Disorganization

Yesterday we took 170 ninth graders to Six Flags.  It went more smoothly than I had expected, though there was no actual list of which students could go and kids walked onto the buses who weren't supposed to be going and nothing stopped them from going.  It boggles my mind that we had kids there without having permission slips on file.  And it angers me that sweet R from my homeroom didn't go, claiming he doesn't like roller coasters when in fact I think he just couldn't afford the $27 and was too proud to admit it (I would have gladly paid his way), and then these other kids didn't pay and just walked on the bus.  But whatever, a lot of nice kids had a good time, and I was cracking up as they showed off their physics vocabulary to me on the bus.  Best quote, from A in my homeroom who hated my class: "Miss, we kept talking like this about force and stuff while we were in line, and it was mad funny!"

I also had a conversation that encapsulates many of my frustrations with this school yesterday morning.  The setting was the sidewalk in front of the school, standing next to the buses with my fellow chaperones and a handful of students.
Woman: "Are you Ms. Pippi?"
Me (thinking this was a parent): "Yes..."
W: "I don't think we've met, but I'm the business manager of the school."
Me (who didn't even know we had a business manager): "Oh.  Hi."
W: "I heard that you are not returning here next year."
Me: "Yes, that's right, I'm taking a job outside of the district."
W: "So I really need you to give me a letter of resignation."
Me: "Oh.  When I told [the headmaster] I was leaving, he told me not to resign yet." (it's a strange world when resigning early means there is LESS control over who the headmaster can hire to replace you, but that's the way the district works.)
W: "Yes, well, I need your resignation now."
Me (pointing at bus full of kids): "Well, I'm getting on a bus to Six Flags basically right now.  Can I get it to you this evening or next week?"
W: "I need it today."
Me: "Um, OK.  Can I email it to you from my phone?"
W: "Sure.  Here's my email address."

It struck me as completely absurd that 179 days per year I can reliably be found in my classroom, I check my mailbox twice per school day, I check my school email 365 days per year, and still, this woman came out to track me down on the sidewalk, three minutes before we left on the bus (and 42 minutes after we had been scheduled to leave).  It is probably not her fault that it was last minute, but it's an accurate reflection of the chaos and unprofessionalism of my school experience thus far in general.

And so it came to pass that I composed a resignation email on my phone, sitting on a coach bus, surrounded by my students who were hopefully wrapped up enough in the opening of Rush Hour 2 to not be reading over my shoulder.