There’s a moment in Abbott Elementary Season 1, Episode 3 (“Wishlist”) that will make any current or former teacher laugh out of sheer, painful recognition. It’s not the jokes about Janine’s backpack or Gregory’s lack of teaching experience. It’s the moment Janine tries to submit a reimbursement request for classroom supplies using a form called the

Janine Teagues will fill out that DSRIP. She will wait in line. She will argue. And then she will go back to her classroom, pull out her own credit card, and buy more glue sticks.

The episode asks a quiet but devastating question: Why should teachers have to be heroes just to get basic supplies? Three years after the episode first aired, the DSRIP remains a perfect shorthand for performative bureaucracy —systems that look like they’re solving a problem on paper but actually create more work for the people on the ground.

Every year, teachers in the U.S. spend an average of on classroom supplies. In underfunded districts like the one in the show, that number climbs higher. Pencils, notebooks, tissues, hand sanitizer, snacks for hungry kids, even chairs—teachers buy it all.

If you blinked, you missed it. But for those in the trenches of public education, that one word—DSRIP—carries the weight of a thousand frustrated sighs. In the world of Abbott Elementary , the DSRIP is the fictional, convoluted, multi-step reimbursement process that Janine must navigate to get back the $200 she spent on art supplies for her students. The joke is that the process is so broken, so intentionally tedious, that most teachers give up before they even finish the first page.

Because that’s what teachers do.

We see this everywhere now, not just in schools. Healthcare billing. Insurance claims. Gig economy expense reports. The DSRIP is the spirit of our age: a process designed to discourage you from asking for what you’re owed.