Wednesday, September 26, 2007
Dr. Jones gets Her Milk
The lady who sued for extra time to nurse her baby and pump milk during the medical boards received her extra time. The extra day with an extra 45-minute break wasn't enough, according to the appeals court. Comments welcomed.
Tuesday, September 25, 2007
The Black Straw Man
If you make too much money to qualify for government assistance, don't blame your situation on your mistaken notion that blacks are grabbing up all the assistance money.
When you make $4500 a month, but you spend $3000 on house payments, it's not the black man's fault that you're broke. Common sense should tell you that putting 2/3 of your income on any one expense is a foolish idea.
Or if you take home $5000 a month, but you owe $2500 to Visa and you've got a $75000 boat docked at the lake, and you're still making payments, it's not the black guy's fault that the government won't give you $200 bucks toward your winter gas bills. Your spending habits suck.
Man up, look at your ledger, and do what you have to do to get by. (Yes, I'm telling you to sell the boat, pay off the balance, get Visa off your back and STOP BLAMING THE BLACK MAN!!!)
Finally, if you live in Wisconsin, don't assume that minorities take the lion's share of government assistance. For my particular organization, the bulk of our funds go to white families. In all of the counties my office serves and all but one county in Wisconsin, the overwhelming majority of clients are white. In the county that covers Madison and its suburbs, white clients outnumber black clients by more than 20 percent.
For the source of your money problems, look in the mirror.
When you make $4500 a month, but you spend $3000 on house payments, it's not the black man's fault that you're broke. Common sense should tell you that putting 2/3 of your income on any one expense is a foolish idea.
Or if you take home $5000 a month, but you owe $2500 to Visa and you've got a $75000 boat docked at the lake, and you're still making payments, it's not the black guy's fault that the government won't give you $200 bucks toward your winter gas bills. Your spending habits suck.
Man up, look at your ledger, and do what you have to do to get by. (Yes, I'm telling you to sell the boat, pay off the balance, get Visa off your back and STOP BLAMING THE BLACK MAN!!!)
Finally, if you live in Wisconsin, don't assume that minorities take the lion's share of government assistance. For my particular organization, the bulk of our funds go to white families. In all of the counties my office serves and all but one county in Wisconsin, the overwhelming majority of clients are white. In the county that covers Madison and its suburbs, white clients outnumber black clients by more than 20 percent.
For the source of your money problems, look in the mirror.
Random Thoughts for Tuesday
1. Disabled daughter does not equal paycheck.
I have strong feelings about the importance of helping the poor and elderly, yet I do not have much sympathy for a mother who applies for low-income assistance because the only money she takes in is the $400 per month she receives for a daughter with a disability who attends school.
This is artificial, self-induced poverty and you should not expect a payout for watching Days of Our Lives.
2. Yes, you should write it down. Whatever it is, write it down.
3. Accept the possibility that the reason ____________ didn't work out is that you messed up. Either you messed up now or earlier, but it really could be your fault.
4. The electricity bill is not a random piece of paper. Don't recycle it until you've paid it (or written down the amount. . .)
I have strong feelings about the importance of helping the poor and elderly, yet I do not have much sympathy for a mother who applies for low-income assistance because the only money she takes in is the $400 per month she receives for a daughter with a disability who attends school.
This is artificial, self-induced poverty and you should not expect a payout for watching Days of Our Lives.
2. Yes, you should write it down. Whatever it is, write it down.
3. Accept the possibility that the reason ____________ didn't work out is that you messed up. Either you messed up now or earlier, but it really could be your fault.
4. The electricity bill is not a random piece of paper. Don't recycle it until you've paid it (or written down the amount. . .)
Friday, September 21, 2007
No Time for Milk, Dr. Jones
A Boston Globe story talks about a Harvard Med Student who has sued to get an additional hour added on to her 45 minute break during the medical boards. A judge (male) denied her request, saying she could take the test now and pass, despite her condition, or she could schedule the test for after she no longer needs to pump.
The medical board says that breast feeding is not a recognized disability and not a reason for additional time. She's appealing, but the boards are Monday. What's gonna happen?!!
But here's what's already happened: The board already gave her an extra day to take the exams because she suffers from dyslexia and ADHD. She'll get a 45 minute break each day, along with permission to bring her pump into the testing room and a private room to pump in.
So, who's being unreasonable?
Here's a blog about breast feeding:
http://www.momsfeedingfreedom.com/index.php/home/blog/
The medical board says that breast feeding is not a recognized disability and not a reason for additional time. She's appealing, but the boards are Monday. What's gonna happen?!!
But here's what's already happened: The board already gave her an extra day to take the exams because she suffers from dyslexia and ADHD. She'll get a 45 minute break each day, along with permission to bring her pump into the testing room and a private room to pump in.
So, who's being unreasonable?
Here's a blog about breast feeding:
http://www.momsfeedingfreedom.com/index.php/home/blog/
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
A Show of Hands, Please
When you hear the words "porcine, pre-bypass Bill Clinton," what gestures come to mind?
