Last July, I was required to move classrooms. A new non-specialist (and Deputy Head) teacher was joining my department, and it was decided that it would be better if he was in the main corridor, and I could move to a classroom on the other corridor. To say that I was unhappy about this was an understatement, but the tears eventually stopped and I looked at it as a positive move.
The move itself, however, was not a positive experience...
I had to wait until the Summer Holidays - yes my precious 6 weeks of freedom - to move my stuff into my new classroom. But I accepted it, needs must and all that.
I hated my new classroom at first, I was so far away from the rest of my department (for most of the week); but I then grew to love my new classroom, I was so far away from the rest of my department... for most of the week - I grew to hate Thursdays and Fridays, because I had company next door. I had grown to love my solitude.
So imagine my horror, when I was informed that I was moving back to my old classroom! My precious solitude - gone... the freedom to blast my music - gone! I did NOT want to move back - but the worst was yet to come...
Remember that I told you how I had to wait until the Summer Holidays to move classrooms, well apparantly things are different if you have children. Yes, children, the snotty-nosed-get-out-of-jail-free cards.
One of the job-sharers moving into my classroom had previously given birth to two of these snotty-nosed-get-out-of-jail-free cards. So this apparantly meant that she cannot possibly be expected to come in during the Summer Holidays and move stuff... no, no, no! Now she lives 5 minutes drive from school, I live 25 minutes drive away from school, but I don't drive! So I actually have a 60 minute, two bus, journey to and from school. But it is unthinkable for her to come into school during the Summer Holidays, and perfectly reasonable for me to.
So I get given a deadline, I have to have all of my stuff moved out one week before the end of school. I explained that I will probably be unable to meet said deadline, but that did not deter the two new occupants of my current classroom...
Move Day (or Sports Day, as everyone else saw it)...
Picture the scene, teenagers changing for Sports Day (their last Sports' Day in fact, as they're year 10), and in comes the job-sharers. I felt like someone who was months behind on their rent, as they started removing my stuff from cupoards, so that they could move their stuff in. As they ordered members of my half-dressed tutor group to move folders, boxes and textbooks to my new/old classroom; I could hear "hit the road Jack, and don't you come back, no more, no more, no more, no more..." echo through my mind as steam blew from my ears. How dare they? Where the Hell do they get off?
I had to spend the day supervising for Sports Day, they were meant to as well, but again having the snotty-nosed-get-out-of-jail-free cards seem to relieve certain people of the normal duties of their job role. So after a long day of supervising, I had the joyous time of moving my stuff that had been dumped on various tables into cupboards. I unlocked the cupboards, using the keys that had been returned to me less than two days before, to find stuff. Not my stuff, stuff belonging to the non-specialist who had been using my room. The same non-specialist who was told to clear out his stuff and give me the keys weeks ago, the same non-specialist who had far-exceeded HIS deadline! Was he repeatedly nagged and bullied into moving his stuff? No! Was he forcefully removed? No!
Summer Holidays have started and his stuff is still there cluttering my classroom. He's a Deputy Head, he has an office, he doesn't need storage space in MY classroom.
But he will keep...
People ask me "how can you be a secondary teacher, teenagers are so rude?" My answer after this episode: "the teenagers are delightful in comparison to some of the adults that I'm forced to work with!"
Thursday, 28 July 2011
Wednesday, 1 June 2011
Get here..... if you can!
Don't get me wrong, I love living in London. I also love the fact that we will be hosting the olympics next year, and I understand that this means disruptions to travel as necessary improvements are made. This doesn't curb my frustrations from the last two days though...
Tuesday - Shopping in Oxford Street
Admittedly, it has been a long time since I have been through London Victoria during daylight hours.... and it will be a long time before I do it again! Talk about chaos! Certain exits and escalators cannot be used - is this clearly signposted? No! Are there idiotic tourists getting in your way? Yes!
You're lost, you're confused, I understand that... but do not stop in front me! Or worse - stop and get out your map, decide that you have gone the wrong way, and then after blocking me for five minutes push past me to continue your journey!
I finally got to Oxford Circus and thought I could relax and get into shopping mode. No such luck, because Oxford Circus is also undergoing "improvement works", and before I can experience the retail joys that Oxford Street has to offer, I have to navigate my way out of the station.
