Thursday, November 20, 2003
MY BRILLIANT CAREERS (1D.2)
INSTANT KARMA
I got to Eng a few minutes early. I was sitting in my car, listening to the radio, when someone rapped on the window.
"Yes?"
"There's no smoking on school grounds. Exactly what type of example are you trying to set?"
I was in the faculty lot. Except for my tormentor, there was no one else around.
"Sorry," I said.
"I take it you're the music substitute?"
"Yes, I am," I said.
"I'm Mr. Stupinski, Assistant Vice Principal. I'd like to have a talk with you before the afternoon classes. Can you follow me to my office?"
"Okay," I said.
When I got out of the car I took a look at Stupinski. A small, thin man, he was wearing one of those Russian type fur hats, and was sporting a Hitler mustache. A nasty combination, I thought. He looked like nothing but trouble.
Stupinski stared right at me. He was very fair, almost pale, but his cheeks were reddening from the excitement of the confrontation. His mustache was bristling. My God, he's trying to intimidate me, I thought.
"Follow me," he said. He did a rapid about face, clicked his heels, and marched off.
IN THE OFFICE
"Have a seat," Stupinski said.
Now he's going to stand up and try to tower over me, I thought. Must have learned that technique in an assertiveness seminar they made him attend.
Stupinski stood up. He teetered a little as he attempted to tower. I snuck a quick look down. As I suspected, he was wearing built up shoes with thick heels in an attempt to make himself look less short.
"We have some serious issues to discuss," he said. "We've had reports."
My eyes were now about level with Stupinski's mid-section. The skinny back part of his tie was much longer than the front. He'd tucked it into his pants.
"Reports?" I asked.
"Reports about the events of this morning."
"Events?" I asked.
"You may be under the impression that what you do at Chang is separate from what you do at Eng," Stupinski said. "But that is not the case at all. Chang and Eng are very much connected. What you do at Chang follows you to Eng. And vice versa."
"Vice versa?" I asked.
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Stupinski said. "Now, do you deny that you altered the lesson plan prepared by Ms. D'Santinence? Did you not play 'Erie Canal' out of sequence?"
Instead of answering, I slowly rolled my tongue across my upper lip and shifted my eyes. Stupinski's face got redder.
"And to threaten the students with Iggy Pop? I've never heard the like!"
I carefully ran my index finger across my upper lip, curled it down my face and under my chin.
"You walked into a delicate situation and made it worse. Mrs. Stalkoff herself reports that the children are all very upset."
Stalkoff, I thought. She never did like me.
"If I had any other options, I'd send you home right now. Why, I'd go in there and teach those classes myself, if only the union would allow it. Do you understand me?"
I could feel my headache coming back.
"Well, why are you just sitting there? Don't you know afternoon classes are about to start? Isn't it enough that you were late this morning?
AND YOU TURN YOURSELF AROUND
Thus chastened, I left for the office to get the lesson plan.
THURSDAY: The Hokey Pokey. (Whole class dances, boys dance, girls dance, row 1 dances, row 2 dances, and so on through the rows.)
I Hokey-Pokeyed properly through the first three classes, helped along by the fact that in the first two classes, the regular teachers, apparently having been forewarned, stayed in the room with their classes.
The stress was taking a toll, however. My headache had become so severe that at one point I dove behind the desk, certain that helicopter gunships were attacking. The students didn't mind. They went on shaking and turning as if I were irrelevant.
I only had one more class to get through.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT IN
The whole class danced. The boy in the front of row 1 did an exceptional job. I'd never seen such enthusiasm.
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT FOOT IN
The boys danced. The enthusiastic boy outshone them all.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT HAND IN
The girls danced. Enthusiastic boy jumped up to dance with them.
"That was very nice," I said to him. "But it was the girls' turn to dance. Please don't dance out of turn. It spoils the lesson plan."
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT HAND IN
Row 1 danced. Enthusiastic boy hoked and poked.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT SIDE IN
Row 2 danced. Enthusiastic boy could hardly restrain himself, but I stared him down for the duration of the song.
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT SIDE IN
Row 3 danced. Enthusiastic boy leapt up and joined in. He was playing to the crowd now, refusing to make eye contact with me.
At the end of the song I spoke sharply to him. "Now that's quite enough. I'm very disappointed in the way you keep dancing out of turn. It won't do."
The boy looked at me, but didn't say a word.
