Room 13

There was only one rule: ‘Don’t open the door.’ That was the ominous warning written on the envelope that was slipped into my teacher’s mailbox. Inside was a key along with a note written in beautiful emerald green script.

For Room 13 - To be opened Only when NO STUDENTS ARE PRESENT.

Puzzled, I dropped the key back in with the mysterious note. I was “the new teacher” at St. Charles Borromeo Catholic School. It was built in the 1800s and I chalked this enigma up to one of the many things I had to figure out.

A veteran teacher just then sidled up next to me and gave me a wink, “I’ll show you the room today.”

At 3:30, we wove our way down a little used hallway off the teacher’s lounge, around a corner, and came to an abrupt dead end. We were standing outside an old wood door that looked like it had been from a confessional. A worn brass number ‘13’ was attached to the front. No one was in the hallway but us. I put the key in the door lock and opened it. We ducked inside, quickly closed the door, and snapped on the lights.

She spread out her arms and chirped, “Yup. This is where all those horrible, God-awful presents we get during the school year go! Christmas, beginning of the school year, end of year, teacher appreciation days _they all wind up here.”

I took it all in open-mouthed. Slowly turning, Room 13 was indeed unique. A rack from floor to ceiling was devoted to coffee and tea cups. Some were the size of a horse trough and some looked like they came from a doll’s tea party set. Sayings and pictures adorned each of them in flashy, vibrant hues. There were shelves on one of the walls with enough candles to light a Cathedral. A tall bookcase was crammed top to bottom with inspiration books and novellas of lame poetry.

In a cabinet were strange and useless things like a magic 8 Ball, a marmalade jar filled with colored marbles, and a back scratcher. A myriad of apple pins of all sizes overflowed from a glass punch bowl that could’ve doubled as a baptismal font. Wearable fruit brooches were affixed to a scarf the length Doctor Who would’ve worn.

A table in the corner held baskets overflowing with lotions, hand creams, and foot scrubs in all sorts of scents. Next to these, was a fishbowl with glittery stones and fake seaweed waiting for a finned occupant. Pens of all styles and shapes were crammed into a plastic tub on a folding table. She motioned to the tub saying, “There’s a pen in there that gives one a nasty shock when you hand it to someone. Like how the old fashioned Joy Buzzer works.”

In the center of the room stood the piece de resistance. A large Christmas tree was bedecked with every ornament imaginable. Its branches were laden with gaudy Santas, snowmen, glittery balls, and faceless angels. Boxes under the tree were chocked full of more apple decor; paperweights, potholders, and notepads.

I was trying to take it all in. “Wow! This is brilliant!”

Mounted on the wall was a giant elephant with a clock in its stomach. On one side were red plastic poinsettia flowers flanked on the other side by an Elvis figurine. The whole shebang was enclosed in a plastic box outlined in a gold gilded border. My new teacher friend was watching me with amusement as I looked at a table with a sign over it that read: “Mystery Gifts.” On it were little lumps of things that appeared to be made by young children. These were homemade tchotchkes; cans with cloth glued on them, toothpick thingamajigs and other arts and crafts. “No one has figured out what these are or suppose to be yet.”

Smiling back at me, my colleague went on. “It works like this. Anything that you’re given as a gift from a student and can’t use or don’t want, bring it here. Anything that strikes your fancy, take it, and give it a home. That big bin over there has all sorts of gift bags that you can put what you want into. The only item in this room that stays is the Elephant Clock. The story is that Sister Thomas Leo started Room 13 when she was Principal here. She was given that clock as a Christmas present back in the 1960s. She couldn’t hang something as avant-garde as that in the Convent, but she couldn’t bring herself to throw out a gift from a student. So she decided to start up a room for those unusable gifts to be someone else’s treasures. Just remember to follow The Rule: Never let the kids see what’s in here.”

I grinned back, “Sounds good. I think I have my eye on something already.”