Mommas Don't Let your Babies Grow Up to be. . .
Don't curse your kid from birth. Avoid naming your girls any of the following:
1. Denise
2. Tonya (or Tanya)
3. Melissa
4. Janelle
5. Laura
6. Lori
7. Heather
8. Lisa
9. Nicole
10. Betty
11. Any variation of Deborah
12. Michelle.
Be warned.
1. Denise
2. Tonya (or Tanya)
3. Melissa
4. Janelle
5. Laura
6. Lori
7. Heather
8. Lisa
9. Nicole
10. Betty
11. Any variation of Deborah
12. Michelle.
Be warned.
Don't Tase Me, Bro
**These are not some great revelations I've had, but rather what everyone is thinking. I think**
John Kerry was giving a talk in Florida and during the Q and A, a young guy who'd drunk waaay too much coffee beforehand met the business end of the Thomas A. Swift Electric Rifle (TASER). While watching the incident on youtube, I couldn't really figure out who to blame for the situation getting out of hand. Here are some thoughts, though:
1. Dude did not observe decorum. Now I'm not such a huge stickler for the rules that I support tasing people who step out of line--lord knows I've dropped A at the wrong place and wrong time and walked away tase-free. But I do think it's obnoxious to take over the mic at a town hall event or a lecture. If you were so important, they'd have invited you to talk. Ask a question, move along. That's the routine. Dude did not follow the routine.
Dude also brought props, a book critical of Kerry's hasty concession of the 2004 election, and announced his intention to ask 2 more questions, presumably in the same loud, high-pitched, and spastic voice. These questions, I'm sure, would have been more incoherent babbling without an argument or a question.
He clearly planned to jack move Kerry and soak up a couple minutes of the limelight. I don't care if he wants to clown Kerry, but I'd prefer him to be intelligent and brief. Unfortunately, he was neither. I really don't mind that security cut the mic and pulled him away.
Finally, Dude resisted. He pushed, shoved, and shouted, and, once on the ground, kicked and swung wildly, screaming all the while. Congrats, Dude, you just kicked and screamed your way into the gray area where a tasing is probably still excessive but defensible. "Don't tase me, bro!"?
Bro? There's no same-team benefit, here, Dude. They want you to shut the hell up and get the hell out. He ain't your bro, and he's gonna tase your ass if you don't calm down and shut up.
2. Campus cops overreacted. You don't need to tase a dude at a lecture series event unless he's a danger to himself or others. The only danger that guy posed was to the eardrums of the other people in attendance. Yeah, he was creating a sideshow, but so what?
Douchebaggery is not a tasable offense in my book. Drag the guy out. But he kicked and swung? So? The five of you should be able to take out a skinny college kid. Plus, kicking and swinging doesn't constitute enough of a threat to justify a tasing.
Houston Police Department got a lot of bad PR last year because someone recorded and leaked the agonized cries of a man tased by some trigger happy cops on the east side. This incident happened just after a guy became a statistical anomaly and died from a tasing.
The constable was then forced to clarify the HPD position on tasings. According to him, the TASER should be used in lieu of deadly force. That's right, use the TASER instead of the revolver. Use the nightstick or approved holds to subdue. Would the cops be justified in shooting the man to pacify him? No, of course not. By that logic, no tasing either.
3. Kerry and the crowd were sheep. Why didn't Kerry or the other attendees tell dude to shut up and get off the mic?
I attended a distinguished lecture series event featuring F.W. de Klerk, the former South African President who, along with Nelson Mandela, abolished apartheid and won a Nobel Peace Prize. During that event, there were two incidents similar to the Dude's above: one woman got on the mic and bashed de Klerk for five minutes, in Afrikaans.
De Klerk translated and addressed her concerns (which were really intense--where are my brothers? You jailed them.). Then, when she tried to go on and on, he interrupted her and said, "This is a public forum and you've had your five minutes. Please let the next person speak." And she sat down.
Then a young guy stood up on his seat and shouted, "You should be in jail! You're a murderer! Tens of thousands of people are dead at your hands!" The crowd turned on that guy and he was shamed into silence by shouts of "Wait your turn!" and "Shut up and let him talk about it!"
De Klerk looks at dude and says, You have just accused me of very serious crimes, but I could barely understand you because of all your shouting. Next time, you'll do your cause better by not appearing to be a lunatic in public. Then he talked about whether he was a murderer.
While he spoke, the President of the university found the young guy and pulled him aside to talk to him. No tasing necessary. When speakers and the crowd handle their biz, people don't get tased.
Kerry? He hemmed and hawed kinda told the campus police to let him handle it. Then, just prior to the zapping, says, "I'll, uh, I'll answer the question."
There are several lessons to learn here:
1. Don't be a jackass at a public forum
2. Don't get all adrenalined up and reach for the TASER
3. If you're the speaker, handle the crowd. If you're the crowd, handle the hecklers.
Now back to work.
