We can always rely on "Abbott Elementary" to shed light on the predicaments of contemporary educators, whether through its side-splitting observational humor or entire episodes that meticulously portray the multifaceted challenges faced by teachers. As SEPTA workers officially embark on a strike, the educators at Abbott Elementary are compelled to navigate the chaos ensuing from the disruption of public transportation in a school where a majority of students rely on buses for their daily commute. Ironically, this storyline mirrors real-life events, as Philadelphia transportation workers threatened to strike in early November before ultimately striking a deal with SEPTA for enhanced financial security. While the fictional workers have yet to reach an accord with the city in this episode, we witness the ingenious methods through which Abbott's teachers tirelessly strive for their students, paying homage to one of television's most esteemed educators of all time.
I consistently underscore how adeptly "Abbott" depicts crucial social issues without resorting to preachiness. It fosters a profound respect for both the demographic portrayed on screen and the discernment of the audience at home, while seamlessly maintaining the show's lighthearted comedic tone. "Abbott" has addressed learning disabilities, student accessibility, and funding disparities with remarkable empathy, and tonight's emphasis on the cascading effects of the SEPTA strike and the significance of safe, dependable transportation aligns seamlessly with the show's philosophy. Notably, the United States lags behind in optimizing our transportation systems, prioritizing cars in both infrastructure and policy. Consequently, inefficient public transit adversely impacts public health, the environment, and, indeed, education. In the absence of government support, those operating public transportation vehicles become overworked and undercompensated, ultimately leading to strikes. "Abbott" presents a logical solution through Melissa's sarcastic remarks about reforming the city council to be union-friendly. However, recognizing that politics seldom presents such straightforward solutions, we observe the teachers doing what they do best: thinking outside the box.
Last week, Jacob was the first casualty when, immediately after the union officially declared a strike, he was the only Philadelphian booted off a bus for monopolizing the driver's attention. But tonight, the cessation of public transportation affects everyone (Morton, hilariously stranded at home because his ex took his car in the divorce despite already owning one, stands out). The disruption begins with Melissa and Barbara's nail technicians missing their regular appointment. Barbara, a woman who won't let anything deter her from a fresh manicure, picks up the technicians from their homes and brings them to Abbott instead of the salon, determined to prevent scabbing. While resolving this issue proves relatively straightforward, student attendance soon plummets as many students rely on buses while their parents commute, and not everyone lives within walking distance of the school. One of Jacob's students even interrupts a lesson to ensure he arrives home before sunset, while a mother from Janine's class goes out of her way—driving six miles out of her path and calling in late to work—to get her daughter to school, warning that this won't become a daily occurrence.
The strike couldn't have come at a worse time for Janine, who has only recently grasped the importance of hands-on learning for her class and is midstream in a lesson plan that requires student groups to represent different planets in our solar system. Saturn becomes the first forsaken planet, with no students present to hold up its famous rings (anyone versed in astrology will appreciate the irony of Saturn being overlooked; it's hardly the most exhilarating planet). Janine tries to keep it together with the remaining children, but as her outer space enthusiast student Lilah points out, it's not our solar system without all the planets. Lilah's enthusiasm for the lesson plan ignites Janine's determination to make things right, especially as Melissa echoes her solidarity through the halls, announcing that the union workers walked away from negotiations, telling the city to "suck it." Everyone does their utmost to adapt. Gregory even steps in as a cafeteria worker, but it's evident that they require a more viable solution to keep everyone on course. Ava proposes remote learning, but Jacob and Barbara dismiss the idea, citing the immense difficulty of virtual teaching and the school's reliance on Wi-Fi siphoned from the routers at the neighboring deli. Jacob believes there's no way O'Shon will respond to a text—claiming that attractive people are inherently terrible texters—but Ava knows that he'll always reply to her (you'd better secure your man, Ava!) and secures the IT support the school needs.
Transitioning to remote learning with children in tow is an endearingly chaotic spectacle; the kindergarten class, with their delightful disarray, contrasts sharply with Barbara's technological struggles. Meanwhile, Janine's students indulge in animal filters, bursting into peals of laughter, while Jacob finds himself addressing a sea of blank squares as his older pupils shun cameras and microphones. Among them, two stand out: Chloe from Jacob's class and Hazel from Barbara's, both grappling valiantly with the transition. Hazel, a ball of disruptive energy, bangs pots and pans and plays pranks on camera, while Chloe repeatedly exits virtual sessions to attend to family matters. Their shared surname eventually reveals their sibling bond, prompting Jacob and Barbara to collaborate with Chloe. They devise a plan that grants Hazel extra morning playtime while providing Chloe with an abbreviated curriculum. During Barbara's lessons, Chloe sits beside Hazel, ensuring her younger sister stays engaged.
Janine, faced with the daunting task of maintaining engagement amidst half-absent students, draws inspiration from a renowned TV educator to galvanize her class. Reluctant to dash Lilah's enthusiasm by postponing the lesson, she hatches a scheme involving Ava's party bus, transforming it into a vehicle of learning that circumvents the picket line. Early the next day, Janine embodies the essence of Ms. Frizzle, adorned with a charming bus-shaped barrette, and turns Ava's party bus into a whimsical replica of the magic school bus. Though equipped with party lights and an unconventional stripper pole, the bus serves its purpose admirably. Janine, who has always aspired to Ms. Frizzle's legacy—Quinta once remarked in an interview that Janine's attire reflects her belief in being the modern-day Ms. Frizzle—finds herself closest to fulfilling that aspiration. She honks the steering wheel horn to the tune of Vengaboys' "Six Flags," while Melissa, who underscores the dignity of educators by shunning scabbing, accompanies her to ensure only students board.
With club anthems blaring through the speakers and an LED light show illuminating the interior, Janine and Melissa spend two hours navigating through streets, collecting students, and evading adults who try to hitch a ride. Their mission successful, they arrive at school without disrupting the protests, the students adorned with remnants of their party bus adventure, like a cowboy hat bearing the inscription "Happy New Year." Janine orchestrates an adorable model solar system, proving that good educators will traverse any distance for their pupils, even if it means driving them back home—a reality that dawns on her only at the episode's conclusion. That party bus journey back must have been nothing short of electrifying!
