by Woog
According to a 2014 OECD survey, the best place to be a primary school teacher in terms of salary and workload is the tiny country of Luxembourg, where the average starting salary of a qualified primary teacher comes in at US$52,000 compared to Australia’s US$34,664.
Interestingly, Luxembourg also has one of the highest literacy rates in the world, and consumes more alcohol per head than any other European country. So the place is full of smart, well-paid, slightly pissed people. Go Luxembourg!
And speaking of wages and conditions, this brings me to a subject that a lot of parents find irritating, but I for one fully support: the teachers strike.
As a kid, I loved a teachers strike. Mum would cross herself as she went out to work, leaving my brother, sister and me to build forts out of the couch cushions and feast on the cooking chocolate that she used to hide on the top of the fridge.
These days, when a strike is called, I hear other parents crack the shits, complaining that teachers are selfish, and it takes every fibre of my being not to unleash a tirade of shame on those whingers. For teachers, a strike usually represents a desperate last-ditch effort to win some miniscule change to wages or conditions.
The other thing that must be considered is the amount of extra time our teachers must spend trying to keep up with technology. When I was a chalkie, we literally relied on chalk and a blackboard to deliver our lessons. Four classrooms shared a fancy little gadget called an overhead projector. These days, it’s all smartboards, personal tablets, apps and anything else that is shiny. These are invariably full of razzle-dazzle, but first you need to learn how to work the darn things. So you need to go to workshops, many of which eat into your weekends and your evenings. But for the dedicated teacher, it is all a part of the job.
The great Maya Angelou once said, ‘People will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel,’ and this is certainly true of a great teacher. I remember beaming when getting a merit certificate, watching my teacher as she clapped me onto that stage. These poignant memories stick with you, and those feelings never really ever go away. You think about it. Who was your favourite teacher? I’ll bet you can still remember their name.
Oh, don’t get me wrong! I also recall a time in Year 1 being ordered out into the corridor for ten minutes due to my incessant chatter. It was, at the time, the most shameful thing that had ever happened to me. I remember standing outside the classroom wailing, thinking about how I had let my teacher down, sure that Mum would find out and would forbid me watch The Wonderful World of Disney on Sunday night.
After a while, the teacher stuck her head out into the corridor to check on me. She was so horrified to see how distraught I was that she raced over and hugged me until my tears had dried. She told me not to worry, and that everything was fine. I had just talked too much, that’s all.
She made me feel better. That is a big deal for a seven-year-old drama queen. I went back into the classroom, and she winked at me as I took my place on the floor. That wink has stayed with me to this very day. And I remembered it, remembered the impact it had on me, as I went on to take my place behind the teacher’s desk and became the ringmaster of my own circus.
A TRUE STORY
This is a true story (or so a friend tells me), proving how fascinating the mind of a six year old is. They think so logically.
A teacher was reading the story of the ‘Three Little Pigs’ to her class. She came to the part of the story where first pig was trying to gather the building materials for his home. She read: ‘And so the pig went up to the man with the wheelbarrow full of straw and said: “Pardon me, sir, but may I have some of that straw to build my house?”’
The teacher paused then asked the class: ‘And what do you think the man said?’
One little boy raised his hand and said very matter-of-factly: ‘I think the man would have said . . . “Well, fuck me!! A talking pig!”’
The teacher had to leave the room.
11
WHO’S WHO IN THE STAFFROOM
When I began my (rather short-lived) teaching career, people would quite often give me shit about what was perceived to be rather cushy employment conditions. It’s a common belief that teachers work from 9 am till 3 pm, five days a week, in ten-week blocks. And that you spend the rest of your time travelling the world in private jets, taking time out from cruising the Caribbean only to mix it with the high rollers at the casino in Monte Carlo.
I must admit that, at the time, the thought of this lifestyle was appealing.
The truth, you’ll be surprised to learn, was a far cry from the fantasy.
The truth was that I got to school at 7.30 am and left at 5 pm if I was lucky. My holidays were spent recovering from noise pollution. And the money? Well, let’s just say that teachers earn every cent. But as in every profession, there are good practitioners, average ones, and those who just should not be there. In your typical staffroom, you will probably find a mix of all three practitioners. And in your typical staffroom, you can categorise teachers into some basic stereotypes. (And YES, I know I am generalising, but we’re just having fun here, okay?) So, sit up straight, eyes to the front, hands to yourself, and let us begin . . .
THE PRINCIPAL
The principal of the school inevitably determines the culture of the school—so you really want to get a good one. In days gone by, the principal was someone to be feared, for he (and it was most often a ‘he’) was the keeper of the cane and had the uncanny ability to reduce grown teachers to tears by the mere raising of an eyebrow . . . followed by a barrage of abuse.
There are still principals like that. I once worked under a principal who walked around with her head firmly inserted up her generous rectum. When presented with a wayward child, she had no hesitation in putting her face right up against the perpetrator’s and, nostrils flaring, delivering a spray worthy of an Oscar. The ironic thing was that, other than this, she was a woman of few words.
