The only one who emails me. But it still makes me feel good:
Hello, Jean, it's been awhile, and I must say, you still remain my favorite teacher. Maddie told me she saw you at that movie about that girl who's black, and fat. It saddens me that I wasnt there, however, I heard that movie wasnt that good. Toooooo sad. The reason Im sending this to you is because I just read that letter you wrote to me at the end of the year, you know, that one where you wrote more on mine than anyone else's, yeah that one. Well, thats the nicest thing that anyone has ever written about me. I can't not smile while Im reading it. Is that a double negative? But anyways, thank you for that. It makes me feel like a better person. I want you to come to my school play, I got one of the smaller leads in it. Its next thursday through saturday night. All of the shows are at 7:30 except on Saturday theres a matinee, we don't know what time that one is at yet though. It would be a blast to see you there. Oh, and if you think I care about the gas money youll be spending to come down here, or the cost of the ticket, I don't. You can go to century's website for more info. But tell me now Jean, how have you been?
Same shit, different outfit.
You don't give a shit about anyone but yourself. Not one single fuck.
Sunday, February 21, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
Waitresses are the most important people in the world.
Last night I found the Hutchinson equivalent to Mankato's Wagon Wheel Cafe. Not exactly the same, as the Wagon Wheel allowed smoking, closed at 4:00, had wall jukeboxes at every table, and charged a buck fifty for a fucking hamburger, but sort of close.
I mean, it was filled with old people. And by filled, I mean, there was me, and then there were four other people and those four other people were as old as oil.
And the waitress, the fantastic waitress, who smelled of perfume or hair spray that came from an 80s aeresol can, well she was fantastic. I was grading papers, and she kept saying hey, how's your studying going? And then when she forgot that the old people who'd just come in ordered cheeseburgers with fried onions--just like always--she said, Oh, I'm just so out of it, so dumb. Not like this one studying over here! And then she came up to me in the booth and put her arm around me and her stiff hair in my face. I loved her. I loved her and her old, white sweater with embroidered flowers. It was the sort of sad night to just love a waitress. She brought me hot fries. When she brought the au jus for my french dip, she didn't know what it was called, so called it dipping stuff. She refilled my diet three times. Went on and on and on about the types of pies they had when I inquired, and then about the cakes.
I graded 8 essays. While doing so, her parents came in. They discussed a phone call her daughter had gotten from a teacher at school. She'd said at one point, dad, remember how you said you'd give me that money if I just left him? She'd said at one point, I know I was supposed to do that, but I just--it's just that it's hard battling real depression.
They were closing soon.
She rang me up. She sighed. She said, Ugh, it's just been one of those damn days.
And I said, you bet.
Then the depressed waitress forgot to put the pie on my bill. Said, oh, it's just my fault and winked.
I mean, it was filled with old people. And by filled, I mean, there was me, and then there were four other people and those four other people were as old as oil.
And the waitress, the fantastic waitress, who smelled of perfume or hair spray that came from an 80s aeresol can, well she was fantastic. I was grading papers, and she kept saying hey, how's your studying going? And then when she forgot that the old people who'd just come in ordered cheeseburgers with fried onions--just like always--she said, Oh, I'm just so out of it, so dumb. Not like this one studying over here! And then she came up to me in the booth and put her arm around me and her stiff hair in my face. I loved her. I loved her and her old, white sweater with embroidered flowers. It was the sort of sad night to just love a waitress. She brought me hot fries. When she brought the au jus for my french dip, she didn't know what it was called, so called it dipping stuff. She refilled my diet three times. Went on and on and on about the types of pies they had when I inquired, and then about the cakes.
I graded 8 essays. While doing so, her parents came in. They discussed a phone call her daughter had gotten from a teacher at school. She'd said at one point, dad, remember how you said you'd give me that money if I just left him? She'd said at one point, I know I was supposed to do that, but I just--it's just that it's hard battling real depression.
They were closing soon.
She rang me up. She sighed. She said, Ugh, it's just been one of those damn days.
And I said, you bet.
Then the depressed waitress forgot to put the pie on my bill. Said, oh, it's just my fault and winked.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Welcome to Smalltown.
