Primary School Confidential (13 page)

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.