Our school is a great space for learning but can be (read is) pretty white and middle-upper class aspirational. This makes it easier for me to come across as crass, rude, overbearing, bossy (middle class white people play emotions pretty cool - a life time of mad Italian relatives has spawned me a critical outlook on cool), a bit of a know-it-all (no defense) and basically avoidable at best.
Moving chairs the other volunteer white person asks (and this is all paraphrased, I'm nearly 40 my memory is not as good as it was)
'who are your children'?
As I respond unintentionally cryptic 'Michelle Grade 5 and Jill grade 3, no 2' (my children's names are Iggy and Quinn not Michelle and Jill. The farce continues...)
We unstack another huge grouping of chairs.
'It looks like it will be a great show'
'yes' I respond 'Iggy complained at first and now he's really into it';
her face is puzzled for a moment
'Iggy?' she queries 'is that the name of one of your girls?'
I look at her incredulous
'no Iggy is my son's name';
'do you have a son as well?' she says
'no just Iggy and Quinn'
'Oh, I thought you had daughters, I thought their names were Michelle and Jill?'
'What? That's their teachers names'
And then Amadeo steps in with 'when you said their names were Michelle and Jill I wasn't sure why so I didn't say anything, I didn't know what you were up to'.
The white lady looks hard at the dodgy wog duo and walks as quickly away as politeness will allow.
About 20 minutes later, all is forgiven; Amadeo and I have sweated profusely (being unsuited and unused to physical labour of any kind, ever) and eaten an entire, massive $7 bag of Cheesels from Costco and frankly I'm flying on a fake cheese high. We start counting the chairs 16 x 8 for the top isle section and another 200 or so on the floor - Amadeo hears 16 x 8 and quickly calculates it to 332 and I chime in with absolute certainty - that is actually far from absolute, 'oh yes 332, he's very good at maths'. 16x8 is 128, and she knew it.
Well, that was Monday.
|The BEPS school choir|
And that was Tuesday.
Wednesday morning Quinn was booked last minute to go under anesthetic and have two teeth pulled making the fortnights worth three teeth in total. The cost $1400; though we were more worried about the anesthetic and it's effects. However, I was booked on an 11am flight to Sydney and left home at 9am to make it through the horrid morning airport traffic (been there before). Dad was in charge and I was off.
What happened next is best in list format:
LOVELY taxi driver
Made the flight no problem
Didn't get paid, so had no money
Stupidly caught train instead of cab, therefore arrived at random station got lost and caught a cab on George street fro approx. two minutes infuriating cab driver
Credit card didn't work so hotel was going to abandon booking
Hotel kept booking and let me stay on promise from bosses PA to pay via work credit card
Hotel lift broke down and trapped me for twenty minutes then deposited me on ground floor
I carried heavy suitcase back to reception on second floor and cried
Hotel room right near smokers exit, bathroom smelled like smoke the whole evening
A bottle of water was $4.50
Got to conference - was wrong day - wasn't supposed to be there til Thursday - so I pretended I meant it
Had to wait 3 hours on Darling Harbor, where the food sucks and is super expensive
Forgot to bring my book and became physically ill after reading Sydney's equivalent to the Herald Scum.
No one spoke to me at the cocktail dinner, left early
All canapes were dairy and I'm severely lactose intolerant.
|Me at Darling Harbour - the only part of Sydney I saw in three days.|
That was Wednesday.