Even though I spend 60 hours a week here, I'm still invisible!

Yes, yes, we know. The life of a student teacher, of a grad student, of an intern. What does one expect. The principal doesn't know who you are. The students are reluctant to anything you say, especially once you take the place of one of their favorite teachers. Yes, yes, we know.

Still, why not bitch about it. Why not?

When I was here planning my lessons and grading essays during spring break, I'd noticed something different about my office. My office, where the three of us live--me, another student teacher who has been here for a month or two and is leaving next week, and the leader of the new student/teacher program at CHS. In our office, which is a third size of a classroom, decent size, really. I have pictures of you (probably) hung up in here, my orange-ish lamps with beads from Pier 1, framed poems on the wall, my Book-It button complete with all five stars, a picture of Elvis, the print out of the shit-mobile and a cartoon child smoking and a bird with a gun. I like it in here, except for my crappy computer (meaning, my laptop) and the shit chair. If there was a window, I wouldn't complain, and there's not one, but I'm still not complaining.

Anyway. I'm here on Friday and I come in after being gone for the week of spring break fun, and I can't help but notice--I can't help but--that there are five school desks now crammed into my office. There really isn't space for 5 school desks, but these desks are put in the walking space areas of the office, so one has to maneuver around them. A labyrinth of fun! A labyrinth of fuck you.

I assumed they were just using my office for storage. They had these extra desks, they didn't have anywhere to put them, whatevs. It sucks, and my office looks like a closet, but whatever.

Then after teaching yesterday, I come into my office and there's a woman sitting at one of the big teacher desks and there's a student sitting in one of the student desks. I say, inquisitively, hi? and the woman at the desk--she shssssss me. She shhhhss me. In my office. She says, shhh, she's taking a test and then she points to the student.

I don't even know what to do, but the sense of violation and annoyance is on par with the situations in life that either involve my sister or my mother. You guys. She shhhhed me.

Nevermind the fact that I keep all of my valuables (and delicates!) in the office, or that anyone asked me if they could turn it into a testing center. I mean, who cares, right? The program lady is never here, and the other student teacher hangs out in the other teacher offices. Who cares? It's just me, wanting to email inappropriate shit to Christina and Jenny all day while listening to some Cat Stevens. I'm just some useless intern, who got a phone call last night about not getting the job she interviewed for, where the man on the other end mentioned the word experience at least 10 times, as in, well, it's just that I don't think you have enough experience, you just aren't experienced, and the person we're going to hire, well that person has experience. I think you gave a great interview, it's just that with more experience, you could have a job with us. EXPEEERIENCE.

He didn't say that last part, but it would've been kind of funny if he had--like in Super Troopers when he doesn't say meow enough times.

MEOW.

Not to mention that I've been working here since August, this year, and taught Comp for three years, so someone to tell me I have no expeeeeerience as a teacher makes me want to throw up.

Anyway, Mr. O., the protector of his intern, is taking care of the desk situation. But I still get to feel like a big piece of shit. I still at least get that.