Luckilly, for TfL (Transport for London) staff, my return journey was far less stressful. A lot longer, but less stressful. I decided to avoid Oxford Circus and London Vicky altogether and go home via Bond Street and London Bridge - aah, the good ol' jubilee line, you never let me down - well not on weekdays anyway!
Wednesday - Returning to my East London roots (brap, brap!)
TfL workers and Boris Johnson can breathe a sigh of relief, as my fury today is not aimed at them. I could have travelled via London Victoria again, but why put myself through that torment when I could experience the delight that is the London Overground service. If you haven't tried it, I can thoroughly recommend it, it is pure bliss!
So what was it that sparked my fury? An idiotic cab driver. I phoned for a cab to transport me to my nearest overground station, a company that I frequently use for its prompt and reliable service. I'm waiting outside and get a phone call from an unknown number.
It's the cab driver: "yes, I'm here"
Me: "Where are you? I'm standing outside and cannot see you"
Cabbie: "I'm here, at X building"
Me: "But if you're here, I would see you"
Cabbie: "I can't see you"
Me: "because you're not here!"
Cabbie: "come out onto the road"
Me: "I'm on the road, if I was more on the road I would be dancing in the traffic!"
I waited for almost 50 minutes - he never showed up!
So what lessons have I learned? Avoid London Victoria at all costs (until January/February 2012); and to pray daily for the serenity, to accept the fact that I am surrounded by idiots!!!
Tuesday - Shopping in Oxford Street
Admittedly, it has been a long time since I have been through London Victoria during daylight hours.... and it will be a long time before I do it again! Talk about chaos! Certain exits and escalators cannot be used - is this clearly signposted? No! Are there idiotic tourists getting in your way? Yes!
You're lost, you're confused, I understand that... but do not stop in front me! Or worse - stop and get out your map, decide that you have gone the wrong way, and then after blocking me for five minutes push past me to continue your journey!
I finally got to Oxford Circus and thought I could relax and get into shopping mode. No such luck, because Oxford Circus is also undergoing "improvement works", and before I can experience the retail joys that Oxford Street has to offer, I have to navigate my way out of the station.
Luckilly, for TfL (Transport for London) staff, my return journey was far less stressful. A lot longer, but less stressful. I decided to avoid Oxford Circus and London Vicky altogether and go home via Bond Street and London Bridge - aah, the good ol' jubilee line, you never let me down - well not on weekdays anyway!
Wednesday - Returning to my East London roots (brap, brap!)
TfL workers and Boris Johnson can breathe a sigh of relief, as my fury today is not aimed at them. I could have travelled via London Victoria again, but why put myself through that torment when I could experience the delight that is the London Overground service. If you haven't tried it, I can thoroughly recommend it, it is pure bliss!
So what was it that sparked my fury? An idiotic cab driver. I phoned for a cab to transport me to my nearest overground station, a company that I frequently use for its prompt and reliable service. I'm waiting outside and get a phone call from an unknown number.
It's the cab driver: "yes, I'm here"
Me: "Where are you? I'm standing outside and cannot see you"
Cabbie: "I'm here, at X building"
Me: "But if you're here, I would see you"
Cabbie: "I can't see you"
Me: "because you're not here!"
Cabbie: "come out onto the road"
Me: "I'm on the road, if I was more on the road I would be dancing in the traffic!"
I waited for almost 50 minutes - he never showed up!
So what lessons have I learned? Avoid London Victoria at all costs (until January/February 2012); and to pray daily for the serenity, to accept the fact that I am surrounded by idiots!!!
Monday, 30 May 2011
Regrets, I've had a few (...but probably not what you expect)
About a year ago, I was in a dilemma over a guy, lets call him Bert. Basically there was a drunken flirtation, which could have led to something, but me being my usual dense self didn't realise until days later.
I regretted not doing anything at the time - another missed opportunity - especially since I had no means for contacting this guy. So I did what any normal psycho would do... tracked him down on facebook!
Aah facebook and the endless stalking opportunities that it provides...
