Last week I was honoured.
It was proof that I had arrived in New Zealand society, such as it is.
I had noticed that some of my colleagues had forgotten my contact numbers, and when they went off sick, they found that they couldn't contact me. I had given them all a little bit of paper with all my details, but the dozy sods had misplaced them or to be fair, the flimsy bit of paper had disintegrated.
|Number? You have a number? Don't want it.|
So I re-composed the information (Geordie Lad had noticed that the school telephone number was wrong. Over 70 dedicated teachers e.g. control freaks, hadn't noticed this rather vital datum for over 3 months. Well done Geordie Lad.) and gave it to our school office to see if they could laminate them, but our clever K**** suggested "Why don't you get some business cards made up" so she gave them to N******, who with the approval of our business manager printed off a couple of hundred.
So I have my own School Business Card.
I felt so full of self-importance that for a giddy moment I actually identified with Ringo, and I had to spend the next 5 minutes bashing my head against the wall until the feeling went away. It hurt, but it was worth it.
The cards are rather natty, and after distributing them to the staff, I still have a pile in my little office to give to new relieving teachers. I also made up a few extra to slip into the pile, just to give me a little amusement.
I think I deserve it.
After all I've got a card.