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Tuesday 22 May 2012

Observations from the Chalkface



Observations from the perspective of experience, wisdom and a soul-searing cynicism.

Sitting in a corner of the staffroom, hiding behind a cup of coffee, the new teacher stares into space.  She looks tired.  Her face is drawn, cheekbones taut, eyes sunken, shoulders slumped.  She makes eye contact with no one.  Such exhausted isolation is not uncommon after a hard week of teaching, but this is only Monday.  I don't think she'll make it.


Loud, boisterous, flinging witticisms (at least he thinks they are witty) another new teacher makes his entrance to the staffroom.  You can almost see the opera cape flowing from his shoulders.  He's not as self-assured as many think.  He hides a core of fear and uncertainty behind a shield of bonhomie.  Burnout within 8 years.
Look at me

Engaging smile, slightly nervous but slowly gaining in confidence another newbie bounces in.  This one has a core of self-reliance.  He's not as fragile as the other.  This one will last.



An older teacher shuffles in, heading for the coffee like a smackhead for a fix. He needs the lift.  Worn down by awkward and difficult kids that he still wants to help.  Dispirited by inefficient management, ideological governments and ivory-tower educationalists, he still struggles on.

Danger.  Ringo

Ringo hurtles through the room, ignoring all and sundry,  They are far to beneath him to be noticed.  He's like an unguided missile powered by a hidden agenda.
(We say hidden, but we all know the outline.  Me first.)


Another oldster in the corner, wriggling comfortably in his chair.  Milo in his mug, and a broad smile on his face.  His pupils adore him.  He's firm, friendly, yet slightly aloof.  He sails through most days like one of the great ocean liners ploughing through the Atlantic.  But the smile isn't as broad as it was at the start of the day.  He'd been sent a pupil who had been difficult with another teacher's class.  After he'd arrived in his class, the kid had told him to "Go f*ck yourself".  He'd fought back the instant rage, and the impulse to grab the angry boy by the neck and shake some sense into him.  He knew the pupil.  He knew his home life was terrible.  He tried to understand. 


Outside the Deputy's room.  He sits staring into space. His face is drawn, his eyes sunken.  His legs in his threadbare shorts are like sticks of spaghetti.  He hasn't had any breakfast.  He has no lunch or money for food.  He couldn't sleep last night because it was so cold, and he had only one blanket.  He was hungry.  He was always hungry.  He was a bit sorry he'd told that fat old bloke to f*ck off.  He wasn't too bad, not like some of the others.  But he'd tried to be kind to him.  That wasn't enough. He was hungry for affection.  Some indication that someone, anyone really cared for him.


A lovely Polynesian girl strides past.  Eyes smile, spirits lift as she passes.  She's so full of life and youthful enthusiasm that it's almost tiring.  She has her eyes fixed firmly on the horizon.  She has an objective.  She has a plan to get there.  She'll succeed.

At the front office, three parents wait patiently to see the office ladies. 


The first has $10 in her hand.  She's here to put some cash into her boy's school printing account, so he can finish some research for a project.  It's her lunch money, but her boy comes first. 


The second just stares at the wall, mumbling sightly.  His eyes are spaced out.  The pupils are huge.  He smells. He's here for his boy, but can't remember why. 


The third is gagging from the smell of that bloke in front.  He's got an appointment with a Dean.  His daughter is getting bullied again.  He'd seen some of the texts and the Facebook comments.  He wanted to rip the little shits' heads off, saying things like that about his lovely girl.  He blamed the teachers.  Bunch of know-it-alls.  Allowing cell phones in school.  They were too soft on these bloody kids.  They needed a good hiding.



The boss sat behind his desk, his head in his hands.  The budget was strained to breaking point, the staff's morale was getting low, and the kids were getting restive.  On his desk was the latest missive from the Ministry.  His budget was going to be cut from next year.  The classes were going to get bigger, but he had to improve the school's results at the same time. 

Logical, wasn't it.

23 comments:

  1. I always wanted to know what happened in the staff room when I was at High School. Sounds like it's just as scary as BEING at High School (well my high school anyway...)

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. It is sometimes scary, but more often just depressing.

      Especially when Ringo zooms by on another mission of search and destroy (moral that is)

      Delete
  2. Being a teacher is a very worthy profession. Helping the young to achieve and grow is a noble thing. I know that I had teachers who moved and shaped me and that I was not grateful at the time, but I know better now.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. But did you go back and give them lots of money?

      Delete
    2. Of course he is cos his taxes are now paying for their pensions! (Or did unti they died).

      Delete
    3. Look VG, please don't dilute the sarcasm, I need every drop.

      Beware of Relief Co-ordinators; for they are subtle and quick to anger.

      Delete
  3. Replies
    1. Thanks Tracey. It was actualy Shackleford Hurtmore who left the first link, but I thought it was so good I cloned it.

      Delete
  4. At school I used to think the staff room was a place where they kept the alcohol and best drugs, where they sat playing poker for stolen lunch money as they sit bopping to their favorite music (Englebert Humperdink or something I expect)
    Maybe I was wrong, yeah..maybe?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. ah - that only hapens on Friday afternoon at end of week drinkies. The guitars come out too.
      W have a huge new fridge full of booz in our staffroom. Some days I just want to grab a Steinlager as I get my lunch box out of the twin fridge taht stores food next to it. I am usually ready for a Steinlager or Sav Blanc by then!
      Espeically after teaching 9F, although I am lucky I don't take 9C. THose teachers would drink the whole fridge if they could.

      Delete
    2. Tempo: Well, let me say that you're not wrong in your assumptions/fantasies. I remember when they announced that the drug squad was coming in with sniffer dogs to test the kids next day. I had to arrange cover for over 15 staff that morning.

      Englebert Humperdink? Nope. We still play a constantly repeating 8 track tape of Karen Carpenter.

      Delete
    3. VG: I don't mind the drinkies. Actually I insist on the little drinkies, but why in all the Hells of Horendous Hemorrhoids do Kiwis insist on playing their bloody guitars. Or even worse, ukeleles. Your 9C sounds like our old 10DK.

      Delete
  5. Great Post as usal TSB. Can relate to this one.
    Can I use it in my English class tommorrow as an Unfamiliar Text? It has lots of cool language features that I am trying to get my students to identify in unseen texts.
    (As in stories or prose - not texting like on a phone).

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Use it as you wish, just dont forget the ©.

      About a litre of Dewars per class set should cover it.

      Are you now telling me that you're teaching them the subtleties of English?

      What happened to straightforward C++ or SQL?

      Delete
  6. Now I know why I'm not a teacher...

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  7. Morning TSB. Not your most positive post. Where is the page 3 girl?

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. Morning Richard. I agree, and I'm sorry for the lack of positivity, but as I had just spent about 2 hours in the presence of Ringo, Dancing Bear and Pompous(Braces), I'm sure you'll understand.

      Seeing I'm getting so many other viewers and commentators on m'blog, I thought I'd try for a more restrained style. We are after all, pedagogues.

      Delete
  8. Teaching is not for everybody. Same thing with lion-taming in the circus. Same skill set.

    That was a really lovely character study. Get to work on a play that includes all of them. I can see you have it in you.

    ReplyDelete
    Replies
    1. I agree TUB, that teaching isn't for everyone, but at least lion tamers are allowed whips. We teachers someime dream of whips. *sigh, good times, good times*

      Thanks for the compliment and maybe I do have a book or a play in me, but the trouble is, if I try and write it using these characters, I'd probably end up with terminal depression.

      Delete

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