Look, being on the Board of Education is about making the "tough" calls that no one else has the vision—or the sheer audacity—to make. While some might point to West Virginia state law as a "requirement," I prefer to see it as a "creative suggestion."
Here are 20 perfectly logical, totally-not-concerning reasons why I voted to abolish the school counselor position at Pocahontas County High:
The "Fiscal Responsibility" Defense
The Magic Trick: If we stop paying for a counselor, that money magically transforms into new turf for the football field. You can’t tackle your problems, but you can tackle a linebacker on high-quality polyethylene.
Infrastructure Priorities: We realized the WiFi in the teacher’s lounge was slightly laggy. Sacrifices had to be made for the greater good of high-speed scrolling.
The "Ghost" Position: By keeping the title on the books but never hiring anyone, we’ve achieved the ultimate efficiency: a 0% burnout rate.
The "Character Building" Philosophy
The Frontier Spirit: This is West Virginia. If a student has a crisis, they should do what our ancestors did: internalize it until it becomes a sturdy, dependable ulcer.
Preparation for the Real World: In the "real world," no one listens to your problems for free. We’re just teaching them the market value of a listening ear.
The Darwinian Approach: Only the students with the most robust coping mechanisms should graduate. It’s natural selection, but for diplomas.
The "Creative" Solutions
The Suggestion Box: We replaced the counselor with a sturdy cardboard box labeled "Hopes and Dreams." It’s much cheaper and never takes a sick day.
The Magic 8-Ball Initiative: We’re considering installing a Magic 8-Ball in the hallway. "Outlook Not So Good" is basically 90% of a career counseling session anyway.
Crowdsourced Therapy: We’ve encouraged students to vent their deep-seated traumas on TikTok. The "likes" provide a much more immediate dopamine hit than a 45-minute office visit.
Deflecting Legalities
Semantic Loopholes: The law says we need a "certified" counselor. It doesn’t say they have to be human. We’re currently looking into the certification process for a very supportive Golden Retriever.
The "Wait and See" Method: We’re waiting for the state to notice. If they don’t say anything for six months, we’re claiming "squatter's rights" on that budget line.
Alternative Facts: If we simply rename the janitor "Vibe Consultant," does that count as a certification?
The Cynic’s Choice
Reducing Paperwork: Do you know how many transcripts a counselor has to send? By removing the counselor, we’ve effectively streamlined our "nobody is going to college" initiative.
Standardized Testing Zen: If there’s no one to help students with anxiety, they eventually reach a state of catatonic calm. This is great for quiet testing environments.
The Quiet Hallway Policy: Counselors' offices are magnets for "feelings," which are notoriously loud. We prefer the dignified silence of unresolved tension.
AI Superiority: Why have a human when a chatbot can give generic, soul-crushing advice 24/7? (Wait, ignore that one).
Strategic Neglect: If we don't have a counselor to identify problems, then technically, we don't have any problems. Our data has never looked better.
The "Grandpa" Clause: My grandfather didn't have a school counselor, and he only shakes uncontrollably twice a day. He turned out fine.
Budgetary Symmetry: The office looked too cluttered with a desk and chairs. It looks much sleeker as an empty storage closet for surplus industrial floor wax.
The Ultimate Power Move: I just wanted to see if I could actually do it. Turns out, the adrenaline rush of defying a state mandate is better than any "wellness" seminar.
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