All this week we have an “educational consultant” who has been hired by the school in an effort to find out why the scholars that it produces are of such an abysmal calibre. I have no idea what they are paying this woman, but I’m sure it’s a lot. I could have saved them a lot of money by stating the obvious. The students suck because the parents own the school and the school is a business that is making money. And who wants to rock the boat when the money is being made?
Anyway, this woman, Jenny Wobass, is something else. She comes from some pocket in the bowels of the Deep South where vowels are strung together without the frills of consonants, making her words sound like an audible stream of molten cheese. For an educational consultant, she’s remarkably hard to understand. This is compounded by what words actually come out of her mouth. She tosses out terms like “meta-linguistic awareness”, “contrastive analysis”, and “explicit mediation” the way Snoop Dogg spits out “bitch” or “motherfucker.” She also has the unfortunate habit of calling everyone “honey” in a way that drips condescension. She clearly fancies herself quite the mind and is on a mission of mercy here, squandering her pearls on the poor, uninspired, well-meaning but incompetent teachers that we are. The entire English department spent the day with her today in the boardroom, discussing “strategies” for improving the English skills of the kids.
“Aright now, y’all got ten minutes in yer groups to discuss the degree of engagement between the task and the material. Don’t forget now, the domain must be clearly articulated.” With these cryptic instructions, Jenny Wobass left the cramped conference room for destinations unknown.
“I’m not here. This isn’t happening.” Mavis’ hooded eyes were more deeply recessed into her fleshy face than usual. She gave off a faint odour of gin. It looked as though she hadn’t had time to shave this morning and dots of dark stubble poked through from a thick layer of orange-tinted foundation. Needing some extra money, Mavis had applied for the vacant position of English Department Head. As nobody else in their right mind wanted the job, it was hers. As such, she was the liason between a disinterested and demoralized department and the indomitable Jenny Wobass.
“What the fuck are we supposed to be doing?” Jamie looked rough. His purple hair was growing out and a greasy nest of dark roots was at the base of the filthy mess. His eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.
“This is a fucking joke. Who does this chick think she is? I can’t understand a fucking word she’s saying. Does anyone have any Tylenol?”
I wasn’t feeling too great myself. Even though it was only a Wednesday, I’d been drinking the night before too. Rum and Coke and an endless circling of my available television stations, hoping in vain for something to hook me in besides fake-titted bimbos and badly dubbed b-movies from the states. The whole English department seemed to be hungover. What was happening to us all?
“I think that we’re supposed to be discussing strategies in order to maximize the existent resources of the department while planning for additional support to be implemented in the future. Then Jenny is going to work with us as a group and we’ll get into some discourse analysis”. Craig Donaldson was evidently but not surprisingly the only one in the group who had both the desire and the ability to follow the instructions of our consultant.
“Shut the fuck up Craig.” Jamie’s red-rimmed eyes dripped with contempt.
“Just try and make me.”
With this exchange, a twitter rippled across the table as a collective image of brawny, beef-fed Jamie duking it out with reedy, myopic Craig played in the minds of those who sat around it. Unfortunately, Craig fancied himself a manly sort. He was constantly expounding about his rigorous climbing exploits and various adventures while traveling under constant duress in a never ending list of dark continents and perilous countries. But his endless, danger filled, self praising monologue was at odds with his physical person. Short, weedy, bow-legged and spindly, he looked more like a squinting librarian than a swashbuckling Ernest Hemingway. From behind his thick glasses his magnified eyeballs darted around the room, blinking furiously. To make things worse, Craig was a “POET”. This was another facet of himself that he took great pains to reveal. A passing conversation with him would be littered with names of obscure web-pages and journals in which he had been “published.” He took matters regarding the English language seriously. In fact he pretty much took everything seriously. Very seriously.
With a deep groan and a heavy sigh, Mavis struggled to her feet.
“Okay. Listen everyone. I know that you don’t want to be here. I know that you don’t want to be doing this. But we’re here. So just write down what you have in terms of books and things and if it’s any good. Then write what you would like to have in terms of materials.”
“I’m not sure that’s the angle that Jenny’s fishing for Mavis…”
“You’re mixing your metaphors Craig…”
“Shut up Jamie.”
“Just try and make me.”
A round of laughter. Indignant and red-faced, Craig blustered his way out of the room.
“I don’t care. Just write something. Anything.” Mavis eased back into her seat. I watched the clock above the door. It was only 9:15. We were in for a whole day of this. At first I was looking forward to not having to be in my classroom, thinking anything was better than having to face the animals. I was starting to realize that my thinking had been wrong.
“I’ve got to get out of here Mavis.”
“Don’t we all.”
“No. I mean really. I need to get out of here.”
“Well you’re not going to. You know it. So suck it up.”
“What if I go crazy?”
“You’ll be welcomed to the club.”
“No, I mean really. What if I crack up? Become a total wing job? Start taking off my clothes in front of the class, shitting on desks, that kind of thing?”
Mavis heavily mascaraed eyes rose from the page she was doodling on and met mine.
“They won’t blink an eye honey. And if you do something they don’t like, like shitting on a desk, they’ll arrest you. And you’ve already tried that, haven’t you?”
The door opened and Jenny Wobass drifted back in on a cloud of heavily floral perfume and nicotine.
“How y’all makin’ out? Gittin’ some good stuff?”
I sought mercy from the clock. 9:17. Jenny Wobass caught my eye as it sadly lingered there.
“How ‘bout you, honey? Why don’ yew show me what’cha got?”
“Well, actually I don’t have too much right now; I’ve just been talking, er, discoursing with Mavis about reciprocal reading strategies.”
Mavis shot me an evil look.
“But honey, yew were supposed to be talkin’ ‘bout the engagement with task and material.”
“I know. We sort of got sidetracked I guess.”
“Well, reciprocal reading is a pretty interesting strategy.”
Mavis the department head was seeking redemption for her blank page as well. She waded in.
“I agree Jenny. I’d like to learn more about some reciprocal reading strategies actually.”
“Well, it wasn’t really what I’d intended…”
“I understand, but I think it would be beneficial for our students in improving their language acquisition.”
I rolled my eyes at Mavis and snorted. She kicked me under the table with one of her black orthopedic clod-hoppers.
“Well, maybe if we’ve got some time when we’re finished up here. If y’all are interested that is.”
“Oh we are.” I pitched. “We are.”