Principals these days are different; well, the ones I’ve encountered, anyway. No longer do they hold themselves aloof, cloistered in their office. Instead they can be found wandering the school grounds, mixing with crowds of kids and parents. They know the name of every child, no matter how large the school community is. The effective modern principal is a diplomat, politician and wise counsellor.
There is a common theory that principals are just kids who never really grew up, but that’s hardly the case. Well, hardly ever . . .
Years after I left primary school, I heard something about the principal that is probably just an urban myth—but is still too good not to share. One afternoon, the mother of one of my friends was wheeling her shopping trolley through the car park at the local shops when she saw the principal’s car. The odd thing was that even though the car was unoccupied, it appeared to be moving.
Puzzled, she approached the car and peered in the window—and you can just imagine her face when she realised that our school principal, that pillar of society, that community leader, that personification of all things proper, was right then on the receiving end of a very vigorous blow job, performed by one of the school mums!
I suppose that principals, despite all their power, are just people after all.
And you know what they say. Behind (or should that be in front of?) every great leader is a . . .
DOOR BITCH
Sometimes known as the administrative officer, the door bitch is easily the most powerful person in the school community. Mark my words, people! This is very important information that I am about to bestow. Read and learn.
One hundred per cent of office ladies (as they are also called) are, as their moniker suggests, ladies. In smaller schools you might have a part-time office lady and in larger schools you can quite often see three. When there is more than one, it is inevitable that there will be a ‘good cop’ and a ‘bad cop’, and it is crucial to identify who is who.
Your good cop will be the one who acknowledges you
when you arrive at the counter of the school office. Quite often greeting you with a beaming smile, she will enquire after your wellbeing and actually listen to the answer. If you have indeed not been well, she will offer her sympathy and maybe even suggest a remedy. She will have the answer to your enquiry without needing to go and check with someone from the staffroom. She will have the note you require in her left hand and she will make allowances for the fact that you are one of ‘those busy, disorganised mums’ without making you feel bad about it.
The bad cop is her polar opposite. She will ignore you for as long as she feels like it, before glancing up at you for a millisecond, then continuing her work as if she hadn’t seen you. After some time, she will rise from her chair to go and make a cup of tea.
On her return, she will look at you in surprise and say something like, ‘Oh, I didn’t see you there . . .’
You will then ask her a question, or put in a request to, say, take your kid out of school for a specialist appointment and she will roll her eyes theatrically so that you understand exactly how much of a pain in the arse you are.
Then, after a lot of pencil grabbing, heavy sighing and paper shuffling, she will say something inaudible before disappearing down the hall, leaving you wondering whether she is in fact going to return.
The thing about the bad cop is that she essentially runs the school. She is keeper of the keys, the person with the power to decide if you can make an appointment with the principal. She is the one who calls and leaves messages on your phone like: ‘This is Mrs Drivelguts from Snarly Guts Primary School. Call me back urgently!’
The good cop would leave the following message: ‘This is Mrs Smiley from Happy Land Primary School. EVERYTHING IS FINE! I REPEAT, EVERYTHING IS FINE! YOUR KIDS ARE OKAY! I just need to check whether your son can go on the excursion today, because we didn’t get a note back from you.’
It doesn’t matter which variety of door bitch guards your school, it is in your best interests to be very, very nice to them.
THE GROUNDSMAN
The groundsman is generally a man of few words, but he doesn’t need them. What is important is his ability to fix anything and everything with little more than duct tape and pipe cleaners. The uncanny thing is that while sometimes he seems to be everywhere at once, when something dramatic happens, like the toilet block exploding, he is nowhere to be found.
He lives in a little cupboard near the assembly hall and is forever tinkering with the lawnmower.
THE OLD TEACHER
Literally a dying breed, old teachers have taught through so many changes of government that they don’t even care who the Minister of Education actually is anymore. They have seen phonics come in, go out, come in, go out and then come in, and the difference it has made to their teaching methods is diddly-squat.
They enjoy a cuppa and a biscuit for their morning tea. They have a tuna sandwich for lunch with a piece of fruit. They fear no child. They fear no parent. They are so consistent in their method you might start to suspect they could actually teach the curriculum in their sleep. They are respected by their fellow teachers and have paid their dues, meaning that they are no longer expected to take choir, dance group or any other extra assignments.
THE NEW TEACHER
Fresh-faced and fervent, the new teacher turns up on their first day of school, ready to change lives. With their heads full of theory, they quickly discover that classroom management is key if any quality teaching is to take place. They spend the first half of the year ‘managing’ students’ behaviour and the second half of the year questioning their career choice. They have seen Dead Poets Society far too many times.
THE TEACHER WHO COULD NOT GIVE A FUCK
Cruising into school with a hangover five minutes before the bell rings, this type of teacher is only there for the paycheque. If you have one of these teachers educating your kid, expect little and you will never be disappointed.
