I need a supplies allowance
You know how in some professions–usually those that require uniforms or schnazzy dressing–employees get a yearly clothing allowance? I think professors should get a yearly semester-ly supplies allowance. (I was going to propose a long list of must-have school supplies like schoolkids get now, but that wouldn’t help with my lack of free funds. So. . . the supplies allowance. . .)
Oh how I love me some new, pretty school supplies. And how much more I would love them if they were paid for by my employer. Actually. that would make me love my employer more, too.
I’m not talking about my usual required purchases. At least once a year, I buy or am gifted a new set of my favorite pens, a new set of rainbow EXPO whiteboard markers, and a pretty new planner. These are essential to the operation. I can’t possibly grade papers in black or blue medium ball point all year or write and have my students write on the board in black or (gasp!) red whiteboard marker. Nope — the multi-colored writing utensils and OCD-supporting calendar paraphernalia are essential. Actually, it would be nice if those were paid for, too. But I’m thinking of this as more of a luxury item allowance–something that I could save up for a few semesters to finally get that MacBook Pro I’ve wanted for-E-ver or something I could use for online shopping at See Jane Work.
Since this is my little fantasy, we’re going to pretend that I’ve already saved up for and secured the dream laptop, equipped with all the programs I want and a protection plan, of course. And said laptop already lives in a funky-fresh lime green bag. And now I’ve strolled out to the mailbox with Abby (the only outside time she gets these days because of the ridiculous heat index) to find–SURPRISE–my $500 supplies allowance gift card (Shut up. It’s a FANTASY.). How do I spend said funds? Like this:
Well, first I spot this much cooler laptop bag and think about blowing half of my budget on it.
Orla Kiely Laptop Bag -- $240
Then I spot the owls. Bah — owls are too trendy right now. But I’ve always loved birds, and these are perfect for my (planned) pretty blue and green color scheme. Of course, then the internal debate begins:
Bee: Are those too childish for a professor’s desk?
Other Bee: Dude. Have you seen your desk? Have you seen yourself? This is what you’re all about, Ms. I-only-wear-jeans-and-Chucks-because-I-refuse-to-use-my-wardrobe-to-gain-false-authority-and-equally-artificial-respect.
Bee: I know, I know. I’m not selling out. What I’m questioning is whether these are more funky than kiddy. I want funky.
Other Bee: They’re on See Jane Work. They’re funky. Plus, you’ve been looking for a green dice calendar for a long time. If you end up hating the owls, you’ll still have the calendar.
So into the virtual shopping cart they go.
Owlsley Desk Set -- $32
And then I just get overcome by all of the gorgeous green goodness. I decide to throw it all in the shopping cart first and cut back later if I need to.
Semikolon Magazine Box -- on sale for 11.70, so I'm going to need three in lime and two in that pretty, springy blue that the company has misnamed turquoise
Green Bungalow Collapsible File Tote for carrying papers back and forth to class -- $21
Sticky Tab Dividers -- only $8 for an incredibly useful and colorful little tool. Oh, just imagine the color-coding possibilities. I'd better take two of these.
The school won't let me paint my office in chalkboard paint, but these peel-and-stick chalkboard decals are a nice substitute -- $58 for a set of four.
Basic Letter Trays -- $10. I'll need five of these in a stack: grass, ocean, snow, ocean, grass.
Basics Pencils -- $7. My students regularly forget writing utensils (yep -- even in college), so these would be nice loaners, and they'd pretty up my pencil cup in the meantime. I'll take them in white, grass, and ocean.
And I stop there.
And I do some basic math.
And I figure out that even with all of those pretties to make my office look nice (and make me much more organized, efficient, and effective, of course), I can still afford the outrageous laptop bag. So I go for it. Because really. . . what’s the point of having an outrageous laptop if you’re not going to carry it in an equally outrageous bag?
Just as I push the purchase button, it occurs to me that I’ve not browsed Levenger for anything, I have some gorgeous file folders on my amazon wish list, and I really would like to have my own kettle and small french press for the office.
But that can wait until January’s check comes in.
