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6:57 a.m. - Saturday, Nov. 08, 2003

In a brief synopsis of this typical hell week:

Friday afternoon licensing showed up at 3:00 PM just as I was leaving. T. came into the staff room and said, "Your supervisor wants me to ask you if you can stay."

"I have plans," I naturally replied. Pat is a slimy bigot. Any attempt I've had to have a professional discussion on what's right for children has turned her into a snapping turtle.Of course, I'm disgusted; so I'm doing my job in finishing her off. Her and her cronies, the early childhood zombie administrators.

My cohort Joe will be out for at least a month, he had surgery. Spoke to him last night and he's been getting my e-mails... He will be the voice of reason, colaberating with me on a key letter to the vice chancellor this weekend from his new laptop.

Because the asshole sub has been dicking everyone around by just disappearing off the floor when she felt like it and I complained, Pat's solution was to fill out a form, as usual. (She's good at creating forms and ordering pink soap and paper towels.) She made up the spring schedule. I took this as an opportunity to remind her that she promised us she would fix the schedule so that it would be fair. As of right now the morning people have been working more than the afternoon. I e-mailed her and cc-ed the morning coworkers and my union shop stewards. Pat took the opportunity to rip out a nasty reply, cc-ing all teachers, and her two cronies up the food chain. She said that we didn't get breaks- which is illegal! Now the union is strategizing. Perhaps we shall all sue for backpay for all the breaks we've missed.

In the meantime, the most irate parent shared with me his (hilareous! hysterical) letters of complaint to the vice chancellor. Tuesday I befriended him when I said I was writing my own letter to the vice chancellor. In reply to his forward, I wrote him a succinct critique of what is going down from the inside. He was floored and asked if he could fwd it to other parents. I said sure. We're all in this together.

Pat is just making it impossible for us to do our job well. She is a major troglydyte.

In the meantime, Truman the frog, seems to have taken on a human spirit. Since his return from our basement vision quest he has been communicating to us with great intelligence. He comes over to the edge of his tank and leans his crimson-bottomed hand on the glass and is very social. Like, "Hey, wormtender- I'll have another!"

Perhaps after 8 months of fending for himself he's decided, "Maybe life inside a terrarium ain't so bad after all."


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