After maintaining about four days of facebook surveillance, I decided to send him a message:
"I may be wrong about this but i keep thinking that you asked to come back to mine last friday. If you did and I said no, I hope you didn't take it personally. It's not you (I actually think you're quite fit), I'm just not that sort of girl. If you didn't and this is just a figment of my drunken imagination, please ignore this message (which i will deny sending anyway)"
Now most people reading this are probably cringing for me, but I don't regret this. I can actually read this message and laugh, and actually feel a sense of growth....as this is A LOT less psycho than a previous escapade
Different guy and sober flirtation, but still my usual dense self. With this guy, lets call him Ernie, I met him exactly once, at least I had spent some time with Bert before the drunken night of almost-debauchery. Anyway, after a couple of hours of sober flirtation, I realised that another opportunity had been missed.
He said: "Maybe I will see you here again"
My response: "I only usually come here once a year"
DUH! This I regret! And any normal person will regret what followed - correction, no normal person would do this!
Firstly, I found him on facebook, which was quite easy as he has an unusual name. But he had like government-level security settings, you couldn't poke or send a message, not even add as a friend. Plus there was no access to any information, just an out-of-focus pic and his name.
After months of facebook surveillance, in the vain hope that he would change his settings, I got creative. Facebook is not the only web-based stalking tool. I'm not going to reveal my methods - do you seriously want more psycho internet-based stalking activities? But I found his address - crazy enough I know, but I actually used it, to write to him. That's a whole bucketful of crazy right there. He then emailed back, I took this as a good sign. However, the main purpose of his email seemed to be to enquire: "how (the hell) did you get my address?" I should have taken this as a sign that maybe my contact had frightened him somewhat, and that it would probably be a good idea to dial down the crazy. No, honesty is the best policy, lets relay to my frightened stalkee the extreme lengths I have gone to. His response - a polite reply, which contained his intention to never return to London again... I think that might be code for "I have taken a restraining order out on you, you raving lunatic!"
I do not regret this though, in fact it is a running joke between myself and a select few.
So yes, I have a few regrets, but it has consistently been the things I haven't done, the missed opportunities. The things that I have done, no matter how certifiable, I haven't regretted and (so far) they have caused me no harm. So my advice to you, embrace your inner crazy... but I'm clearly insane, so only you can decide whether you're mad enough to follow that advice.
I regretted not doing anything at the time - another missed opportunity - especially since I had no means for contacting this guy. So I did what any normal psycho would do... tracked him down on facebook!
Aah facebook and the endless stalking opportunities that it provides...
After maintaining about four days of facebook surveillance, I decided to send him a message:
"I may be wrong about this but i keep thinking that you asked to come back to mine last friday. If you did and I said no, I hope you didn't take it personally. It's not you (I actually think you're quite fit), I'm just not that sort of girl. If you didn't and this is just a figment of my drunken imagination, please ignore this message (which i will deny sending anyway)"
Now most people reading this are probably cringing for me, but I don't regret this. I can actually read this message and laugh, and actually feel a sense of growth....as this is A LOT less psycho than a previous escapade
Different guy and sober flirtation, but still my usual dense self. With this guy, lets call him Ernie, I met him exactly once, at least I had spent some time with Bert before the drunken night of almost-debauchery. Anyway, after a couple of hours of sober flirtation, I realised that another opportunity had been missed.
He said: "Maybe I will see you here again"
My response: "I only usually come here once a year"
DUH! This I regret! And any normal person will regret what followed - correction, no normal person would do this!
Firstly, I found him on facebook, which was quite easy as he has an unusual name. But he had like government-level security settings, you couldn't poke or send a message, not even add as a friend. Plus there was no access to any information, just an out-of-focus pic and his name.
After months of facebook surveillance, in the vain hope that he would change his settings, I got creative. Facebook is not the only web-based stalking tool. I'm not going to reveal my methods - do you seriously want more psycho internet-based stalking activities? But I found his address - crazy enough I know, but I actually used it, to write to him. That's a whole bucketful of crazy right there. He then emailed back, I took this as a good sign. However, the main purpose of his email seemed to be to enquire: "how (the hell) did you get my address?" I should have taken this as a sign that maybe my contact had frightened him somewhat, and that it would probably be a good idea to dial down the crazy. No, honesty is the best policy, lets relay to my frightened stalkee the extreme lengths I have gone to. His response - a polite reply, which contained his intention to never return to London again... I think that might be code for "I have taken a restraining order out on you, you raving lunatic!"
I do not regret this though, in fact it is a running joke between myself and a select few.
