If only they knew what I was really thinking. Yes, you little naughty gits, when I
calmly stood there and waited for silence, which took a very long minute and a half,
what I really wanted to do was SHOUT VERY LOUDLY IN THE RINGLEADER’S FACE until it was
all they could do to choke back the tears and stutter “sorry”. But I didn’t, did I?
Instead, I have probably added to the stress I seem to absorb daily and encourage it to
contribute to some future health-related issue.
And when I sent out the rude and obnoxious 15 year old for what can only be described
as twatting about, I had to leave him there outside the door for ages while I tried
thinking of something suitable to say to him that didn’t involve swearing or the phrase
“grow up”. And when the tarty girls with the trowelled-on make-up, and pierced navels on
display, sneer at my scuffed shoes or hair that desperately needs a decent cut, I don’t
really want to have to ignore it or laugh it off with a quip about being old. Instead I
want to hold up a mirror to their acned complexions and tacky piercings, then shove my
blistered feet in their face and tell them that this will be all they have to look forward
to after being on their feet all day in the local cut-price supermarket, where they are
destined to end up if they don’t put as much effort into doing their coursework as they
do to applying concealer. And, I would add, spitting vitriolic truths left, right and
centre, they will know the benefits of comfy shoes then! Oh yes indeed.
It’s not just the pupils though. What about my honest reply to the parent who allows their child to miss school for the flimsiest of reasons, then writes in to complain that they haven’t received vital letters that are given out in registration? Or my response to the parents whose child was suspended from school for a fortnight for bad behaviour, who demand that work is sent home for him to cover his absence, which results in me spending an entire lunch hour compiling photocopies of the relevant text book pages and worksheets?
What about my honest reaction to the colleague who can clearly see I am busy during my
so-called “free” period, given the fact that I am surrounded by a leaning tower of
exercise books and my fingers are smudged with the red ink of an honest day’s spelling
corrections, but who still persists in holding an impromptu meeting with me about a
scheme of work? Or the other colleague who wants a copy of the lists of statistics I’d
already prepared for them, because they seem to have mislaid the first copy?
Oh, I know, it happens in every walk of life. We try to get on with our jobs only to be constantly interrupted and bothered. Why, only the other day I was trying to explain the finer points of something or other to a gaggle of pupils who were engrossed in defacing their exercise books, interrupting their dogged concentration and general determination not to do any of the work that I wanted them to do.
I’m sure that in three years time when I rush into a shop to buy something in a hurry, I’ll be guilty of bothering the cashier who is trying her hardest to maintain a conversation with her colleague about how drunk they were the night before, and how much her feet ache from standing up all day. But I will probably grin and bear it as I’ve had to learn how, especially when I remember the very same cashier slumped in her chair in the back row of my classroom, determined not to do any of the work I’ve spent ages preparing.
At least, that’s the fantasy future I dream of for all those pupils that disrupt my
lessons. I just wish journalists would stop uncovering all the secrets of those successful
entrepreneurs who have made their millions despite flunking at school. It only encourages
the brattiest of children. After all, they can see where all my qualifications got me:
hair in desperate need of help,
aching feet in ugly shoes, with the power of invisibility whenever I utter the words
“Stop talking now and listen, thank you”.
added 16/10/04
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