201. Exam supervision (the French way) part 2

I am so happy to be home early that I take great care in preparing lunch: avocado slices artistically fanned around strips of smoked salmon, the whole lot abundantly drizzled in lemon juice, the finishing touch a sprinkle of chia seeds. Even though I do resist and do not take a picture I realise all this might cause a slight delay in the afternoon proceedings.

And this time round I am an unaccompanied teacher, off to work on my own. I double-check my ordre de mission (don't laugh): I have to rendez-vous (don't laugh) in room 124, nothing romantic about it: it is clearly stated that I have to collect the exam papers. 

As I said I am a little late (hardly) and I am glad to see that someone is standing outside Room 124. I ignore the fact that this person might just be enjoying the benefits of an early arrival and not waiting her turn and quickly step into what I have decided is a waiting line. I even go further and decide that this is due to the inefficiency of the staff inside Room 124.

But Mrs Littleboss is not to be fooled, she pops out of nowhere and shoves a pale yellow folder under my nose.

'This is for you!'

I can see my name is on it and I take hold of the folder. I am trying to decide whether I should be glad I did not have to go into room 124 and meet some of my hierarchical superiors (bosses to you readers outside of France) or annoyed at the way she meets me at the door as if there is some kind of urgency I am not aware of.

'And be careful!' She yells. 'There are two papers!'

'Two papers.' Her loud voice resonates down the corridor and everyone turns around to see who the trouble maker is (me). 

As I stare at the folder worried that two papers are going to pop out Harry Potter style, she continues.

'Two papers! Be very careful! You have to give out two papers to each pupil!'

My, this is rocket science. I get into a trot towards the safety of the stairs but her voice is following me, echoing against the walls and ringing in my ears all the way to the safety of Room 204. 

'Two papers. Two papers to each student.'

The other teacher is already in there, busy with the all the forms. The kids turn their heads when I come in with the folder. I smile to myself. Little do they know that they are getting not one but two papers!  

I go to the desk and open the folder with exaggerated care. There are indeed two sets of exam papers. This year is the year of the double whammy. The two packs are piled crossway as a help signal for the halfwits like me. There is also a green sheet of A4 paper bearing a message in huge letters: THERE ARE TWO SUBJECTS.

I think I might be going crazy. Or I am again missing something. Will not giving out two papers trigger WW3? Or set off some dangerous explosive hidden somewhere? I read some more. It says: WRITE THE FOLLOWING ON THE BOARD: There are two subjects. You therefore have the choice of two texts and eight general discussion questions.

As I am writing this I am thinking this is more of a menu than an exam paper. Make your own! Pick and mix your toppings! Cheese and pickle for me. Pineapple and olives for you. 

I turn to the kids. Better make sure this is clear.

'You have been given not one but two exam papers.'

My colleague, wearing a very reasonable shirt (we'll ignore the socks cum sandals combo) raises his eyes to the ceiling and sighs. We dish out the papers and we both sit down, exhausted, and the exam starts. I'll skip the bit when three colleagues come in and screech some more about the particular set-up of having not one ut two papers. My colleague gets a newspaper out - a real one made of paper. 

This is an other 4-hour exam and we are well into it now, in our routine of pacing the room, peering over the kids' shoulders and then back to sitting down, reading or staring out of the window or at the ceiling. When suddenly the whirring of the neon (which Mrs Molly Coddle insisted to turn on so against my wish) sounds louder. Is it me? Am I tired? I look up and everything seems normal. Anyway this happens a lot with this type of light. The whirring is definitely getting louder and suddenly changes into a crackle. The crackle gets louder and louder and I am now a little concerned, staring at the ceiling and at the light, wishing I had read the 24-page health and safety guide and paid attention during the evacuation exercices. It is too late to worry about that now. So I just stare. That is when I can see little plumes of smoke coming out of the device. I am now incredulous and think this is not for real when suddenly BANG BANG BANG. The crackling has turned into a series of explosions, the smoke is now grey and coming out in great puffs and is accompanied by a strong burning smell. I have stopped staring and like a super hero, I have got up from my chair and crossed to the light switches but the door and literals jumped on the light-switch to turn the whole infernal thing off. Now all the lights are off and the room is full of smoke. The kids are calm and there is no screaming no panicking not even any talking. My colleague has got up from his chair too but he just shrugs his shoulders and decides this is a good time for pacing up and down the room. The noise has attracted attention to Room 204 and a colleague very helpfully comes to the rescue.

'I'll open that broken window so you'll get more air.' She whispers in my ear and then grabs hold of the waste paper basket, heads to the window, climbs on a chair and wedges the flimsy plastic thing in the window frame so the pane is now stuck open. Ingenious yet I am not sure this would be the first thing to do as per the health and safety instructions.

As she goes back to her classroom an other teacher comes up to me.

'That's already happened to me in Room 305.' He shrugs too and goes off.

Faced with so much concern about health and safety procedures, I give a final check to the ceiling (plenty of smoke) and the corridor (zero firemen in sight), a final look at the kids (all scribbling away as if nothing has happened) and I go back to the desk.

It is only now - as I am writing this - that I realise that I haven't even notified any of my hierarchical superiors (i.e. bosses 😉).

🧨