It’s been quite some time since I last posted on The Frontal Lobe, which isn’t surprising. Given my initial desire to write a blog and my usual excellent follow-through, I’m surprised I even know the log-in information for my WordPress account. Thank goodness for, “do you want Google to remember your password.”
This is certainly not to say that I haven’t actually written anything, I’ve written quite a few things, all of them lousy and uninspired. I wrote a mock interview with a narcissistic blog writer who was full of himself, I’m not sure what part of my ego that catered to, but in the end it was trash, and definitely deserved a sarcastic mocking hashtag most likely created by sister—who upon reading that sentence will now look to create a sarcastic mocking hashtag for this post. Maybe I just hate the word blog so much that I am repelled from creating content.
Psst. I have a secret! I know exactly what keeps me from writing exactly what I want to write. It’s my profession. You see, I am a teacher.
When you work in a cubicle for a monolithic, massive, chain, grocery, coffee, fast-food, company, you have every right and are even expected to bitch. If you don’t bitch, you’re considered a do-gooder that is probably trying to brown-nose your way to some position where you can crap on other people. However, in education you are not allowed to utter the negative feelings you have about your job. If you do, people think you must be in the wrong line of work, and they’ll look to fire you.
Breaking news, teachers don’t always like their jobs, but that doesn’t mean they’re not good at them. Doctors don’t wake up everyday and say, holy crap I love seeing the same sick fucking people every week, guess what you sick fucks, try and take better care of yourself, maybe cut down on the cigarettes and cheese curds and take the fucking stairs for a change. Nobody goes and tells the doctors that they’re in the wrong profession. Unless they say that to your face.
Teachers are human beings. Just because we take in your precious gems each and every day doesn’t mean that we are not inclined to the occasional I-hate-my-jobitis or your kid is a actually a C student rant. Oh, I hear all of the teacher-haters out there saying, “but you get summers off.” And, now I’ve said too much – the golden calf is out of the box – summers off!!!
You see, even this minimal amount of dissatisfaction is frowned upon. We have the same water coolers, we have the same slow talkers, skittish bathroom users, and the funny guy who wears suspenders. We have bosses and systems that make less sense than you can imagine and the redundancy of our line of work is staggeringly epic. Let’s be honest, we’re an institution that is modeled on Government with a capital G. We are the kings of acronyms. Our TPS report have TPS reports and at least 2 memos and 1 meeting in order to accurately disseminate the information. The codes and rules of governance are ripe for blogging about, but…
We’re teachers. We love our jobs. Each and every day is sunshine, rainbows, and lollipops; we sing cumbaya during circle time, (actually we don’t do that song because it mentions “lord” and that’s a no-no in our business,) and we go home refreshed to live our extravagant lives. Obviously, we make plans to visit Tahiti and save whales in Alaska, because as teachers we make so much money we can actually use it to start our wallets on fire.
“But you get summers off.” If a teacher gets summers off then it’s because they have another bread winner in the house that brings home a real salary, or have been doing it so long, that when they started the copy room had a typesetter and printing press. The other 90% of us do something else, we do summer school, we tutor, we work at retail jobs – which are amazing places to work at if you want to bitch – we wait tables and bartend; but trust me, it’s a glamorous life that none of us ever ever ever bitch about.
Note: To any future employers considering me for a future position, please view this is an example of my ability to write, not my attitude towards my job. (Shhhhh, they’re listening.)