There are a number of things that make living in--let alone teaching in--this small town incredibly annoying.
First of all, Hutchinson is the perfect size for disaster. It's just large enough that it has its own major buildings. A crappy, old-people mall, a Target, an Applebee's, a hospital.
When I lived in Albertville, I never ran into people. In order to go get a decent amount of groceries, or laundry soap, people had to leave. Go to Rogers or Monticello. There was no doctor's office there. (There is now, but there wasn't before.) People in Albertville during the late 90s, early 00s didn't even shop at the Outlet Mall. They didn't really get it. I mean, I worked at Subway for two years, and very rarely a teacher came in. Albertville was small enough that nobody lived there. They travelled in from bigger towns nearby.
But not Hutch. I can't go to Target without seeing three kids. One working there, two shopping. I can't go to Cashwise without running into a student working in the bakery (careful that I'm buying alchol mixers, they can't see that) or a student in the frozen foods section. I've seen students at the movie store, Shopko, Wal-Mart, Applebee's, Econo Foods. I've seen students or other teachers everywhere I've gone in this town. Hutchinson is an island. Nobody travels anywhere else to get shopping done. Everything is here, in this small town, and this creates a problem.
And today. Today I had a doctor's appointment. At the OB/GYN. I got there, and in the waiting room, another teacher at school--the computer lady--sat in the chair and waved at me. Apparently, we were getting our vaginas checked out on the same day. And then the nurse who helped me, well of course she asked me what I do, so I had to tell her that I teach at the high school. And she said, I think you had my son as a student! And she said his name, and luckily I hadn't--the other new teacher had.
And then, as I was leaving, walking out of the backroom at the vag doctor, a current student's name was being called. God. So, we had to pass each other, walk right by each other. And I said, almost defeated, hey Megan, and she responded, equally defeated by this annoying coincidence: hey.
First of all, Hutchinson is the perfect size for disaster. It's just large enough that it has its own major buildings. A crappy, old-people mall, a Target, an Applebee's, a hospital.
When I lived in Albertville, I never ran into people. In order to go get a decent amount of groceries, or laundry soap, people had to leave. Go to Rogers or Monticello. There was no doctor's office there. (There is now, but there wasn't before.) People in Albertville during the late 90s, early 00s didn't even shop at the Outlet Mall. They didn't really get it. I mean, I worked at Subway for two years, and very rarely a teacher came in. Albertville was small enough that nobody lived there. They travelled in from bigger towns nearby.
But not Hutch. I can't go to Target without seeing three kids. One working there, two shopping. I can't go to Cashwise without running into a student working in the bakery (careful that I'm buying alchol mixers, they can't see that) or a student in the frozen foods section. I've seen students at the movie store, Shopko, Wal-Mart, Applebee's, Econo Foods. I've seen students or other teachers everywhere I've gone in this town. Hutchinson is an island. Nobody travels anywhere else to get shopping done. Everything is here, in this small town, and this creates a problem.
And today. Today I had a doctor's appointment. At the OB/GYN. I got there, and in the waiting room, another teacher at school--the computer lady--sat in the chair and waved at me. Apparently, we were getting our vaginas checked out on the same day. And then the nurse who helped me, well of course she asked me what I do, so I had to tell her that I teach at the high school. And she said, I think you had my son as a student! And she said his name, and luckily I hadn't--the other new teacher had.
And then, as I was leaving, walking out of the backroom at the vag doctor, a current student's name was being called. God. So, we had to pass each other, walk right by each other. And I said, almost defeated, hey Megan, and she responded, equally defeated by this annoying coincidence: hey.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The fattest of the fat.
You: Jean, did you really go to Target today and buy a tin heart full of chocolates at half-price and then tear into it like a homeless person would in the parking lot because you wanted and deserved chocolate that badly today?
Me: That's none of your goddamned business.
Me: That's none of your goddamned business.
Sunday, February 14, 2010
Waiting for VD to end.
I spent the weekend at Bockfest, having the time of my life, freezing and buzzing and drinking and laughing at drunk people who have fallen in the snow after saying to others shhh! You guys. Don't laugh.