THE JOCK
The young, attractive male teacher who young boys look up to and horny mothers want to bone, the jock is in charge of sports—as long as it’s ‘boys’ sports, such as cricket and football. For some reason, even when not engaged in any sporting activity, this teacher is forever ensconced in sports clothes, apart from when there are official public duties, when he will wear a short-sleeved shirt. They are ageless, these jocks. If you went back to your own primary school right now, you’d see what I mean. He will still be there, whistle in hand.
THE LIBRARIAN
Her name is always Helen and her hair is mousy brown. Helen will hunt you down all over the playground when you borrow a copy of The Discontented Pony and fail to return it over the course of a whole school year. She will send home notes. She is like a Literary Terminator when it comes to persistence. Eventually your mum will crack the shits and make you empty your St George Dragon piggy bank and pay her the stupid $4.50 so she will shut the fuck up. Or so I believe.
THE SUBSTITUTE
The substitute teacher doesn’t care about you. They truly do not. They are just there for the cash. A glorified babysitter in many cases. They are just there because the deputy principal called them early in the morning as one of the teachers has fallen foul of the latest plague to sweep through the school. For kids, a day with a substitute teacher is heaven, because there is a high chance that you will get to watch movies all day.
THE PRAC TEACHER
The polar opposite of a substitute teacher, the prac teacher is dead keen to display all of her learning that, before now, had taken place in lecture halls. She is more likely to be educated in the latest teaching methods and you may find yourself doing unusual things in class, like yoga and meditation.
THE DEPUTY PRINCIPAL
The deputy principal is perhaps the hardest working person in the school.
The deputy principal is a bit like the deputy prime minister. They do a hell of a lot of the work for very little glory. They are often required to attend meetings to gather information about forthcoming curriculum changes, or learn how to integrate teachers with special needs, or develop a better arts program using pinecones, or contribute to think tanks considering the development of mental computation in kindergarten.
They deal with the discipline of seriously wayward children, including making uncomfortable phone calls to the parents of these juvenile delinquents.
The deputy principal is the only one who can actually find the groundsman when a brown snake needs to be removed from the library.
The DP is an integral part of any ceremony. She or he is the person who stands at the front during the assembly, pleading with the kids to calm the fuck down, before introducing the principal, who then goes on to give some droning speech about community service and its importance, followed by the class act, which is most likely to be a Year 2 class singing ‘My Favourite Things’.
The DP is there to greet any important visitors to the school, escorting them to the principal’s office before running around madly, making sure that the flag is raised and the audiovisual equipment is primed to break down a mere four seconds into the presentation.
It is a tough gig, but they’ll stick it out until they get that magic call from the Department of Education, offering them a school of their own to govern.
And then they are out of there without a backward glance.
So in conclusion, apart from the teacher who doesn’t give a fuck, the staff of your local school work hard—damn hard. And for those who maintain that teachers are only in it for the holidays, well, you deserve a detention. After all, they also have to put up with you—and you might be one of those pain-in-the-arse parents . . .
12
HOW TO BE A PAIN-IN-THE-ARSE PARENT
I must admit at times that I have felt like a pain-in-the-arse parent. You see, I am quite often losing notes and forgetting important dates, so on occasion I have had to shoot off an email like: Hi, it’s Jack’s mum here. What time is his assembly on today?
And with that little query, I become a
pain in the arse, for the recipient of my email then has to go and find out when the assembly is, and respond to me.
At other times, I’ve had to go into the school because ethics classes are about to start and if I don’t get the form in yesterday, the kids will be stuck doing the dreary ‘Non Scripture’.
‘I’m so sorry,’ I say. ‘I’m not usually one of those parents . . .’, when in fact that’s exactly what I am at that moment.
Pain-in-the-arse parents are a real thing and every school has them. You can see how teachers try to avoid making eye contact with them as they move about the playground, trying to find someone to complain to about something completely ridiculous. So, let’s take a look at some behaviours that will definitely make you the topic of conversation in the staffroom.
COMPETITIVE PARENTS
These are the parents who see their kids’ achievements as an extension of their own—and they’re not satisfied with second place. The crown for Most Competitive Parent undoubtedly goes to the wicked Wanda Holloway. In 1991 Wanda was so upset that her daughter Shanna was not selected for the cheerleading squad at her Texas high school that she arranged for a hitman to kill the mother of one of the girls who did make the team. Unfortunately for Wanda (and fortunately for her intended target), her plans were foiled by her ex-husband, who totally dobbed her in. Wanda served ten years.
Of course, that’s an extreme example. There are many less high-profile instances of parents who push their kids to the limits. I’m sure you encountered the mums who brag about how busy they are taking their kids to music lessons and tutoring and sporting activities and language classes so that they ‘get ahead’. (This over-programming can actually lead to increased anxiety in children, so my tip is ‘less is more’ when it comes to extracurricular activities.)
