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Let me break down report writing:
Depending on the term, it’s writing a 5000 to 10000 word essay under EXTREME pressure, when you are completely and utterly exhausted from the term of teaching and are hating life anyway.
You have a critical audience of approximately 250 students and (even more alarmingly) 500-ish parents who are all deeply interested in DIFFERENT 200-300 word increments of said academic essay. So you can’t even throw in a random half-page quote to haze your audience. You have to write at absolute premium quality for the WHOLE DAMN ESSAY.
If you don’t utilise that thesaurus of “student-focused + encouraging” words, you can be damn sure you’ll be fielding a phone call from an irate parent as to why you described their precious darling as “conscientious” rather than “dedicated”.
YOU CAN’T EVEN WRITE WHAT YOU WANT. You have to spend your time scrupulously veiling your true thoughts into positively-bent, passive-aggressive pointers of “forward-thinking encouragement”.
The final report is like white bread: refined as all hell with all the good stuff processed out, leaving only the fluffy white stuff.
Happy report writing!
Day 26: Vancouver to Auckland
Karma is a BIATCH who is IMMENSELY fun to watch in action when she’s working for you!
Waiting to collect my noodles + somehow got my order before the (surly, prematurely-aged, overly made-up) lady who ordered in front of me, who was visibly AND audibly pissed that I dare get my food before her.
By way of softening the blow (and to show her I ABSOLUTELY noticed) I said encouragingly, “Your order is getting cooked, looks great! Sorry yours didn’t come out in order.”
“It’s F I N E,” she seethed, in a voice that said it was anything BUT fine.
I gave a sympathetic look to the serving lady + went to get my chopsticks. As I was walking off, I heard an almighty, “OH, FOR CHRISSAKES!”
Turned around to find that Impatient Surly Madam had stuck her knife + fork in her noodles so violently that she’d stabbed through the bottom fastenings of her “Wok-in-a-Box” style takeaway box, and her shirt front, right leg + foot were covered in hot, sloppy, oyster-saucy noodles.
HIGH FIVE, Karma!
I’m enjoying my noodles. And can I just say, LADY, you DESERVED that if you choose to eat noodles with a knife + fork!
Necessary training for all of you wanting to travel…!
Day 19: Exploring Brooklyn, NY.
It appears Brooklyn has a sense of humour!
“Miss? Miss? Pardon me, are you from New York?”
Me: “No, just visiting. I’m from Australia.”
“Really?! ‘Cos DAMN, you walk like a New Yorker!”
Erratically + on a mission?!
I was rocking a black turtleneck sweater yesterday and a number of my kiddies commented on how classy, elegant, and “Audrey” I looked. 😎
And one astute Miss Year 12 completely burst my elegant, class-filled bubble by exclaiming:
“Classy?! Aren’t you guys concerned?! Have you guys ever SEEN this before? I’m thinking the stress-factor is high and Kwokkie’s not on top of the laundry situation. She’s spending all her time looking after us!”
It was the most stomach-pummeling, crash-to-earth, and backwardly affectionate compliment ever. 😂
And yes, she was right.
I am a cold-blooded killer.
You know when you’re in the middle of a choir rehearsal and the time is more SUPER-PRECIOUS than usual, and some form of insect life threatens to derail the absolute thread of concentration you’ve got going on with your choir?
That was this morning for me. We needed every minute and a huntsman spider was starting to unravel my Sop I section.
Me, totally on a mission: “Right, where is it?!”
They had it cornered on the edge of the wall.
I FLATTENED that spider. Take no prisoners. The GASP from my Sops! 😆 It was big enough that there was a sizable spatter on the floor, and juicy enough that I could feel the gross + revolting SLIDE of spider internal organs under my boot.
There were the usual reactions, and then, a tremulous Year 7 voice said:
“But what if it had a FAMILY?!”
It was honestly too funny.
So today, I am a murderer.
Sir Year 7: “Can I please borrow a set of headphones?”
Me: “Sure. Please give me a shoe.”
Sir Year 7: “A what?!”
Me: “A shoe.”
Sir Year 7: “You mean, like a SHOE shoe? Like, on my foot kind of shoe?!”
Me, internally: “What other type of SHOE is there?!”
Me, outwardly: “Yep!”
Sir Year 7: “Wow, it’s hardcore here at Pulteney, isn’t it?!”
And the thing about having brand new shiny Year 7s is that you get SEVERAL kiddies with the same size foot, and the same level of newness/scuffness to their shoes, so when it comes to actually collecting their shoes at the end…well, GOOD LUCK. 😝
Sir Year 7 No. 1: “Nah, that’s mine!”
Sir Year 7 No. 2: “No way! Mine’s newer-looking!”
Sir Year 7 No. 1: “Okay, well…does it smell like your shoe or mine?”
Sir Year 7 No. 2: “I AM NOT SNIFFING MY SHOE! JUST PUT THE THING ON, I DON’T CARE IF IT’S THE WRONG ONE!”