John Kerry was giving a talk in Florida and during the Q and A, a young guy who'd drunk waaay too much coffee beforehand met the business end of the Thomas A. Swift Electric Rifle (TASER). While watching the incident on youtube, I couldn't really figure out who to blame for the situation getting out of hand. Here are some thoughts, though:
1. Dude did not observe decorum. Now I'm not such a huge stickler for the rules that I support tasing people who step out of line--lord knows I've dropped A at the wrong place and wrong time and walked away tase-free. But I do think it's obnoxious to take over the mic at a town hall event or a lecture. If you were so important, they'd have invited you to talk. Ask a question, move along. That's the routine. Dude did not follow the routine.
Dude also brought props, a book critical of Kerry's hasty concession of the 2004 election, and announced his intention to ask 2 more questions, presumably in the same loud, high-pitched, and spastic voice. These questions, I'm sure, would have been more incoherent babbling without an argument or a question.
He clearly planned to jack move Kerry and soak up a couple minutes of the limelight. I don't care if he wants to clown Kerry, but I'd prefer him to be intelligent and brief. Unfortunately, he was neither. I really don't mind that security cut the mic and pulled him away.
Finally, Dude resisted. He pushed, shoved, and shouted, and, once on the ground, kicked and swung wildly, screaming all the while. Congrats, Dude, you just kicked and screamed your way into the gray area where a tasing is probably still excessive but defensible. "Don't tase me, bro!"?
Bro? There's no same-team benefit, here, Dude. They want you to shut the hell up and get the hell out. He ain't your bro, and he's gonna tase your ass if you don't calm down and shut up.
2. Campus cops overreacted. You don't need to tase a dude at a lecture series event unless he's a danger to himself or others. The only danger that guy posed was to the eardrums of the other people in attendance. Yeah, he was creating a sideshow, but so what?
Douchebaggery is not a tasable offense in my book. Drag the guy out. But he kicked and swung? So? The five of you should be able to take out a skinny college kid. Plus, kicking and swinging doesn't constitute enough of a threat to justify a tasing.
Houston Police Department got a lot of bad PR last year because someone recorded and leaked the agonized cries of a man tased by some trigger happy cops on the east side. This incident happened just after a guy became a statistical anomaly and died from a tasing.
The constable was then forced to clarify the HPD position on tasings. According to him, the TASER should be used in lieu of deadly force. That's right, use the TASER instead of the revolver. Use the nightstick or approved holds to subdue. Would the cops be justified in shooting the man to pacify him? No, of course not. By that logic, no tasing either.
3. Kerry and the crowd were sheep. Why didn't Kerry or the other attendees tell dude to shut up and get off the mic?
I attended a distinguished lecture series event featuring F.W. de Klerk, the former South African President who, along with Nelson Mandela, abolished apartheid and won a Nobel Peace Prize. During that event, there were two incidents similar to the Dude's above: one woman got on the mic and bashed de Klerk for five minutes, in Afrikaans.
De Klerk translated and addressed her concerns (which were really intense--where are my brothers? You jailed them.). Then, when she tried to go on and on, he interrupted her and said, "This is a public forum and you've had your five minutes. Please let the next person speak." And she sat down.
Then a young guy stood up on his seat and shouted, "You should be in jail! You're a murderer! Tens of thousands of people are dead at your hands!" The crowd turned on that guy and he was shamed into silence by shouts of "Wait your turn!" and "Shut up and let him talk about it!"
De Klerk looks at dude and says, You have just accused me of very serious crimes, but I could barely understand you because of all your shouting. Next time, you'll do your cause better by not appearing to be a lunatic in public. Then he talked about whether he was a murderer.
While he spoke, the President of the university found the young guy and pulled him aside to talk to him. No tasing necessary. When speakers and the crowd handle their biz, people don't get tased.
Kerry? He hemmed and hawed kinda told the campus police to let him handle it. Then, just prior to the zapping, says, "I'll, uh, I'll answer the question."
There are several lessons to learn here:
1. Don't be a jackass at a public forum
2. Don't get all adrenalined up and reach for the TASER
3. If you're the speaker, handle the crowd. If you're the crowd, handle the hecklers.
Now back to work.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Bureaucratic Excuse
A few housekeeping items before my random thought of the morning:
1. I was testing the waters with the school stories and I appreciate the feedback I've gotten. I will write more, a lot more, actually, but not until after I'm finished with the LSAT and applications. So, if you've been waiting, settle in, relax, and do something else for the next month.
2. A Nebraska man sued God yesterday, citing his failure to stop egregious flooding. When asked how the county would serve God his papers, the man replied with something like, personal service is unnecessary because God is omnipotent; he knows he stands accused. I personally like it when people get all biblical and shit. Good job, Nebraska man! (Now hunker down because the rain sure ain't gonna stop now. . .).
3. Omaha steaks is having a giant sampler sale. 70 bucks for a months' worth of meat. If you like steak, pork chops and hotdogs, check out the website, and meat up.
And now, the bureaucratic excuse. I was assisting a gentleman who was helping his father get an application. During our conversation, the man let on that his father does not live in his home, but in a nursing home that is taking all of his pension and social security.
