Monday, July 26, 2010

I hate meetings. so. much.

Oscar is my host dad, and also the chief inspector (head of discipline and attendance) and the sub-director, as well as being supervisor of the physical plant. He's accumulated all these jobs over the years. Sometimes he exhibits an overly strong sense of How Things Should Be Done:

Today was a teacher planning day, before classes actually start tomorrow. There were meetings, and time for teachers to plan out the semester. I didn't think I needed to go, and I asked my co-teacher Marcela, who said she didn't know what the meetings were, but that I didn't need to go. So I didn't, because any meetings would be (a) about material that didn't concern me, and (b) in Spanish at my 50%-or-less level of comprehension. (I don't go to the English Department meetings for those reasons.)

This came up at tea this evening. Oscar said I should have gone to school today, because there were "experts" there to explain how to do grades and long-term planning and other important things.
"Right, but I don't do those things."
"You don't do grades?"
"Well, I gave the kids a test, but Marcela is the teacher of record, she gives them their final grade. Plus it would all be in Spanish I can't understand."
"Oh, no, he'd be going really slow, pointing at slides on the board and stuff."
Why on earth would a Chilean, talking to a room full of Chileans, talk slowly?

The absurd sense of responsibilities is strong with this one.

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