“So Mrs. Poinker, will you be going up to Grade Five next year with us because you’ll have learned everything in Grade Four?” asked a little cutie in my class today.
“No sweetie, this is my sixth year in Grade 4,” I replied despondently.
She looked at me with a soupcon of pity.
“What a dumbass teacher Mrs. Poinker is,” she must have been thinking.
The truth is I don’t know if I’ll even have a job next year what with our tree change to Mount Tamborine and all. Unlike Pete Evans, I don’t look in the mirror and see a youthful teenager staring back at me. I see a woman of advanced years with glazed eyes, a relaxed jawline and a possible penchant for furtive drinking.
Scotto keeps encouraging me to write application letters and get my name out there but I’m scared. I haven’t written one of those types of letters for decades… centuries even.
I don’t even know what my strengths are: an ability to exploit highly expressive and ludicrous voices when I’m reading stories to the students in order to hold their attention?
The truth is I don’t know if I’ll even have a job next year what with our tree change to Mount Tamborine and all. Unlike Pete Evans, I don’t look in the mirror and see a youthful teenager staring back at me. I see a woman of advanced years with glazed eyes, a relaxed jawline and a possible penchant for furtive drinking.
Scotto keeps encouraging me to write application letters and get my name out there but I’m scared. I haven’t written one of those types of letters for decades… centuries even.
I don’t even know what my strengths are: an ability to exploit highly expressive and ludicrous voices when I’m reading stories to the students in order to hold their attention?
I don’t think that would cut it.
Maybe my prospective employers will take one look at my resume, have a good snort over it when they spot my age and chuck it in the bin.
Perhaps I should look for work outside of teaching.
Most teachers I know, exhausted at the end of term, say they’d quite like to work at Bunnings. They’re particularly specific about it being Bunnings. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because there are lots of aisles you can hide in and slide under with a nice magazine.
Or it might be that there are rarely any children to be seen mid-week at a Bunnings outlet.
I don’t fancy Bunnings myself. I don’t know the difference between a Sphincter Valve and a Grease Nipple Kit.
I could see myself working in a second hand bookstore though. Preferably one I owned myself. I could take my dogs to work with me and sit around in a rocking chair with a shawl over my knees sipping tea and ignoring customers. I own enough books to have a book store. But then I’d probably sell them and have to order more and I couldn't stand the paperwork. Besides I don’t think second hand books are much of a money spinner.
Maybe my prospective employers will take one look at my resume, have a good snort over it when they spot my age and chuck it in the bin.
Perhaps I should look for work outside of teaching.
Most teachers I know, exhausted at the end of term, say they’d quite like to work at Bunnings. They’re particularly specific about it being Bunnings. I don’t know why. Maybe it’s because there are lots of aisles you can hide in and slide under with a nice magazine.
Or it might be that there are rarely any children to be seen mid-week at a Bunnings outlet.
I don’t fancy Bunnings myself. I don’t know the difference between a Sphincter Valve and a Grease Nipple Kit.
I could see myself working in a second hand bookstore though. Preferably one I owned myself. I could take my dogs to work with me and sit around in a rocking chair with a shawl over my knees sipping tea and ignoring customers. I own enough books to have a book store. But then I’d probably sell them and have to order more and I couldn't stand the paperwork. Besides I don’t think second hand books are much of a money spinner.
Of course I could incorporate local wine tastings into the second hand book shopping experience. We could have poetry readings (where I got to use my silly voices) and wine sessions to raise extra revenue. Although I’d most likely drink all the wine and end up with a hangover I suppose.
But then I’d get to sleep in every day because no one wants to buy books in the morning do they?
I could open the shop at 11:00 am and have a nice breakfast before work. I’d have eggs and sausages I think.
I could learn to paint watercolours and have a corner of the shop set up with my works for sale. I might become famous and rich… it’s not impossible.