Registered Mail

Today I had my first experience using Registered Mail. I had to send an item back to the manufacturer for repair. The warranty suggested that I send the item via Registered Mail. It seemed like a good idea to me, so I packaged up my item and headed off the post office (which I am proud to say that I located quickly, without getting lost). When I arrived at the post office I was quite surprised and delighted to discover that I was the only post office patron present, and was not required to wait in line. The postal worker pleasantly greeted me and asked if he could help me. I walked up to the counter, handed him my package, and told him I would like to ship the package as Registered Mail.

He dropped the package as though I had just told him it was radioactive. He coughed, straitened his glasses, leaned across the counter, and confirmed, “You said Registered Mail, Ma’am?” When I verified that he had in fact heard me correctly, pleasant postal worker was replaced with flustered postal worker. Perhaps it was his first experience with Registered mail too. He fumbled in his pocket for a minute and pulled out a key, unlocked a drawer under his desk, and handed me a pile of paperwork. Fortunately I am well practiced in filling out paperwork. While I wielded my ballpoint pen and attacked the forms, he proceeded to wrap my entire package in official brown post office tape. Then he stamped all six surfaces of my package several times with a bold red “REGISTERED” stamp and the date. Then he carefully made sure that the registered date was also stamped around all edges of my package. He mentioned that no one would be able to open my package without the recipient knowing.

The whole procedure took enough time for a long line of disgruntled postal patrons to gather. I could feel their impatience mounting with each stamp, and I felt kind of bad. Once my package was sufficiently secured the flustered postal worker looked nervously around the room. Obviously unsettled by the number of people he saw in the post office lobby, he again leaned across the desk and apologetically whispered, “Ma’am, I need you to declare the value of the item.” I declared the value of the item as requested, and he again glanced anxiously around the room before writing it down on the appropriate space on the form. I almost felt like a spy sending super secret documents involving the most sensitive issues of national security, except for the fact that the process wasn’t subtle at all.

The End

On the last day of school I went to give my principal my offical letter of resignation. She refused to accept it because it was not on her form. She told me that unless I filled out her resignation form I would not get my last paycheck. I kind of doubt that since my paycheck comes from the district and not from my specific campus, but I decided it was not a battle I was willing to fight, and filled out her form. Then I requested a copy of the form. That made her kind of mad, but it seems to me that a resignation letter is something important that is worth keeping a copy of. So she handed me the copy request form which I also filled out.

Having finally filled out all of the correct paperwork I am currently unemployed. I have recieved a job offer from a school much closer to home and that's my plan for next year. I hope suburban kids are as amusing as inner city kids. The good news is that the last month of school was quite eventful. So I have lots of entertaining stories that I just haven't had time to write about yet. More of those will follow soon.

Vignettes

1. Today’s assignment required colored paper. Normally I set out an assortment of colors and let the children choose their own paper. Today the kids were in trouble (something about drugs in my classroom twice in a week and a bottle of water thrown at me) and therefore were not allowed out of their seats. So I went to my closet and discovered that the significant majority of my paper supply was pink. I handed each student a piece of pink paper and started to explain the assignment. I was interrupted by the following conversation:

John: This is new, why can’t we choose our own paper?

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

John: I don’t like pink.

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

Virginia: Can I have a piece of blue paper.

Red Head: There isn’t a color choice today. Everyone gets pink.

Charlie: Miss, is it pink for breast cancer awareness?

Red Head: Sure. That sounds good

Virginia: Miss, you have breast cancer?

Red Head: No. I don’t, and please don’t start that rumor.

Fred: Yeah! We’re supposed to be starting the rumor that she’s pregnant.

I don’t know why they think they’re supposed to be starting that rumor, but apparently they’re not up to multitasking in their gossip.

2. Another entertaining conversation:

Jason (of giraffe fame): Miss, are you coming back next year?

Red Head: (in a tired, bitter, frustrated sort of way) Well, I drive 40 miles to get here, which can take up to an hour, so I have to leave around 5:30 in the morning, and I spend a whole lot of money on gas and tolls. I don’t know why I would continue to do that next year.

Andy: Because you love us!

