Times I got Fired #3
The School - Part 1
Our old friend, and new boss, entered the staffroom with authority.
Not that he seemed completely comfortable wearing it, or that new some-power-suit, which was a relief. There’s always the risk the promotion of a friend will result in the demotion of a friendship. One day, you’re sticking it to the man together, and the next, he’s the man you're sticking it to.
Inevitably, his easy Scottish patter was slightly more outcome-focused. Other than that, and the odd theatrical tap of his watch, nothing much changed really.
A few weekends before, we’d all had an accelerated heart-to-heart on the news. Our faction of half-cut, ex-pats teachers were all made up for the guy. We raised a glass and bowed to our new illustrious leader.
Tone as dry as the mouth which spoke it, he assured us the extra two hundred and fifty euro a month wouldn’t change him.
“But, please lads,” he implored us, at the tail end of the night “Please, don’t make me fire you.”
In my experience, the people drawn to overseas teaching jobs are either young, lost or bonkers - and I checked all three boxes, nervously. The staff room was a who's who of the mental health spectrum. The school had the feel of a cursed galleon, where the heart of each stowaway is weighed down with a dark secret. After a few flat pints, the pub table would get a flashback of their mainland backstory, revealing which of their rockers they were off.
For me, it was the old dynamic duo of depression and anxiety. Not that I ever felt like killing myself, but sheer drops were definitely more appealing than ever.
The only qualifications for teaching English abroad are being or speaking English. With such a wide net cast and no background checks, some iffy sorts could slip aboard the ship.
Among the most questionable wayfarers was ‘Nonce’ John. A nickname unfairly earned by his appearance, but soon validated by his actions. ‘Nonce’ John was a mild-mannered public school boy with a kitchen-sink bowl-cut and a weakness for classroom footsy.
Under the cover of a short power cut, ‘Nonce’ John gave into an unspeakable whim. At lights on, the soon-to-be-former-teacher had teleported across the classroom. Confirmed ‘Nonce’ John was found rubbing buckles with a well-shod teenager. As it was always so, not everyone who looks like a paedophile is a paedophile, but everyone who is a paedophile looks like a paedophile.
There was a hulking-great ginger South African, who branded himself as a wiiild party animal. After the nth tequila, he always took the role too far, blindly attacking the closest, smallest human. Fortnightly assaults aside, he was a lovely bloke. When the time came, we each accepted our beating in good humour.
The people who don’t know what they’re doing with their life are usually the most fun. In this Spanish stronghold of characters, loons and boozers, I felt like myself for the first time in a long time.
I was taking my job as seriously as any I’d ever had in my life - not very - and this wasn’t the school’s first season of ‘BRITS ABROARD’. So, the induction was very up front about their strict ‘3 Strikes Policy’, which as my mounting catalogue of fair dismissals will attest, I interpret as a ‘2 Endorsed Fuck-ups Policy’.
Strike 1
My stroll into the academy was bordering on complacent, a territory I’m all too familiar with, when I received another strange call.
Assuming the unknown number could only possibly bring bad news, I tossed the phone into the shamble of my work-carrier bag. My fundamental belief that all incoming calls are, by their very nature, malevolent, stops me answering my closest friends. As it so happens, this was the kind of call that gives sanity a bad name.
There’s no profession where lateness is more apparent than teaching. Turns out, the person the chairs were facing, was late. More accurately, he was on-time for a lesson on the previous week’s timetable.
In my eyes, it was an honest mistake, rather than rank incompetence. I simply would not have the integrity of my mistake questioned. My insistence that I wasn’t, in fact, late, didn’t wash with my increasingly more-bossy friend, less-friendly boss.
No, Ok, I see where you’re coming from, but - meet me halfway here, mate, if it was last week, I would be on-time, right? We can all agree on that, surely.
Keep a weary eye out for Part 2 Next Thursday
If you liked this… check out:
Times I got Fired 1 - The Bakery
Times I got Fired 2 - The Taxi Rank
Confessions of a Shit Teacher
3 Times Sweating Ruined my Life
Grrrr! That gentleman had no thought to be supportive. He was just reminding you that he was in charge. I was a classroom teacher for years and then, without applyiing, I was asked to take over as Head of the Elementary Division. A teacher who was a close friend said, "Now we'll all watch you change." I said, "Let's review that at the end of the year." As an admin. I continued to teach a course, because I didn't want the teachers to see me asking anything of them that I didn't do myself. My personality didn't change, but I had to do classroom observations and, occasionally have privaate conversations with teachers who weren't returning papers in a timely way or who were coasting, but it was private, we set goals, and they generally followed up. I changed, because I was supervising, but I neer had to say it.
It can be a blessing and a course when a friend becomes your boss.