They may be over for now, but exams are still very fresh in many minds. I'm not talking
about the pupils fretting over their futures whilst waiting for results later this month.
I'm talking about the damage that invigilation can do to the sanity of any teacher caught
for duty. It may seem bad enough when you’re the pupil, having given up valuable
socialising time to revise, only to find your mind goes blank as you slide into your seat
and rickety old desk, but at least there’s something to think about for the next couple
of hours. Invigilating in external exams just pips to the post the mind-numbing boredom
of after school staff meetings, although both share the same tendencies towards drooping
eyelids and clenched fists of frustration.
External exams require that the invigilators are just that – vigilant. Some wise guy thought the best way to do this was to refuse the invigilator any external stimulus, such as a book, and require that they spend the hour or so scanning the horizon of desks for pupils squinting at their neighbour’s paper, or texting an online database for help, or unfurling strips of paper from their pencil cases. What this wise guy failed to realise was that staring into the distance in a warm sports hall, with the scent of freshly cut grass almost disguising the smell of sweating teenagers and minty chewing gum, induces a kind of trance, where it is actually possible to sleep with your eyes open. I’m sure there are gurus on spiritual retreats in far-flung places who have strived for years to attain this kind of meditation, so I’m now pleased to reveal this short cut: an hour’s worth of invigilation duty and you too can achieve this strange state of semi-consciousness.
I believe that this is the reason teachers take to pacing the aisles between desks
with such fervour, peering at exam papers and the dandruff flaking on anxious scalps.
It’s not primarily to look for pupils cheating. It is, in fact, the only way to prevent
a total body shut-down. There are also reports of games that teachers can play during
invigilation periods, a few of which I will summarise here. Each game can be played by
two teachers.
The first can be called “Good kid or bad kid”. Player one stands by one of the pupils that they teach, and player two has to guess whether that child is good or bad, indicating their answer by using a pre-determined sign. If player two is correct, player one steps to the side of the hall and player two can move in to have their turn. The first player with ten correct guesses in a row is the winner, and the loser has to make their breaktime beverage.
The second game can be seen in action on Channel 4’s series Teachers. It involves giving out the most paper in the exam hall. Both players start off with equally sized piles, and the first one to get rid of their pile is the winner. There is inevitably cheating in this game, by giving out paper even to pupils who don’t need it, but if one player catches their opponent doing this, the cheater has forfeited the game.
A third suggestion for a game requires a little preparation in advance. Palm-sized pieces of paper bearing legends such as “most piercings”, “ugliest”, “thickest glasses”, “smelliest”, “most hair gel”, “most eye-liner” and so on can be taken in to the exam hall. The two players take it in turns to select a card from the top of the pile, then have two minutes to locate and stand by the pupil that best fits the description. A kinder variation could be to have a list of animals, with teachers seeking out pupils who most resemble a duck or a snake.
Whilst these games may well come in for criticism, they do allow the teachers to remain
mentally alert, and to cover great areas of the exam hall with efficiency. To play
invigilation games, you do need a willing partner. Unfortunately, you will probably find
yourself scheduled to work alongside some grumpy old git of a teacher who actually enjoys
the time where his only responsibility is dashing around the hall with an inflated sense
of self-worth, and flicking through the exam questions with a frown on his face as he
realises that he no longer knows enough to gain a GCSE in any subject outside of his own.
You'll just have to revert to counting bricks in the wall or scanning the graffiti on the
desks for any useful tid-bits about your colleagues.
The following contribution was sent to me by ilovesooty, not their real name I
suspect! If you are subjected to tedious meetings on a weekly basis, then why not make this
a half-termly challenge amongst your colleagues. Here's what our contributor wrote:
We weren't allowed to speak at staff meetings at my last school, so we used to amuse
ourselves by running sweeps on such things as the length of the Head's Update - the 50
minute guess took the spoils on the first occasion - or the number of times the Head said
OFSTED during the meeting (40 times in the first hour of a two hour meeting once).
He and SMT also used the same clichés on a regular basis:
etc., etc.
How I wish I'd discovered bullshit bingo in those days. You can adapt it to the
clichés used in your institution.
Make different boards featuring said clichés in different patterns.
Issue these to colleagues. When SMT utter one of the clichés, cross it off your board.
When you have a line, across, down diagonally, all four corners (depending on your choice
of board/rules) yell 'bullshit' at the top of your voice. Should liven up meetings,
though what it will do to your promotion prospects is another matter...
A great idea, and if you have any clichés that could possibly be cheesier than those sent in
by ilovesooty, I'd love to
hear them. I won't be holding my breath though. I think
some of those would take some beating!
added 3/8/04
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