Animals Yet Again

I am now teaching World War II. With all the fascism and genocide the 1940’s can be kind of a depressing topic, so I try to break up all the Nazism with an occasional inspiring story. Today I told the kids about the Battle of Britain. I told them that the German air force, also known as the Luftwaffe, would come across the English channel and bomb the British every night for nearly an entire year (In case you were wondering, that’s not the inspiring part of the story.) I explained that the airplane was still relatively new technology, and the planes could only attack the southern part of the country before they would have to turn around and refuel. While the southern half of the country lay mostly in ruins, the northern cities of Great Britain remained basically untouched. (Here comes the inspiring part…) So in a motivating display of concern and cooperation the northern British opened their homes to the children from the southern cities. Most of the children were evacuated and lived the war years in relative safety.

Hoping to help the kids get a mental image of the time period, I told them that this is what happens in the beginning of the movie The Chronicles of Narnia, and that the first five minutes of the movie are actually pretty historically accurate. One of the kids raised his hand. I was kind of shocked by his display of appropriate behavior, and almost forgot how to respond. Then I remembered that the correct teacher response to a raised hand is to call on the student by name. When I called on him he asked, “So there really were talking lions back then?”

At least he raised his hand.

More Animal Noises

Friday morning in academy meeting the AP mentioned that kids are like cattle: when the weather gets bad they go crazy. Having never worked with cattle I cannot comment on the validity of this statement, but I can say that as a rather impressive storm rolled in Friday afternoon my kids went above and beyond their normal level of insanity.

My kids are usually anxious to prove any administrator wrong, so in one particularly boisterous class I mentioned the cattle comparison. Surely they would be insulted by being likened unto livestock, and anxiously prove their superior intelligence by settling down. Instead they embraced the analogy and started mooing.

Zoo Day Tuesday

Jason loves to make animal noises, and he's really good at it. The problem is that animal noises and World History don't get along well. Jason never interrupts me, and always listens intently to directions, but as soon as the kids are supposed to be working independently animal noises abound. This drives me crazy. I try working with my students to the sporadic accompaniment of a braying donkey, or a bleating sheep, or a squawking chicken, but I find it rather exasperating. Maybe animal noises and World History get along just fine; it's probably animal noises and the Colorado Red Head that don't play well together.

I was helping a student proofread a brilliantly written paragraph about how British Imperialism led to World War I when I was suddenly interrupted by a rather loud and convincing velociraptor call. And it was quite compelling. If I didn't already know that dinosaurs are extinct I probably would have jumped under the student’s desk to avoid the impending attack. Fortunately I am fully aware of the current lack of living dinosaurs on the planet, and knew that the noise was simply coming from Jason on the other side of the room. I decided it was time for decisive action.

Daily requests for the cessation of animal noises were clearly the less-effective approach. I decided that if I gave him a specific time where he was allowed to make animal noises, he might stop making them at random intervals: “Jason, next Tuesday we will have a zoo day. You can come in that day and make all the animal noises you want. But until then I don’t want to hear a single animal noise from you.”

He got really excited about Zoo Day, but didn’t quite believe me at first.

Jason: I can make any animal noises I want?

Red Head: Next Tuesday you can make any noises you want. And I want to hear an elephant, a horse, and a giraffe. But until then I don’t want to hear anything.

Jason: But miss, what does a giraffe sound like?

Red Head: You have until next Tuesday to figure it out.

Zoo Day arrived, and as soon as the bell rang Jason triumphantly bellowed out the sound of an elephant and a horse. Then very seriously he said, “Miss, I’ve been watching the discovery channel, and giraffes don’t make noise. They just chomp. Like this.” Then he opened his mouth as wide as it would go, took a large bite of some imaginary foliage, and started chewing. He continued chomping throughout class. One of the administrators walked in to observe my class for my yearly evaluation. She noticed Jason sitting in the front row cheerfully chewing on air, and gave him an odd look. I decided to clarify, “Jason is being a giraffe today.” She gave me an odd look. I offered no further explanation

Wait...

I have never ever ever been anything even remotely close to a morning person. I warned the Texan about this. I think he's starting to figure it out. In order to get to school on time my alarm now rings at 4:45. I am of the opinion that no living creature should be awake before the sun comes up, so an important part of my morning ritual is pouting. Usually after a few minutes of pouting I can be pleasant and cheerful, or at least not bitter and irate. This episode from Friday morning made me laugh:

Redhead: (while turning off the alarm and in a very whiny voice) I don't want to go to school today

Silence

Redhead: I should just quit my job. Then I wouldn't have to do this every day

Texan: OK. If you want to you can.

Long pause

Texan: Wait... are we having an important conversation here.

Redhead: No, I'm just pouting

Texan: so you're not quitting your job

Redhead: Not today

Texan: OK

Then he rolled over and went back to sleep. I got up and got ready for school.