So yes, I have a few regrets, but it has consistently been the things I haven't done, the missed opportunities. The things that I have done, no matter how certifiable, I haven't regretted and (so far) they have caused me no harm. So my advice to you, embrace your inner crazy... but I'm clearly insane, so only you can decide whether you're mad enough to follow that advice.
Wednesday, 25 May 2011
A Pregnant Pause
Travelling home from work on the bus and I overheard a mobile phone conversation (what did we do for travel entertainment before mobile phones and the ability to eavesdrop on one side of a conversation and imagine how the other side is going? Highly entertaining if your imagination is anything like mine!)
Anyway, a young woman was on the phone and exclaimed "I've never been so happy to get my period!" I didn't need to hear anything more to know exactly what the conversation was about, and also to understand how she was feeling. Many women reading this have probably gone through the same thing, where you feel like dancing triumphantly through the streets because you have your period. Meaning that the thing you have been dreading for days has thankfully been dodged!
For those of you lucky enough to not have experienced this, let me give you the benefits of my experience...
Mine started earlier than most, lets just say that there was a "contraception mishap", so there was a slight worry at the time. But my bedmate assured me that there was no risk, so I forgot about it.... that was until my period was due, and didn't come.
Two days late... it's probably stress, work has been manic!
Five days late... work is crazy, my routine has gone haywire, it has probably affected my cycle!
Six days late... I must have counted my days wrong, I must be due tomorrow. No, I've counted right. No, this can't be happening! Out and about, I'm seeing babies everywhere, and I swear that they're looking at me, like they somehow know. This is driving me nuts, well more nuts than usual!
Seven days late... Ok this is serious, I have never been this late before. I find myself googling "early signs of pregnancy". Weirdly, one sign is a constant need to pee - because in the first couple of weeks of pregnancy, the womb starts to expand in preparation and presses on the bladder in the process. I'm someone who can usually hold it quite well, but not recently. Ohmigod, I think I am. Ok, if I don't come on tomorrow, I will buy a test.
Eight days late... Still no period - why is this happening to me?!? I buy the test, from the supermarket. The supermarket? Really? Of all the places! But it's done, and I conveniently hide it in my trolley under my work bag. Well, what if I bump into someone? If I am, I can't keep it. So people can't know! So glad I hid it, as I do bump into not one, but two people. I get the test home, without anyone seeing thanks to my stealth skills, and just stare at it. After all that, I can't even bring myself to take the test. I'm too scared to.
Nine days late.... I have been to the toilet more than ten times since buying the test - still can't face taking it. I reason to myself that there's nothing I can do about it (if I am pregnant) before the weekend. So I will take the test on Friday night - yes, I know how to party!
Ten days late.... I'm so tired - crap, that's another early sign, an overwhelming feeling of fatigue. I start googling local abortion clinics and reading about the procedure. I can't keep it, but can I really go through with an abortion?
Eleven days late... I'm convinced that I'm pregnant, and it's all I can think of. I can't focus on my work, I'm a total space cadet. Go to the toilet - can't believe I need to go again, damn you increasing womb! But all my Christmases have come at once, oh sweet relief! "Yes!" I exclaim gleefully, outloud, in my work toilets. Yes, 'cause that's not weird. Hope no one else is in here, or if there is that no one heard that. For the rest of the day, I can't stop smiling. People probably think I'm on drugs, I'm smiling so manically! I don't care. I'm not pregnant. I couldn't be happier. I feel like I can press play on my life again!
Anyway, a young woman was on the phone and exclaimed "I've never been so happy to get my period!" I didn't need to hear anything more to know exactly what the conversation was about, and also to understand how she was feeling. Many women reading this have probably gone through the same thing, where you feel like dancing triumphantly through the streets because you have your period. Meaning that the thing you have been dreading for days has thankfully been dodged!
For those of you lucky enough to not have experienced this, let me give you the benefits of my experience...
Mine started earlier than most, lets just say that there was a "contraception mishap", so there was a slight worry at the time. But my bedmate assured me that there was no risk, so I forgot about it.... that was until my period was due, and didn't come.
Two days late... it's probably stress, work has been manic!
Five days late... work is crazy, my routine has gone haywire, it has probably affected my cycle!