And today, after the awesome people left, I tried to work off some of the 200 pounds I've gained in the last weekend--burgers, Bockfest cake, danish, pizza and pizza and pizza. So I moved up a level on my 30 day shred. (I've shredded nothing, but I'm amazing at crunches and "knee push-ups.") And then I started to grade some of the Crucible papers that my freshmen gave me on Friday.
And they make me want to die.
I can't believe it. Not any "stupidity," not any "lack of skill." But once again, with the classes I have this semester, the amount of fucking laziness. I gave them a near-hour to do peer review, I even tried to monitor and help them as they worked. Half of them didn't fill out their sheets. The same half didn't make any changes to a final draft--even after direct comments about fixing the papers were included on the peer review sheets. And explained by me about 700 times. Over half of the kids forgot a Work Cited page. A fucking significant amount just decided not to directly quote anything in their papers, even though I said: how many quotes do you need in this paper? And they repeated THREE! back to me every day.
I don't even know what to do anymore. I read the instructions to them, we go over it in class, we practice with it, we look at student examples, they have the assignment sheet in front of them at home, and they don't do it. They just don't. They don't even follow the outlines that I've given them, that they've taken their own time to fill out. In class. Not even as homework. We did it in class, and they obviously and quite literally ignore it as they go home and write their paper.
I can't fucking go home with them and watch them over their shoulders. But with these kids, it seems like it's the only thing that will work. I cannot, cannot take this "entitlement generation" any fucking more. The blatant, goddamned laziness is beyond my patience. They're smart. They're lazy. Revision? Too much work. Having to do something again once I've done it once? No fucking way, they say. Wait. You're saying you're only giving me the formula for the Work Cited and not the actual citation? Guess I'm just not going to do it since you won't hand it over to me.
One kid printed off a ridiculously horrible paper and tried to pass it off as his own. Not only plagiarized, but stupidly. I saw his friends laughing about it during peer review day, but I figured I'd wait until he handed in his actual paper to see if he'd still keep the decision to plagiarize.
He did, it seems. I want to write on his paper: Well, it's quite obvious that you printed this off the internet. That's why some of the font is blue and in headers, which I never told you to do, and why this doesn't even come close to what the assignment is. Not only that, it seems to me that your fucking CAT could've written a better paper than this. Did you plagiarize this from your cat? Oh, no, I'm sure you didn't, because even a CAT knows that THE NAMES OF PEOPLE SHOULD BE CAPITALIZED. Your CAT learned this in 1st grade.
At least 25% of my students did not capitalize the names of people in their papers. Well. Sometimes they capitalized the first name, but not that last. Others spelled character's names wrong even though their books were write in front of them. One student spelled her own first name wrong.
That same girl and another handed in papers in which the last two paragraphs were exactly the same. They're in the same class. Somehow, some-fucking-how, they thought I wouldn't notice this. I should find a way not to be offended by this, but I can't.
Normally, I can deal with this. I can say okay. This kid doesn't get it. There must be something going on at home, something that's holding them back. But this trimester it's just so many kids. So many kids that you just have to blame the teacher. So many kids don't get it.
I guess I am an idiot. I guess there is something wrong with what I'm doing this time around--because when I taught the same exact thing first trimester, none of this happened--because how consistent is this shittiness.
I don't even want to teach them writing anymore. It seems, that if I want them to get anything, it's this: READ THE FUCKING DIRECTIONS ON AN ASSIGNMENT SHEET. READ THE GODDAMNED RUBRIC. HAVE THE BOOK OPEN WHEN YOU WRITE A PAPER ABOUT THAT PIECE OF LITERATURE. WHERE DID YOU EVER LEARN THAT YOU CAN BE SUCCESSFUL AT SOMETHING WITHOUT READING DIRECTIONS.
And. Christ. At least learn how to cheat. Handing in the same paper in the same class? Is this a fucking joke?
Is. This. A. Fucking. Joke.
*
Happy Valentine's Day, then. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I don't know if I'm more upset with myself, or with them, or with society, or with their generation.
