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Sitting outside the school office.

That looks like every other school office ever.

Frazzled-looking women with sensible shoes, who were only going to do this job until the kids moved out, deal with temperamental technology, unreasonable piles of paper, even more temperamental staff, and even more unreasonable piles of students. They spend most of their day wishing they too had a door with their name on it that they could shut against the tide of complaints and requests and red tape and grey matter that spills in daily.

This particular door says ‘Ms. Keech’. When it opens, I’ll shake hands, hand over transcripts, and let her admire my handiwork. After all my practise, I can get through classes with minimal work and reasonable grades (until I’ve decided to play the deadbeat drop out for that particular school life).

I haven’t decided what I want to play this time around. The halls are claustrophobic and impersonal here – metal detectors at the doors, security office, condom machines and blue lights in the bathrooms, motivational posters about attitude and success in the foyer. It’s a bit grimy and grungy and there are too many students who look as if the joy of learning was not high on their agenda.

It’s been a while since I’ve done the city school scene.

This is going to be fucking awesome.

 

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