The funniest things do happen, honest. Or maybe it’s because I’m surrounded by hassles and frustrating circumstances that I clutch at any chance of humour with desperate enthusiasm.
Take one recent morning. I’d been fuming over a couple of things. Firstly, a sarcastic comment from a
colleague in my department: a criticism of my belief that the last week of lessons in any given term should not
merely consist of endless games of “hangman” and videos.
Secondly, I was covering for an absent colleague and leafing through the piles of rubbish on her desk as I searched for some work to set her class, when I came across a stack of leaflets she must have been dishing out, proclaiming that the morning-after pill is not a contraceptive but actually an abortion drug, and should be banned. The sexual health programme at our school doesn’t seem very enlightened; it seems to have been hijacked by evangelical Christians intent on denying teenagers access to sensible advice.
So yep, another typical morning. An hour into the school day and my hackles were rising. It was then that a fragile young girl came to my desk as the others worked away, and lisped to me that she had a rash that was very worrying. It does always seem that those with coughs, colds, sneezes and diseases have to tell me about it in extremely close proximity, to give the germs maximum opportunity to leap into my oesophagus.
“Y-e-e-e-e-s?” I replied, always uncertain what to say to the afflicted, but trying to guess what she wanted me to say.
“I’m really scared,” she whispered, drawing her rash-ridden body closer as I visibly flinched. “My friend had the same thing, and she said it’s equine flu. It’s serious, isn’t it?”
Yes, the reply, “It is if your name is Red Rum” was on the tip of my tongue, but instead I sent her to the school nurse, to brighten up the nurse’s day as well. The girl trotted back ten minutes later with a note for me, and went back to her place. It must be difficult being a school nurse these days, because there’s not a lot that can be done beyond essential first aid, what with all the allergies to everything from sticking plasters to aspirin. Luckily, our nurse has invested in a wonderful placebo spray that manages to cure almost everything, and this sufferer of equine flu had been duly squirted.
I unfolded the note and read its contents. “Don’t mean to alarm you,” the scribble read. “But the sex-ed rubber penis is missing. If you hear anything, let me know!”
Personally I had my suspicions. Was it just a coincidence that the uptight evangelical Christian teacher was absent too?
added 3/3/06
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