Where The Rubber Hits The Soul

If you’ve ever wondered what happens when someone gets “reassigned” during an investigation, now you know:

Just before 9 a.m., they file into large, sometimes windowless rooms.

In some cases, they punch time cards; in others, they scribble their names on a sign-in sheet.

They take their places in plastic chairs either grouped around tables or scattered haphazardly.

Some immediately pull out crossword puzzles or books. Some knit. Others hold golf-putting contests. One takes out his guitar and strums.

One day last week, another, wearing a leotard and tights, spread out on the floor and stretched before practicing ballet against a wall in a corner.

Nearby, gazing out a window, a man slowly fell asleep, his head in his hands.

It’s all in a day’s work on the city payroll.

For seven hours a day, five days a week, hundreds of Department of Education employees — who’ve been accused of wrongdoing ranging from buying a plant for a school against the principal’s wishes to inappropriately touching a student — do absolutely no work.

In an investigation inside the nine reassignment centers called “rubber rooms” where these employees are sent, The Post has learned that the number of salaried teachers sitting idly waiting for their cases to be heard has exploded to 757 this year — more than twice the number just two years ago — at a cost of about $40 million a year, based on the median teacher salary.

. . .

. . . [A]nother [rubber room attendant], an Army reservist who spent almost 3 1/2 years in a rubber room before he retired, begged to be able to go to Iraq instead of staying in DOE Siberia.