The problem, though, is this: we can't assist an empty house. Someone has to be living in it. After checking with my boss, I tell him to call his county office to see whether they will allow him to apply despite not residing there. The man is clearly unhappy.
He asks, "It IS income based, right?" Yes, sir. "And he makes $45 after the nursing home takes from his pension and social security. So he qualifies for your service, DOESN'T HE!"
When I explain, again, that I am uncertain if he can apply if he does not live in his home and that he'll have to ask the county for a definitive answer, he tells me, "Well, that just sounds like a bureaucratic excuse!" After a few more assurances on my part, he hangs up.
A few thoughts on this, geared toward getting the results you want:
1. Listen to what the person is saying, even if you think you won't like it. For the purposes of the conversation, they are the expert and you are the learner. You will learn more about the services provided, and, if you're smart, find loopholes in what they're telling you.
If dude had paid attention, he would have found a very easy and legal loophole, but he was too busy trying to take the man to task. Don't blame the "bureaucracy" or accuse the person of making excuses. Just listen, and try to understand.
2. Don't be rude or yell at the guy or gal on the phone. They are the ones who will be able to help you if help is available. This goes even if the guy or gal is rude to you first. If they are rude to you, just ask to speak to a supervisor.
You'll get nowhere by yelling. In fact, you'll actually be worse off because even if the person on the phone is rude to you first, they will note your belligerence on your file, which will follow you around in all your interactions with that company. That means they'll be less willing to bend to help you now and in the future. And that is the very least that will happen.
I hate to admit it, but not everyone is as nice as me and my coworkers here. While most people who work phones genuinely want to help, some are complete asses who wouldn't think twice about hitting the wrong key or trashing your file if you piss them off. Are there a lot of those types? No. Is there a chance you could talk to one? Yes, and I'm playing the odds of not pissing off the guy with my social security and bank account numbers on his screen.
So before you ask for a supervisor, check yourself. Are you being an ass? Are YOU being rude? The person on the other end of the phone is human, too, and just like you, they don't want to help a jerk. If you're being a jerk, don't expect help. Someone spread a rumor about fifteen years ago, something about a customer always being right. They were lying. If you yell, you automatically become the asshole, even if you have cause.
3. Be honest. Don't try to lie about your situation or qualifications. If yelling MIGHT get you blackballed, lying will definitely get you hosed for life. If you have a complicated situation, explain it. Or, if you're not comfortable explaining it over the phone, ask how you could meet with someone in person.
But don't lie. Don't say you live somewhere when you don't. Don't say you're the account holder when you're not. Don't lie about how much you make or how many kids you have. This is common sense, but even a little nonsense makes your situation grave. Just be honest.
1. I was testing the waters with the school stories and I appreciate the feedback I've gotten. I will write more, a lot more, actually, but not until after I'm finished with the LSAT and applications. So, if you've been waiting, settle in, relax, and do something else for the next month.
2. A Nebraska man sued God yesterday, citing his failure to stop egregious flooding. When asked how the county would serve God his papers, the man replied with something like, personal service is unnecessary because God is omnipotent; he knows he stands accused. I personally like it when people get all biblical and shit. Good job, Nebraska man! (Now hunker down because the rain sure ain't gonna stop now. . .).
3. Omaha steaks is having a giant sampler sale. 70 bucks for a months' worth of meat. If you like steak, pork chops and hotdogs, check out the website, and meat up.
And now, the bureaucratic excuse. I was assisting a gentleman who was helping his father get an application. During our conversation, the man let on that his father does not live in his home, but in a nursing home that is taking all of his pension and social security.
The problem, though, is this: we can't assist an empty house. Someone has to be living in it. After checking with my boss, I tell him to call his county office to see whether they will allow him to apply despite not residing there. The man is clearly unhappy.
He asks, "It IS income based, right?" Yes, sir. "And he makes $45 after the nursing home takes from his pension and social security. So he qualifies for your service, DOESN'T HE!"
When I explain, again, that I am uncertain if he can apply if he does not live in his home and that he'll have to ask the county for a definitive answer, he tells me, "Well, that just sounds like a bureaucratic excuse!" After a few more assurances on my part, he hangs up.
A few thoughts on this, geared toward getting the results you want:
1. Listen to what the person is saying, even if you think you won't like it. For the purposes of the conversation, they are the expert and you are the learner. You will learn more about the services provided, and, if you're smart, find loopholes in what they're telling you.
If dude had paid attention, he would have found a very easy and legal loophole, but he was too busy trying to take the man to task. Don't blame the "bureaucracy" or accuse the person of making excuses. Just listen, and try to understand.
2. Don't be rude or yell at the guy or gal on the phone. They are the ones who will be able to help you if help is available. This goes even if the guy or gal is rude to you first. If they are rude to you, just ask to speak to a supervisor.