YOU PUT YOUR NOSE IN
Row 4 danced. As enthusiastic boy jumped from his seat, I screeched the needle across the record and stopped the song.
"You. Boy," I snarled. "Move once more and you can Hokey Pokey your way to the principal's office. Do you understand me?"
AND YOU SHAKE IT ALL ABOUT
It got very quiet. Then enthusiastic boy burst into tears. The rest of row 1 followed. In a flash the entire class began sobbing and wailing. In walked their regular teacher.
"What, ah, ah. Ah what."
She's actually sputtering, I thought. I didn't know people really did that.
But she quickly regained her composure. "What is going on here? What have you done to my children? This is an outrage!"
"I guess I'll be leaving then," I said. "Good afternoon to you."
As I pulled out of the school parking lot, I caught a glimpse of Stupinski in my rear view mirror. He was jumping up and down and shaking his fist at me.
THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!
When I woke up from my nap, I could hear FW banging around in the kitchen.
"Listen," I said. "I think I'm going to take Friday off and reassess my situation. This subbing isn't working out exactly as I'd planned. Tell your father thanks anyway."
"My father knows all about it. Parker called him. They won't be using you anymore. They say you played The Stooges to second graders, that you were smoking right in the principal's office, and that you slam danced a little boy who was doing The Bunny Hop."
"It's all true," I said. "Sometimes I just don't know what gets into me."
"Well, just because you won't be teaching tomorrow, don't think you can sleep in. My father needs you to pick up his truck at 6 and take a load of broken asbestos shingles to the dump."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
INSTANT KARMA
I got to Eng a few minutes early. I was sitting in my car, listening to the radio, when someone rapped on the window.
"Yes?"
"There's no smoking on school grounds. Exactly what type of example are you trying to set?"
I was in the faculty lot. Except for my tormentor, there was no one else around.
"Sorry," I said.
"I take it you're the music substitute?"
"Yes, I am," I said.
"I'm Mr. Stupinski, Assistant Vice Principal. I'd like to have a talk with you before the afternoon classes. Can you follow me to my office?"
"Okay," I said.
When I got out of the car I took a look at Stupinski. A small, thin man, he was wearing one of those Russian type fur hats, and was sporting a Hitler mustache. A nasty combination, I thought. He looked like nothing but trouble.
Stupinski stared right at me. He was very fair, almost pale, but his cheeks were reddening from the excitement of the confrontation. His mustache was bristling. My God, he's trying to intimidate me, I thought.
"Follow me," he said. He did a rapid about face, clicked his heels, and marched off.
IN THE OFFICE
"Have a seat," Stupinski said.
Now he's going to stand up and try to tower over me, I thought. Must have learned that technique in an assertiveness seminar they made him attend.
Stupinski stood up. He teetered a little as he attempted to tower. I snuck a quick look down. As I suspected, he was wearing built up shoes with thick heels in an attempt to make himself look less short.
"We have some serious issues to discuss," he said. "We've had reports."
My eyes were now about level with Stupinski's mid-section. The skinny back part of his tie was much longer than the front. He'd tucked it into his pants.
"Reports?" I asked.
"Reports about the events of this morning."
"Events?" I asked.
"You may be under the impression that what you do at Chang is separate from what you do at Eng," Stupinski said. "But that is not the case at all. Chang and Eng are very much connected. What you do at Chang follows you to Eng. And vice versa."
"Vice versa?" I asked.
"I think you know exactly what I mean," Stupinski said. "Now, do you deny that you altered the lesson plan prepared by Ms. D'Santinence? Did you not play 'Erie Canal' out of sequence?"
Instead of answering, I slowly rolled my tongue across my upper lip and shifted my eyes. Stupinski's face got redder.
"And to threaten the students with Iggy Pop? I've never heard the like!"
I carefully ran my index finger across my upper lip, curled it down my face and under my chin.
"You walked into a delicate situation and made it worse. Mrs. Stalkoff herself reports that the children are all very upset."
Stalkoff, I thought. She never did like me.
"If I had any other options, I'd send you home right now. Why, I'd go in there and teach those classes myself, if only the union would allow it. Do you understand me?"
I could feel my headache coming back.
"Well, why are you just sitting there? Don't you know afternoon classes are about to start? Isn't it enough that you were late this morning?
AND YOU TURN YOURSELF AROUND
Thus chastened, I left for the office to get the lesson plan.
THURSDAY: The Hokey Pokey. (Whole class dances, boys dance, girls dance, row 1 dances, row 2 dances, and so on through the rows.)
