Skip to main content

inservice

I wondered in and tried to scope out the seating arrangements. I am new. I don’t know anyone. It’s been 5 years since I have been the new girl. Usually, a seat has already been saved for me at a crowded table full of coffee, candy and crosswords. We giggle and write notes and try to be quiet ( it is a struggle). But today I am searching for a seat near someone else sitting alone that looks friendly. Preferably near the back. I leave the customary empty seat between us and get comfortable. This is my first inservice of the year and an unwelcome reminder that my summer is almost over. I am not looking forward to my day of powerpoints and forced discussion. I am, however, on time. I brought a pen and paper and left my phone in the car. I was in the minority on all of those. Teachers, as a group, tend to be horrible students. I witnessed lots of text messaging, magazine reading and lesson planning. Some one in the back was rumored to be watching a movie on their laptop. The two girls ( ok, women) in front of me chatted so much and loudly that I could hardly hear the speaker. The teacher in me was tempted to shush them, but I suppressed this urge. Back when I had friends I was one of those girls.

The speaker isn’t so bad. She has a good sense of humor, gives lots of breaks and tells good stories. There are no powerpoints, and only a few forced interactions. We did not get out early. The bathrooms did not have toiletpaper. It is a good thing I can’t pee with a crowd anyways. After lunch I started having nap withdrawls. My chair got really uncomfortable and that teacher that kept asking a question about that one freak student was about to be taken out by me. If you have never been to an inservice the people that speak up to the entire group fit into a few categories:
1. I am the best teacher here, and this is how I already implement this.
2. Weirdo-Beirdo. Let me tell you about the cool robots my kids make ( did I mention this wasn’t a science workshop!)
3. The let me give you ever special case or exception girl. She interrupts every story or strategy to talk about this one kid she had 10 years ago. Finally by the end of the day the speaker starts to ignore this person or at least cut them short.
4. The teacher that needs help or counseling of her own. He/She has a comment so off no one is quite sure how to respond. Like now is suddenly the time to discuss her marriage problems or the likes.
5. Devil’s advocate. No one wants you to argue. Please shut up, even if you are right….we just want to get out of here.
Mostly I just sit there. Occasionally I will offer my 2 cents ( usually more in science than general sessions ) or ask a question if I truly think it is a legitimate and will apply to people besides just me. If only I had that attitude all the time. I came back from lunch with a cross word. Yes I know it is rude, but I mostly only did it during all those dumb out there questions and breaks because remember I didn’t have any friends and I wasn’t going to the restroom. The afternoon moved in super slow motion. She was still interesting, but my brain needs to be eased back into this kind of schedule. I drew little tally marks on my paper to mark off the minutes. By 3:15 I was catatonic and feeling a bit of sympathy for what my students will be going through in a few weeks.

Comments

spaghettipie said…
bummer. i can promise much more fun than inservices if you just quit your job...i'm going to be so bored when you go back.

Popular posts from this blog

pace yourself

Tonight I went running with a friend ten years my junior. I asked her how far she was running and when she said only about 1.5 or 2 miles, I teased her that I could go at least twice that far. And to just let me know when she needed to stop. I have been running pretty regularly for the last few weeks. It isn’t long but keep increasing my time and distance. I’ve stopped getting blisters. I don’t suck wind after five minutes anymore and I was feeling pretty good about myself. Thinking I might even be able to out run this girl who was so much younger and obviously in more shape than me. As we started to jog I told her that I run pretty slow. Like my husband used to walk beside me while I ran, slow. And she slowed her gait a little bit for me but it was still faster than I usually go. I was a little embarrassed and was not going to ask her to slow down again. So I just ran at her pace. I stayed close. And was fading fast. A little over a mile in I was ready to quit. Again, pride, which isn...

pursue something else.

Americans like the idea of happy. of pursuing happiness. It is even one of our inalienable rights at least according to the Declaration of Independance. But I think maybe we should pursue something else. like love or joy or peace or contentment. and leave happy alone. Don't read me wrong. I am neither bitter nor cynical. Even my problems are good problems. I am positive. Half full. And most days I laugh a whole lot more than I cry. And simple things like a dance party in the living room, an hour alone in Barnes and Noble, the yellow pajama pants my son picked out for me for mother's day, potstickers, clean sheets, someone surprising me with coffee, jeans fresh from the dryer, a good song on the radio, or squeals of delight when I walk in the door all make my heart sing. They make me happy. For a minute. But when the squealing turns to screaming, my new pants are dirty, the sheets are in a jumble on the floor or the coffee runs out....where does that leave me? And happy isn'...

my first dance

My wedding day is a little bit of a blur. And it was a great day. But so many people and so much going on and so many moments that it is hard to remember them all clearly without the help of photographs. But I totally remember my first dance as a bride. And it wasn’t with my husband. Or even my father, or brother. I had quickly kicked off my heels and hid them underneath a table. Said my hellos and hugs and smiled until my face hurt. Someone ushered us through the buffet line and I piled my plate with hors d'oeuvres and headed to a table. But before I could pop a single shrimp in my mouth someone grabbed me firmly by the arm and pulled me onto the dance floor and into a jitterbug before I could protest. It was my husband’s granddaddy. A man I had only met about a few times and heard say about as many words. So I was a little surprised when he spun me around the dance floor. Eventually that night I danced with my husband. And my dad. And probably even my brother. But my fir...