You'll get nowhere by yelling. In fact, you'll actually be worse off because even if the person on the phone is rude to you first, they will note your belligerence on your file, which will follow you around in all your interactions with that company. That means they'll be less willing to bend to help you now and in the future. And that is the very least that will happen.
I hate to admit it, but not everyone is as nice as me and my coworkers here. While most people who work phones genuinely want to help, some are complete asses who wouldn't think twice about hitting the wrong key or trashing your file if you piss them off. Are there a lot of those types? No. Is there a chance you could talk to one? Yes, and I'm playing the odds of not pissing off the guy with my social security and bank account numbers on his screen.
So before you ask for a supervisor, check yourself. Are you being an ass? Are YOU being rude? The person on the other end of the phone is human, too, and just like you, they don't want to help a jerk. If you're being a jerk, don't expect help. Someone spread a rumor about fifteen years ago, something about a customer always being right. They were lying. If you yell, you automatically become the asshole, even if you have cause.
3. Be honest. Don't try to lie about your situation or qualifications. If yelling MIGHT get you blackballed, lying will definitely get you hosed for life. If you have a complicated situation, explain it. Or, if you're not comfortable explaining it over the phone, ask how you could meet with someone in person.
But don't lie. Don't say you live somewhere when you don't. Don't say you're the account holder when you're not. Don't lie about how much you make or how many kids you have. This is common sense, but even a little nonsense makes your situation grave. Just be honest.
Friday, September 14, 2007
Committee on Committees
It was time for my fifteen minute break and so I escaped to the outdoors with my banana to take a walk. I rounded the corner and nearly bumped into an older guy walking down from his porch to his truck. He stepped back, just avoiding the "Impeach Bush" and "Let your light shine: Vote Peace!" signs perched in his front lawn.
His appearance is worth mentioning: short, squat (but not fat), older. The most striking thing was his coke-bottle glasses and pure white hair that fell over his denim jacket in a ponytail. He spoke first:
"It's a beautiful day! So beautiful we couldn't figure out anything to bitch and moan about. So we formed a committee."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So now we bitch and moan about the committee. Did you know the city of Madison has a committee on committees?"
I said I didn't and open-mouth laughed, despite having half a banana jammed in there.
"You take care now, neighbor!" he said and hopped into his little blue Toyota pick up and drove off.
It was time to go back to work, so I chomped down the last of the banana and headed back. God I love this city.
His appearance is worth mentioning: short, squat (but not fat), older. The most striking thing was his coke-bottle glasses and pure white hair that fell over his denim jacket in a ponytail. He spoke first:
"It's a beautiful day! So beautiful we couldn't figure out anything to bitch and moan about. So we formed a committee."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. So now we bitch and moan about the committee. Did you know the city of Madison has a committee on committees?"
I said I didn't and open-mouth laughed, despite having half a banana jammed in there.
"You take care now, neighbor!" he said and hopped into his little blue Toyota pick up and drove off.
It was time to go back to work, so I chomped down the last of the banana and headed back. God I love this city.
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
Before the Big Day, part 2
The day before, Saturday, was supposed to be the day all the bits and pieces of plans I'd made over the summer came together. Seating charts, grouping arrangements, sequence of objectives, the classroom routines, forms and first day activities and everything down to the placement of the date on the chalkboard was to be set and ready to go on Saturday. Well, actually, I had wanted to be done on Friday, but a couple of snags made that impossible.
We'd spent the first part of the week in professional development sessions and department meetings. As a new teacher, all this new information fascinated me. Strangely, my coworkers didn't seem fascinated. They didn't even take notes! Their faces didn't betray any one reaction, but ranged from bored to hostile, and I made a mental note to figure out why.
At the end of Tuesday's last meeting, the principal announced that all classrooms would be locked until Friday at 2:30, at which time we'd have 45 minutes to set them up before the building would be locked. The reason: we'd be performing team-building exercises at a local camp for the disabled for the next two days. As he made his announcement, the faces of the faculty all soured at the same time.
No mental note needed on this one. Sure, rope swings and balance beams have their place in education, but at this point, I didn't even know if I had a computer in my classroom. Why did we need to build team when we should be building classroom libraries?
Two days later, we returned from the camp, ostensibly better acquainted and more trusting of one another. The trip was a qualified success: I got to watch a science teacher pretend to fall from a rope course forty feet above the ground. My coworkers--completely forgetting that he wore a harness--gasped and shouted and ran toward his landing spot just as he grabbed for the rope to stop his fall. He clambered back onto the ropes and laughed maniacally as the PE teachers threatened to dismember him if he ever came near the gym. Unity.
After de-busing, all the veteran teachers headed to their rooms to hang up their posters, arrange their paper clips and write the first day's objectives on the board. For some reason, though, the key to my classroom couldn't be found, and before we could locate it, forty-five minutes were up and the "official school time" was telling us to leave. I hadn't even seen the room yet, and I was a bit, let's say, frustrated. Not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, the principal apologized and told me and a friend to come in Saturday at 8 a.m. to set up our classrooms.
