A Serious Note

I said a serious note.

So, yes.  According to a pint-sized (and likely pint filled) pal of mine, my posts aren't quite boiling over with the bile and venom that's come to be expected of me over the years.  And ostensibly this blog.


I had three options with which I could formulate an appropriate response:


(1)  Ignore the Pint.
(2)  Write an amusing diatribe of the failings of the company I'm working for and how these serve no other purpose than to infuriate, irritate and confuse me.   
(3)  Shit in a package and send it to the Pint.


After learning from Russian Customs guidelines that packaging must be posted with a senseless and overly complicated form, it seems, unfortunately, that my hand has been forced.

The Failings

1.  There is no paper (i.e. if you want to do a mind mapping task with a group of pupils, there is no paper available-pupils are required to buy their own jotters).  If you can believe it, this is actually the least of the school's problems.

2.  There is no stationery.  

For teachers or pupils.  

Teachers who have been afflicted by a crisis of conscience have rushed to the nearest hypermarket to load up on stationery in order to ensure that they have materials, but it's highly unlikely they will be reimbursed for the trouble.  

How the school expects teachers to facilitate learning with only a blackboard (not even a whiteboard, let alone an interactive Smart-board), a jotter and that most precious of all classroom commodities, the teacher's brain™, is well and truly beyond the reasoning of this author.  

Of course children (and people in general) have learned with little more than these few basic tools for the past two millenia; nonetheless, we live in an age where the sheer volume of information available to children is truly staggering and the effort needed to sustain interest in an activity these days can be, at times, Herculean.  Between MTV, Pac-Man and New Coke, students can be easily distracted and stationery is one of the few (relatively cheap) resources at a teacher's disposal to invigorate a stagnant lesson through Carousel activities and the such.  

But nope.  

The International Manager is paid enough to fly to Paris and Switzerland for the holidays with his bit of young Russian fluff (and to pay for finest fur coats for her, to boot), but we can't afford some colouring in pens.  

Join me in a loud "Hurrah" for capitalism! 

3.  I have no teaching materials to hand.  There are set books the school has for certain classes, and despite the administration knowing that I was arriving two months ago, nothing has been ordered.  And it's likely to be a while before anything arrives.  I'm currently winging most of my lessons with materials I've devised over the years.  Obviously this comes far easier at this stage in my career after spending two years in China producing all my own ESL lessons and then one year in the UK building up a sizeable set of resources.

That said, it wouldn't really matter if I had a book or not, because...

4.  No one much seems to care what I teach. Other Russian teachers merely tell me, "we teach students grammar, writing and vocabulary-you should just get them talking."  This would be fine if I were merely a "foreign face"-on a working holiday with nary a qualification to my name-but I'm fully qualified and have several years of experience.  


Being told that my objective is to "get them talking" feels a bit like the Russians have figuratively let loose a huge throbbing, dangling Teacher penis and slapped me repeatedly in the face with it.  This is especially irritating when I've got more experience and qualifications than the Russian teachers.  And, of course, the fact that I'm not particular to cock in the face.  

5.  Classrooms.  Whomever was in charge of time-tabling must have had a frontal lobotomy somewhat recently.  Either that or they were just heavily stoned.

Cue heavily stoned Russian Administration.


Fyodor: You see timetable?  Look ver' funny.  Have 15 class changes ever' day. Hu-huh-huh!  Do not bogart joint, fucker!  
Ivan: Fuck you, fucker.  Get own! (inhales deeply)
Vladimir: You know rule, Ivan.  Pass, pass, puff.
Ivan:  I know, I know, fucker.  Wait...what?  

"And must take my axe!"

Whilst I don't necessarily expect my own room, five room changes in a day gets to be a real pain in the sack.


6.  I was not hired as an ESL teacher.  That hasn't changed the company from effectively using my white, white face to placate a gaggle of runt-bastard Turkish and Russian children.  The unrelenting "How are you?" (replete with handshakes) from teens who are pleased to now have a 'Foreign Friend', reminds me of the same repetitive strain disorder that I was afflicted with in China.  But at least the Chinese have good food.  


Still: I'm a real teacher-unlike others in the school-and they've lied to me out and out that I would be teaching the British curriculum. 

Anyway.  I've run out of steam for today, so check back tomorrow for "A Serious Note: Part Deux" where I bemoan less work related issues and focus instead on the trials and tribulations of living in Moscow!


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"Huh-huh.  Your butt sucks."


-D.