I guess it's the apathy and the laziness. I guess it's that I feel that I'm working incredibly hard to make this work, to make this interesting, to help them learn how to do something rather than just shoving the information down their throats without practicing. I care about teaching. I want them to be successful. I want them to impress me. At least follow a direction. But nothing is working. They just sit there and expect something to happen, expect learning to occur, when they won't even attempt a homework assignment where they just need to look up three words in the dictionary. Yes--that's their assignment. 10 out of 25 kids won't do it. I'm out of my mind. I don't know what to do anymore. I just want to cry, freshmen class. You just make me want to fucking cry. I see how teachers quit so early on. I can handle a lot, I think I truly can, but I can't handle kids who don't fucking try. They are the ones who will break me.
What a fun day to spend at a coffee shop, listening to a couple look through baby names and decide when they were going to tell everyone "they" were pregnant. What a fun fucking day.
I feel like I haven't been happy in months. It's only been a couple of weeks since I felt that pinch of happy, but the snow, the wind, the kids, all at once, the medication that I've been taken off of. I'm trapped in my head, in my body. I'm fucking trapped.
*
But hey! I have a date on Friday. I refuse to let myself get over-excited about it; I don't think I truly could if I tried. It must be too good to be true. After a day like today, anyway.
And today, after the awesome people left, I tried to work off some of the 200 pounds I've gained in the last weekend--burgers, Bockfest cake, danish, pizza and pizza and pizza. So I moved up a level on my 30 day shred. (I've shredded nothing, but I'm amazing at crunches and "knee push-ups.") And then I started to grade some of the Crucible papers that my freshmen gave me on Friday.
And they make me want to die.
I can't believe it. Not any "stupidity," not any "lack of skill." But once again, with the classes I have this semester, the amount of fucking laziness. I gave them a near-hour to do peer review, I even tried to monitor and help them as they worked. Half of them didn't fill out their sheets. The same half didn't make any changes to a final draft--even after direct comments about fixing the papers were included on the peer review sheets. And explained by me about 700 times. Over half of the kids forgot a Work Cited page. A fucking significant amount just decided not to directly quote anything in their papers, even though I said: how many quotes do you need in this paper? And they repeated THREE! back to me every day.
I don't even know what to do anymore. I read the instructions to them, we go over it in class, we practice with it, we look at student examples, they have the assignment sheet in front of them at home, and they don't do it. They just don't. They don't even follow the outlines that I've given them, that they've taken their own time to fill out. In class. Not even as homework. We did it in class, and they obviously and quite literally ignore it as they go home and write their paper.
I can't fucking go home with them and watch them over their shoulders. But with these kids, it seems like it's the only thing that will work. I cannot, cannot take this "entitlement generation" any fucking more. The blatant, goddamned laziness is beyond my patience. They're smart. They're lazy. Revision? Too much work. Having to do something again once I've done it once? No fucking way, they say. Wait. You're saying you're only giving me the formula for the Work Cited and not the actual citation? Guess I'm just not going to do it since you won't hand it over to me.
One kid printed off a ridiculously horrible paper and tried to pass it off as his own. Not only plagiarized, but stupidly. I saw his friends laughing about it during peer review day, but I figured I'd wait until he handed in his actual paper to see if he'd still keep the decision to plagiarize.
He did, it seems. I want to write on his paper: Well, it's quite obvious that you printed this off the internet. That's why some of the font is blue and in headers, which I never told you to do, and why this doesn't even come close to what the assignment is. Not only that, it seems to me that your fucking CAT could've written a better paper than this. Did you plagiarize this from your cat? Oh, no, I'm sure you didn't, because even a CAT knows that THE NAMES OF PEOPLE SHOULD BE CAPITALIZED. Your CAT learned this in 1st grade.
At least 25% of my students did not capitalize the names of people in their papers. Well. Sometimes they capitalized the first name, but not that last. Others spelled character's names wrong even though their books were write in front of them. One student spelled her own first name wrong.
That same girl and another handed in papers in which the last two paragraphs were exactly the same. They're in the same class. Somehow, some-fucking-how, they thought I wouldn't notice this. I should find a way not to be offended by this, but I can't.
Normally, I can deal with this. I can say okay. This kid doesn't get it. There must be something going on at home, something that's holding them back. But this trimester it's just so many kids. So many kids that you just have to blame the teacher. So many kids don't get it.
