Tuesday, November 29, 2011
It Was And It Wasn't
My cover was nearly blown yesterday when I submitted an request for union help on the beat. I was unceremoniously dumped. Ah, those pacing guides, the P.G.'s. The bane of teachers in the current system. And what is at stake? A shifting landscape, much like the sands of time. A map of the curriculum. A detailed document, alive on excel. It seemed that the only way check if there was still life left in my body was to check my airway, breathing, and circulation. I couldn't find it on the map. Was this a trick? My teaching nowhere live and living but a series of numbers, old Soviet Bloc initials, very Bond-like but I was not altogether game. The plan? The Crucible, Canterbury Tales. Old stories of imagination, passion, and silliness. Life and Death. The struggle to survive afer basic needs are met. I still detect a heartbeat, a faint one. A fainthearted yelp, swallow, and ribcage movement. Another throwaway. Another bit for the trash heap although it has taken my life to add to it, to make a mess this large and step away from it, never to take a second glance. Isn't that what the greats in the biz do? All in a day's work? I searched the faces of my fellow bureaucrats. None of them flinched. It was muddy as usual outside of U-Building. The usual slickness on the moss, the moldy edges of the building, mildew all the way up the side of H-Building like a cancer, a forgotten fire, a stain. Where would all my gathered information go? The teachers were so afraid of their workplaces that they couldn't even leave minutes on the database for fear of repercussion/Pep-T/bad gossip.