Today I reached The Point. This deadly Point at which I decide that I don’t care who you are or what you want, if you can’t show me where it says in my job description that what you want is part of my duties, get the *bleep* out of my office.
Honestly. I don’t think I should have to reach The Point every year. I work in a school. This implies my co-workers are reasonably intelligent–I mean, most of them are college graduates, right? So. How much intelligence does it take to walk into my office and realize:
- It’s two weeks into school, and this is the registrar.
- There are several foot-high piles of unopened mail threatening to bury you if you speak too loudly while going through the pass.
- There are three boxes containing registration filing for 848 kids, and the part-time file clerk we had last year, we can’t afford this year.
- KD is always cheerful and ready to help, but today she is snarling at her computer and hoping that ignoring your existence will cause you to go away.
A smart person would keep walking. Avoiding, of course, the tiger pit complete with tiger, hidden by loose grass, that I dug last week because I am so ^%$^%#$^&%^^%*^%%6 sick of people using my office as a hallway and I swear I am getting a blowgun with a slow-acting poison if these blasted people keep leading the students through so there will be 800 people who think it’s okay to just use my office as a shortcut back to sacred principal ground…
Breathe…
Yesterday I sent out an email, telling teachers exactly what they can access all by themselves, and where, and how. Today I handed out copies of the email. With highlighted sections. Here’s tomorrow’s email, after a frustrating afternoon when the teachers were supposed to be gone, and I was looking forward to getting something done.
“FYI, again: there appears to be some confusion over who can print a copy of a child’s schedule so you can satisfy your idle curiosity over whatever the hell it is you want to know.” (I’ll tone that down. A little.) “So here is the list of people capable of clicking the little print button:
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You. If you know your own name, you can find any kid in any of your classes. You can look up that schedule all by your lonesome. If he’s not in your classes, you can’t, but if he’s not your student, how exactly is it any of your business where he is? But if you don’t care to exert yourself, there are other options. Such as:
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The principal. Why not start at the top? Then you know that button will be clicked right.
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An assistant principal. Hey, we have two, they can’t be that busy, right?
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The 8th grade counselor. Even if it’s not an 8th grader, though she might ask why you’re asking her, as it isn’t legitimately part of her job. Guess what? It’s not my job either.
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The 7th grade counselor. Same thing. Though she’s a week less new than the 8th grade counselor, and more likely to ask why you don’t do it yourself.
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The 6th grade counselor, though she will definitely inform you that you’re a grown-up perfectly capable of clicking that button by yourself.
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The instructional coach. Yes, that’s right, there is a human being completely dedicated to helping you successfully teach your students, and she wants to help. Though, of course, if you let on to her that you are not confident in your ability to press the print button, she will quite likely express concern as to your suitability to the principal.
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The Office Manager. Go ahead. I dare you. Ask her to drop everything she has to get done, to print that silly schedule you could handle on your own. See how many ways she can misplace, mishandle, and otherwise abuse your timesheet. And your paycheck. You don’t really think it’s payroll that suddenly sends a twenty-years-at-this-school teacher’s paycheck to the farthest school in the district, do you?
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The office assistant. That’s right, there is a person in the front office whose job it is to assist people. Though you’re about 700 on her list of people needing help, take a number anyway. She moves pretty fast.
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Me. Yes, I, the registrar, can print that blasted schedule for you. But I have all the aforementioned filing to do, I need to nag one of our feeders into delivering the cumulative files for fifty 6th graders, I need to enroll seven kids and drop four, and I need to clear up someone’s **ck-up before it gets reported to the state and costs us half our Students First grant. You want textbooks next year? Go print your own damn schedule.
And watch out for the tiger.
What blowgun? If you’re feeling dizzy, you should see the nurse.