After waking up to an already-blistering 85 degree sun, we cruised down the avenue to school and were greeted by an empty parking lot enclosed by a fence with a locked gate. Hmmm, I thought, this doesn't look very open. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding.
Rather than wait it out, we decided to make the first of what would be many trips to the Dunkin Donuts nearby. There are going to be setbacks, I reminded myself, things beyond your control. There's a reason why these schools have the greatest need. Nonetheless, I was pumped to head back and get things going. As I chomped on my donuts, the frustrations of this morning and the previous week yielded to the restorative powers of coconut flakes and vanilla frosting.
When we returned to school, the gate was open and we pulled in. Clutching our teacher bags and dragging our crates-on-wheels behind us, we trudged to the doors and tugged. Locked. We pounded for several minutes and finally a custodian let us in and unlocked our classroom doors for us. Things were finally looking up. Then I stepped into my classroom for the first time.
We'd spent the first part of the week in professional development sessions and department meetings. As a new teacher, all this new information fascinated me. Strangely, my coworkers didn't seem fascinated. They didn't even take notes! Their faces didn't betray any one reaction, but ranged from bored to hostile, and I made a mental note to figure out why.
At the end of Tuesday's last meeting, the principal announced that all classrooms would be locked until Friday at 2:30, at which time we'd have 45 minutes to set them up before the building would be locked. The reason: we'd be performing team-building exercises at a local camp for the disabled for the next two days. As he made his announcement, the faces of the faculty all soured at the same time.
No mental note needed on this one. Sure, rope swings and balance beams have their place in education, but at this point, I didn't even know if I had a computer in my classroom. Why did we need to build team when we should be building classroom libraries?
Two days later, we returned from the camp, ostensibly better acquainted and more trusting of one another. The trip was a qualified success: I got to watch a science teacher pretend to fall from a rope course forty feet above the ground. My coworkers--completely forgetting that he wore a harness--gasped and shouted and ran toward his landing spot just as he grabbed for the rope to stop his fall. He clambered back onto the ropes and laughed maniacally as the PE teachers threatened to dismember him if he ever came near the gym. Unity.
After de-busing, all the veteran teachers headed to their rooms to hang up their posters, arrange their paper clips and write the first day's objectives on the board. For some reason, though, the key to my classroom couldn't be found, and before we could locate it, forty-five minutes were up and the "official school time" was telling us to leave. I hadn't even seen the room yet, and I was a bit, let's say, frustrated. Not wanting to start things off on the wrong foot, the principal apologized and told me and a friend to come in Saturday at 8 a.m. to set up our classrooms.
After waking up to an already-blistering 85 degree sun, we cruised down the avenue to school and were greeted by an empty parking lot enclosed by a fence with a locked gate. Hmmm, I thought, this doesn't look very open. Surely there had been some kind of misunderstanding.
Rather than wait it out, we decided to make the first of what would be many trips to the Dunkin Donuts nearby. There are going to be setbacks, I reminded myself, things beyond your control. There's a reason why these schools have the greatest need. Nonetheless, I was pumped to head back and get things going. As I chomped on my donuts, the frustrations of this morning and the previous week yielded to the restorative powers of coconut flakes and vanilla frosting.
When we returned to school, the gate was open and we pulled in. Clutching our teacher bags and dragging our crates-on-wheels behind us, we trudged to the doors and tugged. Locked. We pounded for several minutes and finally a custodian let us in and unlocked our classroom doors for us. Things were finally looking up. Then I stepped into my classroom for the first time.
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
Just a tid-bit.
Yesterday the lady friend was kind enough to swing by the office and pick up a one-sentence letter authorizing her to pick up my paycheck. When she went to the front desk, the CE told here that no one with my name works here.
The lady friend texted me later, saying the CE was bitchy and didn't even know my name. I conciliated her, telling her that my not working there was really only a mild exaggeration, considering how much time I spend on this interweb.
Yesterday the lady friend was kind enough to swing by the office and pick up a one-sentence letter authorizing her to pick up my paycheck. When she went to the front desk, the CE told here that no one with my name works here.
The lady friend texted me later, saying the CE was bitchy and didn't even know my name. I conciliated her, telling her that my not working there was really only a mild exaggeration, considering how much time I spend on this interweb.
Monday, September 10, 2007
Before the Big Day
** Fyi, This did not happen recently, but at the start of my teaching experience about two years ago**
When I woke up, something gnawed at the back of my stomach. I don't usually wake up feeling sick, so I tried to think what could have caused the mild sensation of nausea that greeted me that Sunday morning.
"Oh, yeah," I thought, "school starts tomorrow."
I hadn't really forgotten. After all, this was the big day, the first of many shovel-fulls of knowledge that I would pour into the achievement gap. I had been trained to relish this first day and to let my zeal for learning bubble over into the classroom, to bring the passion.
But as I stood up, noticing the heat in my room was already stifling, a different sensation hit me. While I recognized this new feeling, I certainly wasn't happy about it.
