Friday, January 17, 2014

I Really Do Like My Job, But Some Days I Like It Better Than Others

Sweet Gummi Mary! The day after a full moon, and a surprise noontime snowfall to boot, not to mention it being the last day of the semester. I am frazzled. Oh, for the simple days of presenting a lesson, having a discussion, passing out guided practice, and grading the work from the previous class.

Of course I had about two students per class who had been absent, and had to take the final exam today. Then there we a few crashing the deadline for make-up work which I generously had offered to accept in order to salvage a credit for those running short of time to graduate.

Schedule changes are a-comin' Monday. I'm losing a couple, and gaining a couple more. Books to collect, books to check out.

Plan time was monopolized arguing with NOT MY insurance company. Or so they say. That's their story and they're stickin' to it, even though they give a different reason every time. I'm going to join Barnum and Bailey as a hoop-jumper. Maybe I'll let my beard grow, partake of some extra snacks, and become a triple threat.

The kids were all hyped up like they actually were served a nutritious lunch. "Look! It's snowing! Are we going home? We need to go home. It's getting slick. That's what I heard from the cadet teachers. When they pulled onto the parking lot, it was slick! What? I know it's slick with just rain. But this is snow! What do you mean, it's not on the road? Look out front. Yeah. Sure. That IS the parking lot. But the road has to be slick, too. I don't care if you can see it and it's bare. Somewhere not in front of the school, roads are slick. They need to let drivers go home now. I won't drive. Roads are slick. My mom will come get me. So all drivers should get to leave."

Oh, and just to make sure I kept working right down to the wire, a half-time graduator popped in to ask me to sign her yearbook. While I was in the middle of contacting the principal who wanted an update on a senior's final grade, the final of which he finished with ten minutes to spare on this last day of the semester.

I can't believe people begrudge us our summers...


Sioux said...

Oh, you can't fool me. You loll around ALL summer (all June and July, that is) and engage in much-needed mental health activities--like recreational readin' and writin' those stories you submit.

You can't fool me. And you probably intersperse that readin' and writin' activities with some bon-bon eating and some idiot-box watching.

And all this while you're getting paid? You edjacaters should get paid by the hours you work--from August to May, and end it there.

So there.

Hillbilly Mom said...

Guilty as charged. Except the pay. We will never get paid by the HOURS we work. Imagine punching a time clock! That would add up to more than our payers think.

As "recent" ago as 1988, we WERE paid from September to May. Then the school decided that we had to have our salary spread over 12 months instead of 10.

Sorry, Madam, but you shall have to spread your thinly-veiled misinformation in another venue.

Kathy's Klothesline said...

I would never begrudge you the summer! You earned it. I know this because those kids swim here in the summer. I am thankful that my "semester" does not equal yours!

Hillbilly Mom said...

The kids are the least of the headaches! Our hard-core ibuprofen-inducers have been summarily parceled out to the proper venues, leaving us with our regulars, 99% of whom are as placid as California cows.