I told them that my conjunctivitis would feel better if I were at home with my eyes closed. Which was not untrue. I did, however, seriously need to avoid sitting in the back of the room where the Social Studies department was doing whatever they had to do -- they didn't know either -- and which I had nothing to do with other than being assigned there.
About three years ago, whoever was in charge of education in New Jersey decided that every teacher had to log 100 in-service hours over a five year period. I know when it started because it was one month after I completed a master's degree in education, which didn't count for shit as far as all this was concerned. Anyway, we have to hand in our log sheets for our permanent file at the end of every school year. School-sponsored in-service days count towards the total. That first year, even with graduate school over, I got about 110 hours. The next year, maybe 50 something. Last year, more like 20 or so. This year? Well, I've ditched practically every in-service day we've had, so I maybe have 3 hours. Not that it matters, because, of course, I was over the requirement in year one, and it's all crap anyway. By the time the five years are up, nobody will care and the state doesn't have the personnel to check it even if they did. Chalk up another one for the administration of public education.
The SCM was pretty horrified that I decided to go home sick before he got the chance to. And get this one:
The other day, he and Colleague and I were discussing our anticipated retirement dates. Now, I'm the youngest of the three of us, but I've been in this the longest, so as it turns out, Colleague is going first, then I will the next year, then the SCM the year after that. This is all starting in like 2008. Okay, so we've got it pretty much figured out, I got over the horror of ever working there without the Colleague, and we all go back to work. About 20 minutes later, the SCM comes over to my desk and says that since I'm planning to retire a year before he does, we'll have to talk about transitioning over (I'm in charge) before then.
I looked at him. We're talking about 2009, remember. And I said "Don't even bring that up again for years. I mean it. This isn't like putting on your jacket ten minutes before you leave (which he had done the day before.) This is like my mother being OCD and making everybody else live according to her compulsions." Okay, that's not a direct quote, although the first part is. I said, it's one thing to have shtick -- the polite word we used for my mother's problem -- yourself, but when it starts to overlap onto other people, it's got to stop. I've got enough problems; I don't need his. Anyway, I did say this in a kidding way and he laughed. The sick bastard. And really, I'd rather just walk out the door on June 25, 2009 and let him deal with it. But I can't do that and I know it.
2009. It sounds really far away, doesn't it?
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