I hadn't had a panic attack in years, not since I had to hide from a snoopy landlord who didn't approve of unmarried couples cohabiting. Dizziness had snuck up on me, and, without my realizing it, I had spent five hours under a blanket, hyperventilating.
In the abstract, I was extremely excited about the first day of school. But now, with the actual staring me down, I felt a numbness behind my eyes, and as I walked down the carpeted stairs thick with dust--who had time to clean when the fate of 150 kids was on the line?-- the old feeling of numbness spread from my eyes, down my throat to my torso, where it met the nausea. I ran to the bathroom.
When I left the restroom, I went to the kitchen to make some oatmeal. I looked at the clock on the microwave: 11:30. I had slept exactly 5 hours more than I had wanted to. The plan was to wake up at 6:30, do some kind of exercise, and make copies of my day one forms and activities. According to the plan, I'd be done by noon and ready to relax and get to bed early.
The plan was off. Never mind the fact that I overslept and got sick and was filled with dread; I had a much bigger problem: I had no activities for the first day. No forms for the kids to take to mom and dad. No lesson plans. There were less than 24 hours before the first day of class, and I had nothing.
When I woke up, something gnawed at the back of my stomach. I don't usually wake up feeling sick, so I tried to think what could have caused the mild sensation of nausea that greeted me that Sunday morning.
"Oh, yeah," I thought, "school starts tomorrow."
I hadn't really forgotten. After all, this was the big day, the first of many shovel-fulls of knowledge that I would pour into the achievement gap. I had been trained to relish this first day and to let my zeal for learning bubble over into the classroom, to bring the passion.
But as I stood up, noticing the heat in my room was already stifling, a different sensation hit me. While I recognized this new feeling, I certainly wasn't happy about it.
I hadn't had a panic attack in years, not since I had to hide from a snoopy landlord who didn't approve of unmarried couples cohabiting. Dizziness had snuck up on me, and, without my realizing it, I had spent five hours under a blanket, hyperventilating.
In the abstract, I was extremely excited about the first day of school. But now, with the actual staring me down, I felt a numbness behind my eyes, and as I walked down the carpeted stairs thick with dust--who had time to clean when the fate of 150 kids was on the line?-- the old feeling of numbness spread from my eyes, down my throat to my torso, where it met the nausea. I ran to the bathroom.
When I left the restroom, I went to the kitchen to make some oatmeal. I looked at the clock on the microwave: 11:30. I had slept exactly 5 hours more than I had wanted to. The plan was to wake up at 6:30, do some kind of exercise, and make copies of my day one forms and activities. According to the plan, I'd be done by noon and ready to relax and get to bed early.
The plan was off. Never mind the fact that I overslept and got sick and was filled with dread; I had a much bigger problem: I had no activities for the first day. No forms for the kids to take to mom and dad. No lesson plans. There were less than 24 hours before the first day of class, and I had nothing.
Friday, September 7, 2007
Think Big
I just finished laying out my study plans for the weekend for my coworker (She asked. What a nice lady.). After all was added up, I had blocked out approximately 18 hours of studying to get done between now and Monday.
Eighteen hours. When I think about that number, it strikes me as completely nuts. Who studies for eighteen hours in two days? But then I think about my backlog of homework, my missed lesson from last night (burnout avoidance--took a long bath, cooked a good meal, and finished a novel), and the full-length diagnostic coming up on Sunday and suddenly 18 hours seems almost conservative. And I will do it.
Most people, I think, would just throw up their hands and say F-it. Then do maybe 4 hours, max, then go enjoy the gorgeous late summer weather or see a movie or whatever. For the purposes of this post, I'll call this "thinking small."
I have never really been able to think small. I try to make every day big. When I was teaching, I'd get up most mornings at 5 to work out, get to school by 6:30, make copies and set up class by 7:30, tutor kids or socialize for half an hour, and then start the day. After that, I'd do more work until 5 or so, at which point I'd get sick of being surrounded by tables, chairs, overheads and markers. Then I'd get home, cook and work again from about 7 or so until 9. Then I'd read a book or study LSAT for an hour, talk with the lady friend for a bit, then fall asleep on the phone around 10:45. Wake up and do it all over again.
The upside of keeping crazy hours and doing more than is comfortably possible in a day: you learn to maximize your time and make a lot happen. You are productive.
The downside: it's easy to become an over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived grouch. Missing last night's class was grouch-prevention. I've gotten 7 or 8 hours of sleep the last two nights and I feel like a new person. Maybe I should start thinking. . .medium.
Eighteen hours. When I think about that number, it strikes me as completely nuts. Who studies for eighteen hours in two days? But then I think about my backlog of homework, my missed lesson from last night (burnout avoidance--took a long bath, cooked a good meal, and finished a novel), and the full-length diagnostic coming up on Sunday and suddenly 18 hours seems almost conservative. And I will do it.
Most people, I think, would just throw up their hands and say F-it. Then do maybe 4 hours, max, then go enjoy the gorgeous late summer weather or see a movie or whatever. For the purposes of this post, I'll call this "thinking small."