I Hokey-Pokeyed properly through the first three classes, helped along by the fact that in the first two classes, the regular teachers, apparently having been forewarned, stayed in the room with their classes.
The stress was taking a toll, however. My headache had become so severe that at one point I dove behind the desk, certain that helicopter gunships were attacking. The students didn't mind. They went on shaking and turning as if I were irrelevant.
I only had one more class to get through.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT FOOT IN
The whole class danced. The boy in the front of row 1 did an exceptional job. I'd never seen such enthusiasm.
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT FOOT IN
The boys danced. The enthusiastic boy outshone them all.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT HAND IN
The girls danced. Enthusiastic boy jumped up to dance with them.
"That was very nice," I said to him. "But it was the girls' turn to dance. Please don't dance out of turn. It spoils the lesson plan."
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT HAND IN
Row 1 danced. Enthusiastic boy hoked and poked.
YOU PUT YOUR RIGHT SIDE IN
Row 2 danced. Enthusiastic boy could hardly restrain himself, but I stared him down for the duration of the song.
YOU PUT YOUR LEFT SIDE IN
Row 3 danced. Enthusiastic boy leapt up and joined in. He was playing to the crowd now, refusing to make eye contact with me.
At the end of the song I spoke sharply to him. "Now that's quite enough. I'm very disappointed in the way you keep dancing out of turn. It won't do."
The boy looked at me, but didn't say a word.
YOU PUT YOUR NOSE IN
Row 4 danced. As enthusiastic boy jumped from his seat, I screeched the needle across the record and stopped the song.
"You. Boy," I snarled. "Move once more and you can Hokey Pokey your way to the principal's office. Do you understand me?"
AND YOU SHAKE IT ALL ABOUT
It got very quiet. Then enthusiastic boy burst into tears. The rest of row 1 followed. In a flash the entire class began sobbing and wailing. In walked their regular teacher.
"What, ah, ah. Ah what."
She's actually sputtering, I thought. I didn't know people really did that.
But she quickly regained her composure. "What is going on here? What have you done to my children? This is an outrage!"
"I guess I'll be leaving then," I said. "Good afternoon to you."
As I pulled out of the school parking lot, I caught a glimpse of Stupinski in my rear view mirror. He was jumping up and down and shaking his fist at me.
THAT'S WHAT IT'S ALL ABOUT!
When I woke up from my nap, I could hear FW banging around in the kitchen.
"Listen," I said. "I think I'm going to take Friday off and reassess my situation. This subbing isn't working out exactly as I'd planned. Tell your father thanks anyway."
"My father knows all about it. Parker called him. They won't be using you anymore. They say you played The Stooges to second graders, that you were smoking right in the principal's office, and that you slam danced a little boy who was doing The Bunny Hop."
"It's all true," I said. "Sometimes I just don't know what gets into me."
"Well, just because you won't be teaching tomorrow, don't think you can sleep in. My father needs you to pick up his truck at 6 and take a load of broken asbestos shingles to the dump."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
Monday, November 17, 2003
MY BRILLIANT CAREERS (1D)
I thought I was free. I was awake and on my second cup of coffee and the phone hadn't rung. Then it rang.
"Babbingham here. Can you do music for the elementary schools today? Miss Dissonance fell down this morning. She's in a bad way."
"Elementary schools?"
Babbingham was exasperated with me. "You do Chang in the morning and Eng in the afternoon. It's quite simple really."
"I can do it."
"You'll have to hurry. They're expecting you in 15 minutes."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
AN OBSERVATION
"You know," I said. "This school system is a mess. Pure chaos. They have two people calling the subs when everyone knows it's a one-woman job. They hire someone named Dissonance, of all things, to teach music, then she falls down. And the schools are named after sideshow freaks. They should really get their act together."
"Her name is Di'Santinence, not Dissonance. And you better hurry; Chang is way out at the end of the township. Practically in the next county."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
CAN I OR ANYONE KNOW
"The music room is at the other end of the school. Go all the way down this corridor, make a left, follow that corridor to the end, make one more left and you'll see the music room from there. The teachers will bring the students to class."
"Great," I said. My head was beginning to throb.
"Here are your instructions. Just follow this copy of the lesson plan."
THURSDAY: Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow. Class sing-a-along and activity. Students in row 4 will take turns being the farmer.
"Excuse me," I said to the office woman. "I don't have an insurance waiver."
"A what?"
"An insurance waiver. Can I touch the equipment?"