I guess I am an idiot. I guess there is something wrong with what I'm doing this time around--because when I taught the same exact thing first trimester, none of this happened--because how consistent is this shittiness.
I don't even want to teach them writing anymore. It seems, that if I want them to get anything, it's this: READ THE FUCKING DIRECTIONS ON AN ASSIGNMENT SHEET. READ THE GODDAMNED RUBRIC. HAVE THE BOOK OPEN WHEN YOU WRITE A PAPER ABOUT THAT PIECE OF LITERATURE. WHERE DID YOU EVER LEARN THAT YOU CAN BE SUCCESSFUL AT SOMETHING WITHOUT READING DIRECTIONS.
And. Christ. At least learn how to cheat. Handing in the same paper in the same class? Is this a fucking joke?
Is. This. A. Fucking. Joke.
*
Happy Valentine's Day, then. I don't know how much more of this I can take. I don't know if I'm more upset with myself, or with them, or with society, or with their generation.
I guess it's the apathy and the laziness. I guess it's that I feel that I'm working incredibly hard to make this work, to make this interesting, to help them learn how to do something rather than just shoving the information down their throats without practicing. I care about teaching. I want them to be successful. I want them to impress me. At least follow a direction. But nothing is working. They just sit there and expect something to happen, expect learning to occur, when they won't even attempt a homework assignment where they just need to look up three words in the dictionary. Yes--that's their assignment. 10 out of 25 kids won't do it. I'm out of my mind. I don't know what to do anymore. I just want to cry, freshmen class. You just make me want to fucking cry. I see how teachers quit so early on. I can handle a lot, I think I truly can, but I can't handle kids who don't fucking try. They are the ones who will break me.
What a fun day to spend at a coffee shop, listening to a couple look through baby names and decide when they were going to tell everyone "they" were pregnant. What a fun fucking day.
I feel like I haven't been happy in months. It's only been a couple of weeks since I felt that pinch of happy, but the snow, the wind, the kids, all at once, the medication that I've been taken off of. I'm trapped in my head, in my body. I'm fucking trapped.
*
But hey! I have a date on Friday. I refuse to let myself get over-excited about it; I don't think I truly could if I tried. It must be too good to be true. After a day like today, anyway.
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
The double whammy of FUCK YOUs.
I don't feel like getting into the details of this, but today I found out that because of our new contract negotiations for the 2009-2010 school year, instead of the raise I thought I was getting, I owe the district $100.
My retro pay after new contract negotiations is -$100.00.
While I thought I'd get some money in my account, instead they took $100 of my next paycheck. And every paycheck for the rest of the year will be $20 less, so I now make $40 less a month for the exact same job that I've been doing. After my "raise." Because my health insurance has gone up 150%. Yes, one-hundred-and-fifty percent increase per month.
I fee like I've been punched in the face. Could I please be more disgruntled? I thought not.
Who the fuck would ever OWE her employer money? A goddamned motherfucking public school teacher.
Excuse me while I go ball my eyes out, because that's what I truly want to do right now. I just can't get over this. Yes. I am going to go weep after I tell you this one more story. No, I am not joking. I have never felt so under-appreciated for such hard work in my life.
The saddest part of the lot of it is that I found out about this during lunch at school today and just started crying. I just couldn't help it. So then the bell rang for the last hour of the day, and my eyes were still red and stressed, and I had to get back to class. And I tried to cover it up, but it was so very hard to be in front of the kids knowing that I was underacknowledged for the work I've done. And this darling little student, in such a puppy-like manner, asked me: Why are you sad Ms. Prokott? With his big wide eyes.
How does this just not make me want to openly sob in front of these kids. How darling, how touching that these guys sort of could sense that there was something wrong with me. Just like the dog. Just like the dog who is watching you cry and snuggles up to you and knows there is something wrong. He can't say anything or do anything, but he just looks at you with those eyes, and somehow you feel better having him there. He's saying, sort of, I can't understand what you're going through, but I sense there is something wrong, and I want to do what I can to help. I will do whatever I can in my little dog way. That's what my 5th hour students were like. (For the first 10 minutes of class, anyway--until they forgot about it all.) They saw their teacher, their sort-of-protector, in a moment of distress and sadness, and they just sat and behaved. They could tell I was sad, and they were good. They were good. One said, he said, he said, why are you sad Ms. Prokott.