I have never really been able to think small. I try to make every day big. When I was teaching, I'd get up most mornings at 5 to work out, get to school by 6:30, make copies and set up class by 7:30, tutor kids or socialize for half an hour, and then start the day. After that, I'd do more work until 5 or so, at which point I'd get sick of being surrounded by tables, chairs, overheads and markers. Then I'd get home, cook and work again from about 7 or so until 9. Then I'd read a book or study LSAT for an hour, talk with the lady friend for a bit, then fall asleep on the phone around 10:45. Wake up and do it all over again.
The upside of keeping crazy hours and doing more than is comfortably possible in a day: you learn to maximize your time and make a lot happen. You are productive.
The downside: it's easy to become an over-caffeinated, sleep-deprived grouch. Missing last night's class was grouch-prevention. I've gotten 7 or 8 hours of sleep the last two nights and I feel like a new person. Maybe I should start thinking. . .medium.
The CE
New job, new adventures. I work for a non-profit that helps people pay their utility bills during the winter. This is a pretty big help, considering that lows in the winter get to about -40 with the chill. No power or heat and the kids could die.
I'm a scheduler / preliminary screener. I ask five questions and give them a spot on the calendar. Also, I am sort of like a bartender in that I perform the unspoken but completely expected duty of listening to people's woes. Some woes are really really intense, and I don't want to get in to them right now.
But I do want to talk about a co-worker. We have a compulsive exaggerator (CE) in our midst. My first day at the office was spent shadowing the receptionists, listening to them handle callers and memorizing the script (five questions. . .). One of the receptionists left for a smoke break and came back giddy.
"Oh my god! That bike out back--the green one--it has like three boxes of ky jelly in the basket!"
You've already guessed that the green bike was the Green Speedster, but you're probably puzzled about the KY. Well, last week I worked on State St. at a bookstore. I parked my bike outside a Walgreens and sometime during the day last Friday, someone tossed a KY Jelly box--not the jelly, just the box--into my basket. I thought a couple of things, but my overwhelming urge was to laugh and keep it there as a reminder of the absurdity of people. So I did.
But the CE came running back in and make the above-mentioned loud proclamation for the entire front desk staff and lobby area to hear. S-eating grin on my face, I stood up and said, "I knew there was one in there, but I have no idea about the other two. Excuse me for a second."
There was only one box in the basket, and it was the same character-adding box I had decided to leave in there.
I left work late. Since I biked in, I had to change from work clothes to bike clothes and use the facilities and whatnot, and I rolled out at ten after five. As I walked toward the front door, I noticed five or so people in a meeting that appeared to be wrapping up.
I unlock the front doors and let myself out. As I walk toward my bike, I notice that someone from the meeting got up and re-locked the front doors.
The following day, the first thing my supervisor says to me is: "Did you leave the office at ten at night and leave the doors unlocked?"
I must have had a look on my face like she was taking a dump on the floor because she quickly added, "Because the girls at the front desk said you left really late and left the door unlocked when nobody was here. I didn't think you would do that, but. . ."
Even for a tall tale, leaving at 10 at night on my first day of work when my job cannot possibly be done past 5 makes no sense. Someone seeing me unlock the doors when no one was here makes no sense. But somehow I think it made sense for her. After all, she's a CE.
Saturday, September 1, 2007
On the Road Again
To celebrate a week of not using my car, I decided to ride my bike to the Fitchburg Panera using the Capitol City Trail (CCT). I had seen the route on the bike map, and even though the path veered off the normal city streets labeled in green and into the gray areas outside of town, I decided to give it a whirl. I was not disappointed. Before I headed out, I had a stutter start--left the bike lock at home.
After turning back and re-riding the two miles I had just covered, I set my bike up against the railing by the stairs and realized--stupidly, slowly--that I could adjust my seat to make it more comfortable. After angling the saddle down from the take-off angle to level cruising, I headed out for the trail.
The CCT rambles through several forest preserves, down small gullies and up through stands of pine trees. An hour later--fourteen miles down the trail--I popped out onto Fish Hatchery Road directly in front of Panera.
Right as the trail switches from Madison bikeways to state trail, I felt a sweet sense of euphoria, the kind I used to feel running down the Catfish Creek footpath at Mines of Spain. You feel like you've left everything behind and you round a bend and suddenly it's just you and all four directions. Today's ride was awesome.
After turning back and re-riding the two miles I had just covered, I set my bike up against the railing by the stairs and realized--stupidly, slowly--that I could adjust my seat to make it more comfortable. After angling the saddle down from the take-off angle to level cruising, I headed out for the trail.
The CCT rambles through several forest preserves, down small gullies and up through stands of pine trees. An hour later--fourteen miles down the trail--I popped out onto Fish Hatchery Road directly in front of Panera.
Right as the trail switches from Madison bikeways to state trail, I felt a sweet sense of euphoria, the kind I used to feel running down the Catfish Creek footpath at Mines of Spain. You feel like you've left everything behind and you round a bend and suddenly it's just you and all four directions. Today's ride was awesome.
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