She looked at me with puzzlement, then crinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't understand. Why would you need an insurance waiver to play music? If you didn't want to sub, why did you take the job at all? Is that why you're so late? You really didn't want this job, did you?"
"Oh no," I said. "I really wanted this job."
She shook her head. "Well, if you really want to work, you better hurry. Second bell has already rung."
"Before I go, can you explain what this means - about the farmer?" I pointed to the lesson plan.
"I'm sure I could not," she said. "But the students have been working on this all week. They’ll know what to do if you can’t figure it out."
A PROUSTIAN MOMENT
The students were seated, waiting for me. Their classroom teacher stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. "You are very late," she hissed. "Miss Di'Santinence is never late."
"Miss Di'Santinence is not here," I said. "She’s fallen."
"I'm aware of that," the teacher said. "And so are the children. They are all very upset. Please try not to upset them further." And off she stalked.
"Good morning, class," I said. "How is everyone?"
Nothing.
I looked around. There was a record on my desk: "Children's Stories For A Rainy Day." Next to the desk was a fabric-covered sawed-off suitcase looking thing, which I recognized as a record player. It looked exactly like the one my own grade school music teacher had traveled with as she visited class after class and subjected us to endless playings of The Alley Cat. I fought back a quick wave of nausea at the recollection.
The children were staring at me expectantly, but I didn’t want to touch the thing. Finally, I swallowed hard, lifted it on the desk and opened it up cautiously.
The cord was so frayed I was tempted to ask for a student volunteer to plug it in.
I put on Oats, Peas. The children began to sing along. Loudly. Unselfconsciously. A wall of sound that would have made Phil Spector proud. My head was pounding. It was just after eight in the morning.
Although I had been familiar with the chorus, it had never occurred to me that there were actual verses. It was a revelation:
Verse 1:
First the farmer sows his seed,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
I thought the sowing the seed and the standing erect were a little suggestive. Was there a hidden subtext?
If there was, the children didn’t notice. The residents of row 4 were taking turns acting out the farmer role as I played the song over and over.
Verse 2:
Next the farmer waters the seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands
And turns around to view his lands.
The sowing, stamping, clapping, and standing erect went on unabated. I felt a twitch at my temple, my vein was throbbing. I wondered if it was the onset of a stroke.
Verse 3:
Next the farmer hoes the weeds,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
I thought of my grandmother, dead now for some years. What would she think if she could see me now?
Verse 4:
Last the farmer harvests his seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
We finished the rounds with a few minutes to spare.
LOW BRIDGE, EVERYBODY DOWN!
“How about I play another song now?” I asked.
“But we don’t know the other songs,” a little girl in the first row protested.
“All the better,” I said. “We could learn something new,”
A dozen hands went up.
“We aren’t supposed to learn a new song today.”
“No.”
“No.”
"No."
“We have to sing ‘Oats Peas Beans and Barley Grow’ today.”
“I’m going to play ‘Erie Canal,’” I said. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Mrs. Stalkoff arrived to collect her class. They were solemn, sitting at attention, some with quivering lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” I said. “We’re just listening to a new song.”
RAW POWER
Like all petty tyrants, I was quick to abuse my authority. By the third class of the morning I was smirking and threatening.
“If you don’t want to listen to ‘Erie Canal’ I can go to my car and get my ‘Funhouse’ tape. How about if I play ‘TV Eye’ for you? Would you like that? I thought not.”
So, in that fashion, I got through the morning music classes at the Chang school. My head had even begun to clear a bit. The cannonading in my skull had subsided to a dull roar.
I was sort of looking forward to the afternoon session over at Eng.
I thought I was free. I was awake and on my second cup of coffee and the phone hadn't rung. Then it rang.
"Babbingham here. Can you do music for the elementary schools today? Miss Dissonance fell down this morning. She's in a bad way."
"Elementary schools?"
Babbingham was exasperated with me. "You do Chang in the morning and Eng in the afternoon. It's quite simple really."
"I can do it."
"You'll have to hurry. They're expecting you in 15 minutes."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
AN OBSERVATION
"You know," I said. "This school system is a mess. Pure chaos. They have two people calling the subs when everyone knows it's a one-woman job. They hire someone named Dissonance, of all things, to teach music, then she falls down. And the schools are named after sideshow freaks. They should really get their act together."
"Her name is Di'Santinence, not Dissonance. And you better hurry; Chang is way out at the end of the township. Practically in the next county."