Six days late... I must have counted my days wrong, I must be due tomorrow. No, I've counted right. No, this can't be happening! Out and about, I'm seeing babies everywhere, and I swear that they're looking at me, like they somehow know. This is driving me nuts, well more nuts than usual!
Seven days late... Ok this is serious, I have never been this late before. I find myself googling "early signs of pregnancy". Weirdly, one sign is a constant need to pee - because in the first couple of weeks of pregnancy, the womb starts to expand in preparation and presses on the bladder in the process. I'm someone who can usually hold it quite well, but not recently. Ohmigod, I think I am. Ok, if I don't come on tomorrow, I will buy a test.
Eight days late... Still no period - why is this happening to me?!? I buy the test, from the supermarket. The supermarket? Really? Of all the places! But it's done, and I conveniently hide it in my trolley under my work bag. Well, what if I bump into someone? If I am, I can't keep it. So people can't know! So glad I hid it, as I do bump into not one, but two people. I get the test home, without anyone seeing thanks to my stealth skills, and just stare at it. After all that, I can't even bring myself to take the test. I'm too scared to.
Nine days late.... I have been to the toilet more than ten times since buying the test - still can't face taking it. I reason to myself that there's nothing I can do about it (if I am pregnant) before the weekend. So I will take the test on Friday night - yes, I know how to party!
Ten days late.... I'm so tired - crap, that's another early sign, an overwhelming feeling of fatigue. I start googling local abortion clinics and reading about the procedure. I can't keep it, but can I really go through with an abortion?
Eleven days late... I'm convinced that I'm pregnant, and it's all I can think of. I can't focus on my work, I'm a total space cadet. Go to the toilet - can't believe I need to go again, damn you increasing womb! But all my Christmases have come at once, oh sweet relief! "Yes!" I exclaim gleefully, outloud, in my work toilets. Yes, 'cause that's not weird. Hope no one else is in here, or if there is that no one heard that. For the rest of the day, I can't stop smiling. People probably think I'm on drugs, I'm smiling so manically! I don't care. I'm not pregnant. I couldn't be happier. I feel like I can press play on my life again!
Saturday, 21 May 2011
creeps and weirdoes
I realised when I was quite young that I had a "talent" for attracting weirdoes... I could be out with a group of friends, and the clearly socially-inept freak that everyone was avoiding would always single me out for their very own brand of special attention. In my youthful innocence, I was always polite, not wanting to upset and offend... this usually resulted in being plagued by unwanted attention!
As I grew older, and my sarcasm and cynicism developed (the sarcasm more than the cynicism), I learnt that I had to be cruel to be kind - as in I had to be cruel to them in order to be kind to myself! So I armoured myself with a wide variety of blunt and sarcastic comments, which has often worked to great effect. But this is a prevention and not a cure, and so I have often questioned "why me? why do these freaks always single me out for attention?" The modal answer (most popular answer - for the non-Maths whizzes) has consistently been:
"Your warm smile and friendly nature....they view you as someone too kind to reject their advances!"
So what now? Do I go around with a gloomy look, the typical trademark look of all londoners?
Plus add to that a new dimension to this dilemma, what if the freak is someone you work with?
This is my current predicament. I say work with, we don't work together, just in the same place. So I've gone back to being polite, because I don't want to get a reputation as a bitch. But he seriously creeps me out...
So what should I do? This is the thought that has been keeping me awake this week, and any advice would be very gratefully received...
As I grew older, and my sarcasm and cynicism developed (the sarcasm more than the cynicism), I learnt that I had to be cruel to be kind - as in I had to be cruel to them in order to be kind to myself! So I armoured myself with a wide variety of blunt and sarcastic comments, which has often worked to great effect. But this is a prevention and not a cure, and so I have often questioned "why me? why do these freaks always single me out for attention?" The modal answer (most popular answer - for the non-Maths whizzes) has consistently been:
"Your warm smile and friendly nature....they view you as someone too kind to reject their advances!"
So what now? Do I go around with a gloomy look, the typical trademark look of all londoners?
Plus add to that a new dimension to this dilemma, what if the freak is someone you work with?
This is my current predicament. I say work with, we don't work together, just in the same place. So I've gone back to being polite, because I don't want to get a reputation as a bitch. But he seriously creeps me out...
So what should I do? This is the thought that has been keeping me awake this week, and any advice would be very gratefully received...
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