The Office Storm.
Today is busy. Crazy busy. Actually, yesterday was busy too. And the day before that was equally insane. Final exams have finished, which, after my first lame-duck day of sitting around keeping my office chair nice and warm, ended up being… insanely busy. I proctored exams for first and second grade and, coincidentally enough, being that third graders already took their final exams weeks ago, I got to teach my third grade classes between the hours I proctored exams.
There are different kinds of busy here in Korea, especially for me. We’ll try to categorize them as follows:
Days when everyone is busy. When everyone is busy, which happens all the time, nobody tells Amanda when there are schedule changes. This results in Amanda-teacher being extremely flustered with a full schedule of classes. Oftentimes, the classes I’m prepared for will be cancelled, which usually happens in one of two ways: (1) As I’m walking out the office door, arms full of papers, coffee clutched in my right hand, I’ll hear a, “Oh!” from behind me. In previous weeks, I would continue walking and get chased down the hallway by Mr. Choi, but nowadays I’ve learned to turn around and raise both eyebrows inquisitively while Mr. Choi, one of the two, will tell me, “Amanda, your class…. cancelled,” to which I reply, “Oh, okay,” and sit. (2) Other days I make it all the way out the door, down the hallway, down two flights of stairs and across the courtyard to my classroom, chilly and empty, and wait. Some days I wait for up to fifteen minutes before I give up. Other days I just turn around and head on back to my chair- warming duties.
On the other hand, it is not unusual for me to begin to relax, preparing eagerly for an hour of casual sitting, coffee- sipping and class prepping when suddenly, with two minutes before the next period begins, I will hear a click click click of Mrs. Gang’s heels crossing the office before she appears above my right shoulder and tells me, “Amanda, you have class, now.”
Some days I’m cool as a cucumber, lessons planned, and I can do it.
Other days I have no lesson plan for the unexpected schedule change, am flustered from already teaching three classes that day, one of which probaby had 38 crazy students that I unexpectedly had to teach on my own, or I haven’t had my morning coffee, don’t want to re-teach the lesson again, desperately need a break or am dead-beat exhausted from working so many 12-hour days at school, and this is when I want to cry and wail, “WHY DIDN”T SOMEONE TELL ME????? I CAN’T DO THISSSSSSS ANNYYYY–MOOORREEEEE.” This feeling is usually accompanied by desperate attempts to stifle the hot, rising panic and those tricky little tears of anger/ frustration that are always trying to sneak out of my eyes at exactly the wrong moments.
An example of the wrong moment for tears: when standing in front of 18 eager Korean students, crazy and talking and all over the room, a giggling, crazy, paper- throwing, chair- pulling wrestling mess of students, knowing you have an hour with them and can’t seem to solidify your mind enough to decide which activity to start the class with.
As it is, today is a different kind of day. Those kinds of days are the days I don’t have time to write. Today is a day when:
Everyone else is busy. Let me paint out the scene for you. I arrive at the office and nobody is sitting at their desk. People are everywhere, teachers and students. Papers are everywhere. Everything is a flurry of activity and nobody sees me come in the door, walk through them, and sit at my desk. Mr. Choi doesn’t turn to me and happily say, “Good Morning.” There will be no conversation with me for the better part of the day. The bell rings for class and the flurry of motion carries on, oblivious. About ten minutes after the bell rings, everything is quiet and empty in the office.
I have come to learn that this is the kind of day when my classes are usually cancelled.
And, sure enough, half my classes today are cancelled!
Cheers.