"Great," I said. "No problem."
CAN I OR ANYONE KNOW
"The music room is at the other end of the school. Go all the way down this corridor, make a left, follow that corridor to the end, make one more left and you'll see the music room from there. The teachers will bring the students to class."
"Great," I said. My head was beginning to throb.
"Here are your instructions. Just follow this copy of the lesson plan."
THURSDAY: Oats, Peas, Beans and Barley Grow. Class sing-a-along and activity. Students in row 4 will take turns being the farmer.
"Excuse me," I said to the office woman. "I don't have an insurance waiver."
"A what?"
"An insurance waiver. Can I touch the equipment?"
She looked at me with puzzlement, then crinkled her nose in disgust. "I don't understand. Why would you need an insurance waiver to play music? If you didn't want to sub, why did you take the job at all? Is that why you're so late? You really didn't want this job, did you?"
"Oh no," I said. "I really wanted this job."
She shook her head. "Well, if you really want to work, you better hurry. Second bell has already rung."
"Before I go, can you explain what this means - about the farmer?" I pointed to the lesson plan.
"I'm sure I could not," she said. "But the students have been working on this all week. They’ll know what to do if you can’t figure it out."
A PROUSTIAN MOMENT
The students were seated, waiting for me. Their classroom teacher stood in the doorway, arms folded across her chest. "You are very late," she hissed. "Miss Di'Santinence is never late."
"Miss Di'Santinence is not here," I said. "She’s fallen."
"I'm aware of that," the teacher said. "And so are the children. They are all very upset. Please try not to upset them further." And off she stalked.
"Good morning, class," I said. "How is everyone?"
Nothing.
I looked around. There was a record on my desk: "Children's Stories For A Rainy Day." Next to the desk was a fabric-covered sawed-off suitcase looking thing, which I recognized as a record player. It looked exactly like the one my own grade school music teacher had traveled with as she visited class after class and subjected us to endless playings of The Alley Cat. I fought back a quick wave of nausea at the recollection.
The children were staring at me expectantly, but I didn’t want to touch the thing. Finally, I swallowed hard, lifted it on the desk and opened it up cautiously.
The cord was so frayed I was tempted to ask for a student volunteer to plug it in.
I put on Oats, Peas. The children began to sing along. Loudly. Unselfconsciously. A wall of sound that would have made Phil Spector proud. My head was pounding. It was just after eight in the morning.
Although I had been familiar with the chorus, it had never occurred to me that there were actual verses. It was a revelation:
Verse 1:
First the farmer sows his seed,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
I thought the sowing the seed and the standing erect were a little suggestive. Was there a hidden subtext?
If there was, the children didn’t notice. The residents of row 4 were taking turns acting out the farmer role as I played the song over and over.
Verse 2:
Next the farmer waters the seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands
And turns around to view his lands.
The sowing, stamping, clapping, and standing erect went on unabated. I felt a twitch at my temple, my vein was throbbing. I wondered if it was the onset of a stroke.
Verse 3:
Next the farmer hoes the weeds,
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
I thought of my grandmother, dead now for some years. What would she think if she could see me now?
Verse 4:
Last the farmer harvests his seed
Stands erect and takes his ease,
He stamps his foot and claps his hands,
And turns around to view his lands.
We finished the rounds with a few minutes to spare.
LOW BRIDGE, EVERYBODY DOWN!
“How about I play another song now?” I asked.
“But we don’t know the other songs,” a little girl in the first row protested.
“All the better,” I said. “We could learn something new,”
A dozen hands went up.
“We aren’t supposed to learn a new song today.”
“No.”
“No.”
"No."
“We have to sing ‘Oats Peas Beans and Barley Grow’ today.”
“I’m going to play ‘Erie Canal,’” I said. “And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Mrs. Stalkoff arrived to collect her class. They were solemn, sitting at attention, some with quivering lips.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“Not a thing,” I said. “We’re just listening to a new song.”
RAW POWER
Like all petty tyrants, I was quick to abuse my authority. By the third class of the morning I was smirking and threatening.
“If you don’t want to listen to ‘Erie Canal’ I can go to my car and get my ‘Funhouse’ tape. How about if I play ‘TV Eye’ for you? Would you like that? I thought not.”
So, in that fashion, I got through the morning music classes at the Chang school. My head had even begun to clear a bit. The cannonading in my skull had subsided to a dull roar.
I was sort of looking forward to the afternoon session over at Eng.
