EMAIL 1 – Title: “Lost”
One of the countless benefits of teaching in 9 different rooms each week is the increased opportunity to leave belongings/equipment in a room, never to be found again.
In this case, I refer to a transparent pencil case (with green trim), filled with an assortment of stationery delights.
In line with my nomadic existence, I have performed a labyrinthine search, without success.
Should somebody know of its whereabouts, I would be much obliged if you could enlighten me with the location of this priceless item. If you have already listed it in on eBay, then I would like a cut of the profits please.
aka ‘The Wanderer’
EMAIL 2 – Title: “Found”
Crisis over. You can all relax again now!
Postscript to email 2:
Again, this one-liner isn’t exactly ground-breaking, but my colleagues seemed genuinely relieved for me. Seeing a pencil case being reunited with its distraught owner was clearly uplifting news!
I was already rather hoping that I might misplace something else so that we could soon re-enact this collective virtual embrace!
Preamble to email 3:
Now that I appeared to have an audience, I was rather keen to reach out to them once more. But what could I write?
Then Providence played a hand as I paid a visit to the school gents’ toilets!
EMAIL 3 – Title: “Parents’ Evening Sheet”
This morning, I encountered a blank Y8 parents’ evening appointment sheet in the gents’ toilets (opposite the staff room), looking somewhat discarded.
I thought I’d better put this email out to try to alleviate the sense of panic that the document’s owner must surely be feeling.
I probably should have taken the sheet for safekeeping, as there may well be some opportunistic thief willing to purloin such a fine specimen for their own selfish benefit. However, I’ve left it where it was in the hope that our staff team is an honest one, with only the finest intentions towards their fellow professionals.
Perhaps I’ve simply misunderstood the reason why the sheet lies where it does. Maybe the person who left it there simply wants visitors of the toilets to be reminded of what a fine document our school routinely creates, therefore restoring that good, positive feeling that can occasionally dissipate during a stressful day. If that is the case, then bravo!
However, if there is a person who believes that they can dispense with the need for their sheet, albeit for the benefit of others, they should take a moment to think about the potential havoc that could ensue. Imagine parents turning up that you didn’t expect? Or perhaps parents not turning up when they were expected! Or even parents turning up in an unanticipated order - it’s all too much to bear...
Preamble to email 4:
Given that email 2 was essentially an addendum to email 1, at the time of writing email 4, I thought of it as email 3 - hence the reference to ‘trilogy’ in the title.
Once again, the subject matter of this email was a missing object, but not my missing object. So, in my mind at least, this was new material.
EMAIL 4 – Title: “Lord of the Drivel Trilogy”
Those of you who are less adept than others at using the ‘delete’ button when perusing your daily emails may well have encountered one, or even both, of my previous ‘whole-staff’ correspondences. I do apologise if you felt obliged to read both.
The first one (The lost pencil case) was a purely selfish affair, designed to locate a stationery-keeping device that clearly hadn’t stayed stationary! Thankfully, the case (pun intended) was solved, much to my relief, and I have, thus far, clung onto it like a leech possessed.
The second email (mislaid parents’ appointment sheet) was a less selfish matter, this time designed to alleviate the pains of another who has suffered loss (meaning the individual who mislaid the sheet; not the tree whose sacrifice made the sheet’s existence possible).
Such was the all-consuming joy of coming to the aid of somebody in distress, I feel compelled to pursue a similar course of action having heard (and indeed read) about the missing remote control for the projector in D101. This is starting to become a rather worrying trend.
As many of you will be aware, ‘room 101’ was a term coined by George Orwell to represent a place where bad things happen. Well, the culprit (the cad; the blighter; the bounder; the scoundrel – calm down, Paul) has certainly honoured that definition with this heinous crime, and I hope that justice will be done on him/her/it…
It is of little wonder that a certain teacher of mathematics struggles to find a way to switch on the projector in a certain English room every Friday, when the necessary device is locked away as securely as Fort Knox. I now thoroughly accept that these things are rightly shackled down, password-protected and buried deep in the vaults, when there exist such unsavoury characters as the perpetrators of this act.
I call upon my colleagues to be vigilant. If the guilty party is a teacher, then I consider it highly likely that their room number has been altered. Why? Well, given that the remote has D101 written on it, it would be glaringly out-of-place in a room which does not match its number. So, find another room D101, and you find the felon!
If a teacher is not to blame, then matters are somewhat more complex. There are too many remote-control projectors being sold on eBay to be able to conduct a thorough investigation of them all. In fact, in all probability (good old maths!), the chances of finding the said article must be, dare I say it, remote!
In closure to this latest episode of drivel (the third in the trilogy), I say that something must be done to stop these little gadgets wandering off into the abyss. We need to implement a policy that will toughen our security in this area.
What we need is a system of remote control!
EMAIL 5 – Title: “Notice”
I’ve just spotted a notice on arriving at school today. It read, ‘No vehicles beyond this point.’
I saw the notice resting alongside the printer at the main reception desk.
So, if any of your cars are parked in ’A-block corridor, or anywhere else that would be deemed to be ‘beyond’ the photocopier, don’t say you weren’t warned.
Postscript to email 5:
The corridor I was referring to is a long, pedestrian passageway within a building called ‘A’ Block, from which students access their classrooms.
However, one or two of our student teachers, having read the email, started to make pressing enquiries as to what and where ‘A-block corridor’ was, for there was genuine concern that one of them might have innocently parked their vehicle there. Now that would have been something to see!
Preamble to email 6:
Teachers (and certainly supply teachers) who have not been afforded the privilege of being allocated their own teaching room will probably nod vociferously during this next email, for it is laced with the frustrations that some of them are faced with daily.
As an admirer of Phil Collins, I do rather like the title too.