Staff room gossip
I went back to the high school again for a second shift on Wednesday. I didn't go early morning because I had a dissection from 9 AM to 11 AM, looking at the foot and the leg and all the chubby little muscles in there.
I arrived at the school bang in the middle of the third lesson and joined a year 8 class that was doing some sort of boiling experiment.
After that I just loitered around in the staff room, making a powerpoint show for another teacher.
At lunchtime, all of the teachers in the science department shuffled in and sat around the table, devouring the chocolates that one of the trainee teachers had brought. The kinds of things they talk about in the staff room.. it's just surreal! The conversation skimmed from one topic to another with the teachers all describing how they got "hammered" on such and such night or venting their feelings about particular kids at the school like, "Oh I absolutely hate X" or "Z is so melodramatic!" or gossiping about particular kids like, "X is camp as Christmas!"
About that last one, the teacher who said that was pissing herself laughing. She then described to everyone how at some sort of school dance, the boy she was telling us about cried because she made him dance with a girl and he wanted to dance with a certain other boy.
When I described this to my flatmates, they didn't seem very surprised. Dunno.. is this the way schools work in Britain? Maybe I was too naïve to notice, but my teachers never talked about kids like that. Or maybe they did. Maybe someone noticed I was camp as Christmas. Would've been hard to, though. I was a quiet kid, kept my complaints to myself.
In other news, I just recently watched the new Angelina Jolie film, Changeling. It's well nice.. the best I've seen in a while, actually. She could've used a little less lipstick but that's not what matters. I can't imagine how a person can live with the memory of a lost child. I'd probably lose my mind if any of my sisters got lost or brutally killed. Moving film, honestly. If it doesn't make you well up, it'll prob'ly make you grind your teeth at the police officers in the film.
Last day of term tomorrow.
I arrived at the school bang in the middle of the third lesson and joined a year 8 class that was doing some sort of boiling experiment.
After that I just loitered around in the staff room, making a powerpoint show for another teacher.
At lunchtime, all of the teachers in the science department shuffled in and sat around the table, devouring the chocolates that one of the trainee teachers had brought. The kinds of things they talk about in the staff room.. it's just surreal! The conversation skimmed from one topic to another with the teachers all describing how they got "hammered" on such and such night or venting their feelings about particular kids at the school like, "Oh I absolutely hate X" or "Z is so melodramatic!" or gossiping about particular kids like, "X is camp as Christmas!"
About that last one, the teacher who said that was pissing herself laughing. She then described to everyone how at some sort of school dance, the boy she was telling us about cried because she made him dance with a girl and he wanted to dance with a certain other boy.
When I described this to my flatmates, they didn't seem very surprised. Dunno.. is this the way schools work in Britain? Maybe I was too naïve to notice, but my teachers never talked about kids like that. Or maybe they did. Maybe someone noticed I was camp as Christmas. Would've been hard to, though. I was a quiet kid, kept my complaints to myself.
In other news, I just recently watched the new Angelina Jolie film, Changeling. It's well nice.. the best I've seen in a while, actually. She could've used a little less lipstick but that's not what matters. I can't imagine how a person can live with the memory of a lost child. I'd probably lose my mind if any of my sisters got lost or brutally killed. Moving film, honestly. If it doesn't make you well up, it'll prob'ly make you grind your teeth at the police officers in the film.
Last day of term tomorrow.