What is this, the Czech Republic?
I had a student cheat on a quiz by copying from her neighbor. I know this because it also happened to be the most ridiculous wrong answer to the question..."the finale of movement 2" of Beethoven's 9th. She bombed the quiz anyway (i.e., in addition to this). To her credit, she didn't copy everything her neighbor wrote...probably because she couldn't read all of it.
I also had a disturbingly xenophobic moment last night, or rather a period from about 1:30 on when I twice spoke to a nurse? in after-hours care about Bubla's fever and stridorous (choking-like) breathing/general state of physical freakout. I found myself wishing she'd speak with less of an accent, because I felt like I had to repeat myself twice and ask her to repeat everything as well. (Then there was the fact that she seemed to get ever so slightly testy with me by asking me to actually describe all of his symptoms so she could "help me," which of course I was in the process of doing.) When I finally talked to the doctor, it was a half hour later. The doctor said the wrong person had been paged first, and (the following may in fact explain the delay) that my son has a low-grade fever. "High grade," I corrected her dispassionately. The nurse/operator, as it turned out, had written down 100.4 instead of 104. I didn't think Bubla was in any danger (I just wanted to make sure there was nothing more I could be doing to help him breathe easier and thus actually have a chance at sleeping). Still, by now I was actively wishing the person who'd first picked up the phone hadn't been "an Asian" with dubious English skills. All this coming from a fucking immigrant girl who used to say "smile" when she meant "smell" and "guilt" when she meant "quilt" (and that last one was on purpose, no less). I still pronounce the L in Salmon half the time. It's scary what kind of misplaced aggression a late-night sick kid episode can bring out. Yuck.
I also had a disturbingly xenophobic moment last night, or rather a period from about 1:30 on when I twice spoke to a nurse? in after-hours care about Bubla's fever and stridorous (choking-like) breathing/general state of physical freakout. I found myself wishing she'd speak with less of an accent, because I felt like I had to repeat myself twice and ask her to repeat everything as well. (Then there was the fact that she seemed to get ever so slightly testy with me by asking me to actually describe all of his symptoms so she could "help me," which of course I was in the process of doing.) When I finally talked to the doctor, it was a half hour later. The doctor said the wrong person had been paged first, and (the following may in fact explain the delay) that my son has a low-grade fever. "High grade," I corrected her dispassionately. The nurse/operator, as it turned out, had written down 100.4 instead of 104. I didn't think Bubla was in any danger (I just wanted to make sure there was nothing more I could be doing to help him breathe easier and thus actually have a chance at sleeping). Still, by now I was actively wishing the person who'd first picked up the phone hadn't been "an Asian" with dubious English skills. All this coming from a fucking immigrant girl who used to say "smile" when she meant "smell" and "guilt" when she meant "quilt" (and that last one was on purpose, no less). I still pronounce the L in Salmon half the time. It's scary what kind of misplaced aggression a late-night sick kid episode can bring out. Yuck.