Wednesday, 25 April 2007

Another Worthless Wednesday.

Ms. Jean Brodie in Prison in the drama studio.
Where she remained until her death 2008.

It all got a bit too much today. So, I called for patrol. When they turned up, I informed them that I needed to go home.

Me: I am NOT going back in there.
Patrol: Why?
Me: Because I am scared. It's a circus in there and despite what people think I am not Coco the Clown.
Patrol: (in a state of panic) Well, you can’t just leave now. We’ve got no one to cover for you.
Me: (all the blood draining from my face, my lips turning blue) I don’t feel well. I am going to walk to the office now, get my bag, and then, I’m off home.
Patrol: I am sorry but we can’t let you go. (Grabs hold of my arm, with some force, steers me back in the direction of the room)
Me: (I protest) I am not well - I am washed out, I have a migraine and I feel sick. It’s the kids, they’re terrorising me. On top of that they’re not learning anything and I’m not teaching. So, I am going to go home NOW. I need to go to bed. And, get off my arm. It's like you're a bloody prison warder the way you're carrying on.
Patrol: (She gets on her walkie talkie, tells the office what’s going on. What a snitch!)
Office: (irate office staff) Tell Miss M she will have to go back into the classroom, as we have no one to cover for her.
Patrol: You’ll have to go back in there.
Me: I don’t want to go back in there though - it's chaos in there.
Patrol: You have to back in!
Me: But, I don’t want to go back in there.
Patrol: You have to.
Me: I am not going back in there.
Patrol: You have to.
Me: Okay, but I am not going in there on my own. Will you come with me?
Patrol: Okay I’ll come with you, but I can't stay long because there's a fight over in Science.
Me: Thank you, if you could just stay for ten minutes? Please?
Suddenly the drama studio resembles a prison cell. It's got bars on all of the windows and room is small and painted entirely in black.
They wouldn't let me go home today, so I was trapped in there ALL day.
I kept wishing throughout the chaos that Ibn Batutta would return and pick me up, spin me around and rescue me, take me somewhere far away, on the back of his camel, Masum Ali. Instead I had to endure yet more paper planes.
ME: Look guys this is NOT British airways! Can you just STOP, throwing those bloody things at me.

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