*
In other news, today I found out that a decent majority of the freshmen class at my school has herpes. Herpes. 14-year-olds with a sexually transmitted virus. I honestly don't know how credible my source is on this, but I think she's right, anyway. The freshmen girls have bad reputations, a lot of them. And apparently one guy from an older class slept with one of the reputation girls, who then slept with a couple of other guys, and so on. And because the kids are embarrassed to talk about the herpes that they have (apparently this infected guy broke up with the girl saying oh yeah, well you're not the cute, and guess what you have herpes now) they just keep sleeping with each other and passing on the herpes. Without telling each other.
Great. Just fucking great. What do I even do about this as an English teacher? Say: okay kids, on a non-English related note, can I please just reiterate the importance of practicing safe sex and in using disclosure with your partner? You know how immoral it is to sleep with someone knowing you have a disease and knowingly passing it on, yes?
Today fucking sucks. This whole week fucking sucks. Where the fuck is Bockfest. I cannot believe still, that the district made me pay them money after our new contract negotiations. And apparently I did sign up for this fucking shit.
My retro pay after new contract negotiations is -$100.00.
While I thought I'd get some money in my account, instead they took $100 of my next paycheck. And every paycheck for the rest of the year will be $20 less, so I now make $40 less a month for the exact same job that I've been doing. After my "raise." Because my health insurance has gone up 150%. Yes, one-hundred-and-fifty percent increase per month.
I fee like I've been punched in the face. Could I please be more disgruntled? I thought not.
Who the fuck would ever OWE her employer money? A goddamned motherfucking public school teacher.
Excuse me while I go ball my eyes out, because that's what I truly want to do right now. I just can't get over this. Yes. I am going to go weep after I tell you this one more story. No, I am not joking. I have never felt so under-appreciated for such hard work in my life.
The saddest part of the lot of it is that I found out about this during lunch at school today and just started crying. I just couldn't help it. So then the bell rang for the last hour of the day, and my eyes were still red and stressed, and I had to get back to class. And I tried to cover it up, but it was so very hard to be in front of the kids knowing that I was underacknowledged for the work I've done. And this darling little student, in such a puppy-like manner, asked me: Why are you sad Ms. Prokott? With his big wide eyes.
How does this just not make me want to openly sob in front of these kids. How darling, how touching that these guys sort of could sense that there was something wrong with me. Just like the dog. Just like the dog who is watching you cry and snuggles up to you and knows there is something wrong. He can't say anything or do anything, but he just looks at you with those eyes, and somehow you feel better having him there. He's saying, sort of, I can't understand what you're going through, but I sense there is something wrong, and I want to do what I can to help. I will do whatever I can in my little dog way. That's what my 5th hour students were like. (For the first 10 minutes of class, anyway--until they forgot about it all.) They saw their teacher, their sort-of-protector, in a moment of distress and sadness, and they just sat and behaved. They could tell I was sad, and they were good. They were good. One said, he said, he said, why are you sad Ms. Prokott.
*
In other news, today I found out that a decent majority of the freshmen class at my school has herpes. Herpes. 14-year-olds with a sexually transmitted virus. I honestly don't know how credible my source is on this, but I think she's right, anyway. The freshmen girls have bad reputations, a lot of them. And apparently one guy from an older class slept with one of the reputation girls, who then slept with a couple of other guys, and so on. And because the kids are embarrassed to talk about the herpes that they have (apparently this infected guy broke up with the girl saying oh yeah, well you're not the cute, and guess what you have herpes now) they just keep sleeping with each other and passing on the herpes. Without telling each other.
Great. Just fucking great. What do I even do about this as an English teacher? Say: okay kids, on a non-English related note, can I please just reiterate the importance of practicing safe sex and in using disclosure with your partner? You know how immoral it is to sleep with someone knowing you have a disease and knowingly passing it on, yes?
Today fucking sucks. This whole week fucking sucks. Where the fuck is Bockfest. I cannot believe still, that the district made me pay them money after our new contract negotiations. And apparently I did sign up for this fucking shit.
