PASSCODE: 2020: A Short Story for an Epic Time

Strange things begin to happen at Sweet Gum Junior High when someone changes the staff's lavatory passcode to 2020. A short mystery with elements of science fiction, fantasy, and humor. 8,700 words. An excerpt ... Phyllis Macabee fumbled with the keypad on the staff bathroom door. The elite device was not responding as usual on that sultry September day in 2020. Phyllis tried the passcode 5432. Interesting, she thought. That number had worked during the previous school year. And the two before that. Why not now? Gosh, she was no mood to mess with a temperamental lock. She needed to get into the restroom before she embarrassed the daylights out of herself. The harried science teacher tried 5432. Nothing clicked inside the door after she pushed the keys. There had always been a sound in the past. She was desperate for that validating alert. It meant that relief was only seconds away. Phyllis pushed against the door’s steel surface with her lithe shoulder. The portal didn’t budge. Slow down and try again, she encouraged herself. This time, Phyllis was deliberate with her quivering fingers. She pushed each of the four code buttons with the precision of an accomplished musician. 5432. Each number responded to her touch with an electronic chirp. Those four beeps had confirmed her choices, yet nothing sounded from the inside the lock. Phyllis wiggled the handle. The door did not open. Maybe I should just give up on being an educator. I’m too much of a nervous wreck, Phyllis thought. Teaching online during a pandemic is sending me over the edge. And all this anxiety is playing heck with my bladder. Phyllis shifted from one foot to the other as she tried the passcode one more 5432. “Ma’am.” Phyllis turned her head. Miss Jeanne Olinger, the youngest teacher at Sweet Gum Junior High School, was standing a generous six feet away. Social distancing was what they called it, Phyllis reminded herself. Phyllis backed up a few more feet. She liked Jeanne. She believed Jeanne was healthy – and not a carrier of the COVID-19 virus. But there was one looming issue. After twelve years of being a science teacher, Phyllis had turned into a germaphobe. Most people complained about the inconvenience of social distancing. Phyllis, on the contrary, was relieved. Jeanne’s wide blue eyes twinkled above her homemade face mask. She’d attached some bling to the cloth to make it more decorative. “The passcode has been changed.” “Changed? Why ever for? The other one was perfectly good.” Miss Olinger smiled. She seemed to smile in response to everything. Young teachers usually did. “I’m not sure,” she finally answered. Phyllis shifted from one of her polished penny loafers to the other. “Well, what’s the new passcode?” “2020.” “2020? Whose crazy idea was that?”