Currently as I write this I have year nine exam supervision. I hate exams. Really, really hate them. Nevertheless I have to tow the line in terms of being a demonstrative bastard.
The students come tumbling into the room and one of them cheerfully greets me. “GET OUT OF THE ROOM” I roar at him. Then without changing pitch or volume I instruct all of them that any talking will result in them being thrown out of the room. The great thing at the moment is I’ve got a mild cold that makes me sound like a chronic smoker so my voice is particularly shattering when uttered with any volume. Upon reflection it was probably a little bit much, nevertheless I wanted students to have the notion absolutely crystal clear that exams are not environments in which one should have a happy go lucky approach. Least ways have any ideas in your head that you can chat. Police pull people over, teachers have exams, it's just the way things are.
What isn’t helping is that I’ve got a really high blood sugar at the moment. As a diabetic a high blood sugar can make you somewhat easy to irritate. It is hard to convey, but imagine being cut off in traffic. Someone cuts you off in traffic and gives you the bird. That feeling right there, that’s what everything feels like. Take for example the fact there were no tissues in the exam. It’s a simple mistake, in fact you couldn’t even really in all fairness call it a mistake. There are simply no tissues in the room. Ordinarily you would smile graciously to the child requesting the absent tissues, politely lean out the door. Upon seeing there was no-one outside the room to assist you quietly inform the student that there weren’t any tissues and that if they just waited a couple of minutes there would be enough tissues to stuff a mattress. I would chuckle, sigh, put my hands on my hips and cock my head to one side with a wink. That particular scenario with a high blood sugar evokes a response from me that would be on a par with insulting a Europeans’ mother. The absence of tissues is a personal affront. It would be like setting my dog on fire. Personal. Affront.
A student puts up their hand and requested a tissue. I quickly scan the room. No tissues. I step backward out the door. No floater. A floater incidentally is a staff member who hangs about outside the room to assist teachers in the classroom with requests pertaining to things like tissues. I waited. The sounds coming from the waiting student continued to bubble and hiss. I glare at the student – there are other ways to resolve this. I pause and think better of it. No floater. I leave the exam and storm across the foyer into the English staff room and explode upon the teacher standing there. “Where’s the frigging floater? I need some tissues!”
“Why, that’s alliteration!”
I stare. A moment passes and then I flick the back of her head so that her face smashes into the table she’s sitting at.”
A male staff member offers the following comment much like I imagine a Lewis Carroll character would speak. “The floater’s meant to be sitting out in the foyer.”
I grab his elbow and hurry the him over to the filing cabinet, open a draw and slam his fingers firmly. “I know that, I know the floater is supposed to be sitting in the foyer. But they’re not. They are not sitting there. They are gone.”
Slowly, with trembling hands he hands me a box of tissues.
I re-enter the room and hurl the box at the student, killing him instantly. He bubbles and churns, like a snail frothing to death. That by the way is a simile. The children gasp. Gasping. Hate gasping. Probably a little bit more than exams. I make my way to the groundsman’s office. The gasoline is easy to find. Back in the exam I start to empty the contents on the floor. Shaking the tin wildly above my head.The world about me shimmers. Stepping back I draw on my cigarette and explain apologetically – no gasping in exams. The cigarette is flicked John Woo style into the air igniting their gasps.
I blink. The room smells like hair conditioner and students. The occasional one yawns. Time passes.
On another note – another Zac story. Zac and Tan are shopping. They pass a woman in a full burhka and Zac excitedly points out to Tanya – “Mum, I just saw a real Ninja.” Made his day, to see a Ninja out at the shops.
This goes for nine minutes, so only if you have time. I've heard about it over the years and remember it in the media at the time, but boy, does Safran have nerve.
