires that were lambasted by many for transforming children into informants. Reflecting on those D.A.R.E. dialogues through the prism of my mature perspective, it strikes me as peculiar how they underscored surveillance and obedience. An incident from my childhood stands out: once, after being picked up early for a medical appointment and rewarded with a routine trip to McDonald's, I grappled with an internal moral dilemma as I observed my mother's actions. She was driving under the influence. Summoning my courage, I confronted her, knowing it could be a matter of life and death. I urged her to pull over and inquired why she'd choose to drink and drive. Her contagious laughter echoed through the car as she joked: "This is just Sprite?"
Though I was oblivious to the characteristics that distinguished alcoholic beverages (neither of my parents consumed alcohol during my upbringing; not even a drop of wine adorned our shelves), I placed my trust in the adults who cautioned me against certain behaviors. Nowadays, I comprehend the genesis of D.A.R.E. amidst the war on drugs, but I also grasp the intricacies of educating children about the ambiguous territories that blur the shifting binary of "right" and "wrong," particularly when it pertains to indulging in vices. We all have our demons, including the educators at Abbott. Hence, when Curtis was caught smoking a cigarette in the bathroom, the teachers frantically sought an apt course of action. They consulted the district's code of conduct only to realize there was no mention of cigarettes; it seemed like numerous emerging hazards had overshadowed the inclusion of smoking cigarettes on the exhaustive list of prohibited activities.
Perplexed by the very notion of catching a student smoking a cigarette in contemporary times, Janine reminded Jacob that his vaping habit wasn't much better, sparking a blame game where everyone exposed each other's vices. Janine partook in marijuana smoking at night for relaxation; Gregory indulged in cannabis-infused protein bars on weekends; Ava was hooked on hookah; Melissa "snorted liquid marijuana," according to Barbara (she used CBD oil for her joints). After suggesting they turn to Jesus for solace, Barbara became Melissa's target, who proclaimed to the group that Barbara was notorious for consuming mini-bottles of chardonnay. Before they could conclude their conversation in the breakroom, Janine caught a student recording their illicit substance confessions. By the time they apprehended him, it was too late; he had already uploaded the video online. With the entire student body casting sidelong glances at their instructors – Janine found it particularly amusing when a student replied, "Bet you are," to her cheerful greeting in the hallway – she had to enlist the help of F.A.D.E., Abbott's modern-day equivalent of D.A.R.E.
Regrettably, we were not treated to a performance by Tariq, but his protégé stepped up to deliver a parody of Tariq's anti-drug rap from the previous season, embodying a white man's attempt at rapper cosplay. He pranced across the stage like a caricature, performing in front of a silently embarrassed audience, rhyming and dancing about fatal overdoses that barely made sense and garnered no applause as he exited the stage with a dougie. Subsequently, F.A.D.E.'s spokesperson, Caroline, took the microphone. During the Q&A session, the children posed questions about the moderate substance use they witnessed among the adults in their lives, such as casual drinking, smoking cigarettes after work, and medicinal marijuana use. Caroline endorsed all these exceptions, effectively diluting the "just say no" mantra she preached. One inquisitive student asked, "So, some drugs are worse than others?" This prompted a discussion about the hierarchy of drug dangerousness, further confusing the impressionable minds.
Eventually, the students begin to blurt out their parents' prescriptions, one notably being a herpes medication, which Caroline uncontrollably reveals to the room just as the rapper stumbles back onto the stage, enveloped in a cloud of smoke, bringing the program to a hilarious close. With no viable alternatives, Ava enforces a zero-tolerance policy (applicable to both students and teachers), necessitating mandatory bag and locker inspections. Under this stringent rule, Ava is compelled to suspend Curtis. We find ourselves in an era where numerous brain-altering substances are gradually losing their stigma, and children are keenly aware of the covert adult world unfolding behind closed doors and hushed conversations, rendering it increasingly challenging for contemporary teachers to navigate such predicaments.
Gregory makes a profound observation—Curtis is an exemplary kid, yet no one bothered to inquire about the rationale behind his smoking. Instead of dwelling on the offense, Gregory transforms it into a lesson in intuition, which is far more crucial for youth to grasp than the outdated "just say no" mantra that has proven ineffective. Donning their Cool Teacher personas, Gregory and Melissa sit down with Curtis, who confesses curiosity but disdain for the cigarette's taste. He apologizes once more, and Gregory imparts wisdom about the myriad situations life will present, both favorable and unfavorable, emphasizing the importance of caution and the unpleasant memory of the cigarette's flavor. Despite the conversation's amicable tone and Curtis's resolute pledge to never smoke again, no one favors his suspension. Gregory entreats Janine to lift Curtis's suspension, and at the episode's conclusion, he ponders how attitudes and societal norms evolve, emphasizing the necessity of maintaining an open mind as teachers navigate the delicate balance. They're even inspired to encourage Jacob to quit vaping, an endeavor that lasts a fleeting moment before he plunges into the trash can to reclaim his addiction.
As the school wages war on cigarettes, Janine catches a glimpse of her classroom, now helmed by Jessca (sans the "I"), portrayed by the talented Sabrina Brier. Sabrina has garnered social media fame through her TikTok videos and effervescent humor. The New York Times has described her online persona as a "20-something in New York who's attempting to shed her basic suburban past." Perhaps recognizable from the "Oh!" reaction meme, she's more than just a meme-worthy TikTok creator; she's a professional comedian, a trained actor, and an experienced writer's assistant. As a fellow funny woman with online origins, it's unsurprising that Quinta and her team would find a role for Sabrina in the show. In her portrayal as Jessca, Brier serves as a foil to Janine; if Jessca embodies TikTok, then Janine represents Instagram.
Those born in the late mid-to-late 1990s, like Sabrina and I, understand the nuanced difference between us and those slightly older, like Quinta. We straddle the worlds crafted by millennials and Gen Z—fluent in slang and adept at keeping up with trends, yet we still recall life before social media. We're seasoned enough to be new professionals but youthful enough to authentically connect with the youth. The writers adeptly exploit this dynamic in the episode, as Jessca's laid-back teaching methods grate on Janine. Jessca's permissive approach includes allowing students to select their own homework assignments and addressing her (and Janine) by their first names sans "Ms." She refers to the students as "besties" and their breaks as "vibe time." Still grappling with detaching from her class while attending her fellowship, Janine attempts to confront Jessca, subtly offering assistance and "gentle guidance" due to her perceived "lack of experience."
Jessica politely declines Janine's offer of assistance, fostering an almost tangible frost between them that Barbara cannot help but notice. Intrigued, Barbara inquires about Janine's unusually frosty demeanor, prompting Janine to confess that Jessica's disregard for grammatical norms and unconventional teaching tactics leaves her utterly flustered. Barbara, ever the wise confidante, reminds Janine of a time when she too had questioned Janine's methods. She gently urges Janine to embrace the notion that every educator harbors their own distinctive teaching philosophy and, besides, it is no longer her classroom to oversee. They share a heartfelt chuckle over the omitted "I" in Jessica's name, a subtle nod to Janine's belonging to an older generation.
Janine, recognizing her own overreaction, extends a heartfelt apology to Jessica. However, Jessica, immersed in her own world, scarcely registers Janine's distress. With a nonchalant air redolent of Sabrina Brier's iconic delivery, she remarks, "You speak as though there were some significant exchange etched in my memory… nonetheless, I accept your apology, though I'm certain I scarcely merit it." The anticipation for the next substitute teacher builds with each passing moment!