Tuesday, February 9, 2010
Dear ISD 423 schedule-makers:
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
Thanks for the snow day yesterday, you stupid motherfuckers. Good thing that you don't have the fucking sense to build a SNOW DAY into your school schedule. What? Who needs a snow day automatically built into their schedule?
Maybe a motherfucking school smack dab in the middle of the goddamned STATE OF MINNESOTA. Who knew we just might have a snow day.
So, thanks for taking my vacation day away next Monday. I didn't want President's day off anyway. I'd much rather be at fucking school on a day that I had planned on having off all trimester and that I'd made plans for that weekend. No, no, it's no big deal that you took away a vacation day from me with only four days notice. Because it should totally be a make-up snow day since you didn't think to add one (or two) into the school calendar. You should totally take my one fucking day off in February. And no, yesterday doesn't count as a day off. Because you didn't call school until 20 minutes before it started. In fact, I was already showered and wiping off my car. And I certainly wouldn't have spent that day in fucking Hutchinson.
It totally doesn't disgruntle employees or students to take away holidays. Especially since you made all of your teachers come in on the one day we're supposed to get off in January--MLK Jr. Day--to talk to fucking parents all day at conferences. THAT WAS A GREAT FUCKING IDEA.
And you're thinking of taking away spring break next year? Sure. Why the fuck not. It's not like I need that week to plan for third trimester or just to take a break from all of the goddamned students I have to look at. You know. The ones who just decided to not do a 10 minute homework assignment this weekend because they "forgot their stuff at school" or "didn't have a pencil." ("You didn't have a pencil for the three days you had this weekend?" "No.") The ones who asked me "how to do this" right after I spent 15 minutes explaining it. Those ones.
Did I mention fuck you? FUCK YOU. I really hope I'm not fucking here next year. Because you're obviously a district that thinks shit through. Please continue to take away my holidays. In fact, why don't I just fucking teach all summer for you? No, no. No need to pay me.
You're stupid fuckers,
Jean
p.s. FUCK YOU.
p.p.s. I'm glad I've made this blog private.
Fuck you, fuck you, fuck you, fuck you.
Thanks for the snow day yesterday, you stupid motherfuckers. Good thing that you don't have the fucking sense to build a SNOW DAY into your school schedule. What? Who needs a snow day automatically built into their schedule?
Maybe a motherfucking school smack dab in the middle of the goddamned STATE OF MINNESOTA. Who knew we just might have a snow day.
So, thanks for taking my vacation day away next Monday. I didn't want President's day off anyway. I'd much rather be at fucking school on a day that I had planned on having off all trimester and that I'd made plans for that weekend. No, no, it's no big deal that you took away a vacation day from me with only four days notice. Because it should totally be a make-up snow day since you didn't think to add one (or two) into the school calendar. You should totally take my one fucking day off in February. And no, yesterday doesn't count as a day off. Because you didn't call school until 20 minutes before it started. In fact, I was already showered and wiping off my car. And I certainly wouldn't have spent that day in fucking Hutchinson.
It totally doesn't disgruntle employees or students to take away holidays. Especially since you made all of your teachers come in on the one day we're supposed to get off in January--MLK Jr. Day--to talk to fucking parents all day at conferences. THAT WAS A GREAT FUCKING IDEA.
And you're thinking of taking away spring break next year? Sure. Why the fuck not. It's not like I need that week to plan for third trimester or just to take a break from all of the goddamned students I have to look at. You know. The ones who just decided to not do a 10 minute homework assignment this weekend because they "forgot their stuff at school" or "didn't have a pencil." ("You didn't have a pencil for the three days you had this weekend?" "No.") The ones who asked me "how to do this" right after I spent 15 minutes explaining it. Those ones.
Did I mention fuck you? FUCK YOU. I really hope I'm not fucking here next year. Because you're obviously a district that thinks shit through. Please continue to take away my holidays. In fact, why don't I just fucking teach all summer for you? No, no. No need to pay me.
You're stupid fuckers,
Jean
p.s. FUCK YOU.
p.p.s. I'm glad I've made this blog private.
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