Sunday, August 22, 2010

The Positive Self-Image of Hippos

This one was relayed to me by my mother.

DAUGHTER: I want a fat belly like you.

GRANDMOTHER: But I don't like my fat belly.

DAUGHTER: Well, hippos like their fat belly.

Saturday, August 14, 2010

Now we're taking food orders over the phone?

I just got off the phone with my sister. During the majority of the conversation, my four-year-old was nearby yelling "Get me my french toast sticks!" I ignored her. But my sister asked me to put the little one on the phone.



SISTER: Can you get me some french toast sticks?


SISTER: Can you get me some french toast sticks?

DAUGHTER: Mom! It's for you!

Friday, August 13, 2010

One Week: 3 Interviews, 2 Busted Knees, 1 Doctor's Appointment

It's the final rush to get all the open positions filled and approved before the first day. Sometimes I just feel like a formality.

So last Wednesday I had a message from School A that sounded something like this: "Hello, this is Mr. B from High School A. I was wondering if you were still interested in the Algebra/Geometry position. If so, call me back at ###-#### ext 4112." It was too late when I got the message, so I called back the next day. I tried three times and heard "Extension 4112 is not defined" three times. With frustration looming, I dialed the main office. Here's how that went:

SECRETARY: High School A. May I help you?

ME: Yes, I'm returning a call from Mr. B.


ME: No, it definitely wasn't Mr. J. I thought he said Mr. B.

SECRETARY: There's no one here by that name.

ME: Ok, well it was about coming in for an interview for a math position.

SECRETARY: Well, then it was either Mr. McSomething or Mr. S. Let me check. Please hold... Hello? I'm going to connect you with Mr. McSomething. Hold again.

MR. McSOMETHING: This is Mr. McSomething.

ME: I'm returning a call about scheduling an interview for the Algebra & Geometry position.

MR. McSOMETHING: What's your name?

ME: Christina Wingate.

MR. McSOMETHING: Are you certified?

ME: Yes. [This is especially annoying because I now know he has no idea who I am since I did send a copy of my cert with my resume.]

MR. McSOMETHING: Ok. Hold on.....Hello? How 'bout Monday at 10:15?

ME: Sure. No problem.

MR. McSOMETHING: And you are certified?

ME: Yes.


ME: Mathematics.

MR McSOMETHING: Oh. Ok. See you Monday.

ME: Wait, am I coming to the high school or central admin?

MR McSOMETHING: High School. Main Office.

All weekend it bothered me that I couldn't remember the guys name and that he obviously hadn't seen my resume or anything. I went to the school's website and it was really out of date. The headline was "Click here to See pics from Graduation '08!" And no name listed as an administrator looked familiar to Mr. B or Mr. S or Mr. McSomething from the phone calls.

On Monday morning when my mom came to pick up Daughter, I asked her to call and ask who the Assistant Principal's were. The secretary asked if she was a parent (Mom lied and said "yes") and her name (she made one up) and was told there are no assistants. Bummer.

The directions I had lead me to a dead end from where I could see the school. So I did manage to find a way to get there. However, there were no parking spots near the door. I was still about a half hour early so I parked about a mile away (no doubt near the dead end my directions had led me to) and sat in my car listening to the radio. It occurred to my that there were probably security guards watching me on the cameras, laughing, "Look at the scared white lady who couldn't find a parking spot! Hahahahaha!"

Finally, it was time to enter the building. I stopped at the sign-in desk and was asked who I was there to see. "Mr. McSomething" was not an acceptable answer and I was told Personnel was located across the street at the Middle School. I told her I was specifically told to come to the High School. She shrugged and pointed to the Main Office.

In the main office I told the secretary my name and I was there for an interview for a math position. She said, "You can have a seat. I'll tell Mr. Magee you're here." MAGEE! I was way off with the McSomething. Well, at least I had the M right. I turned around to sit down and there was a whole slew of well dressed interviewees waiting. Oh great. In the next few minutes I realized some of them were there for interviews with Facilities. Phew! Eventually Mr. Magee showed up. He asked me if I had my resume. What a surprise that he didn't have the one I mailed in a month ago! He made a copy and brought it back to me, started to walk away, then asked me if I had a copy of my certificate. The other girl waiting started to get hers out and he said, "No, no, I have yours." I see who's more important to you, Mr. McSomething! A few minutes later a guy arrived for his interview for the math position. Then the secretary started asking us our names over and over again. The guy was getting visibly annoyed. Finally she decided to write them down and we only had to spell them three or four times till she got them right.

The other girl for the math position was finally taken into the conference room around 11. As soon as she disappeared Visibly Annoyed next to me asked "Was your appointment at 10:30?" I answered "No." He waited for me to tell him my appointment time, but I didn't. Maybe a subconscious way of getting him more annoyed and less likely to have a good interview? So he finally said, "What time was your appointment?" "10:15."

By the time I was taken in for my interview it was over an hour after I had arrived. As comical as my stay in the main office had been, I was not happy and had already decided I didn't really want this job. I was then told by the principal (whose name, by the way, is the same as a certain seemingly defunct hotel/diner chain of my childhood symbolized by a bright blue monolith-ish looking object on top--do you know how hard it was for me to keep a straight face?) that the "supervisors" (not assistants) at the table would be asking me a series of predetermined questions after which I would be "allotted time" to ask questions. I internally rolled my eyes. Predetermined questions are the worst. They all have 3-4 parts and by the time you finish answering the first you can't remember the other parts. I could see the sheets and instead of writing my answers they were rating my answers 1-5. So I was going to get a score. Perfect. I felt like leaning over and saying "All ones would be fine by me for this place."

Luckily, the questions were geared toward someone who had prior teaching experience. Unluckily, they wanted to know a lot about my "urban" teaching experiences. Uh, I don't have any! The interviewers purposely remained stoic and gave no indication of how they felt about me or my answers. When their questions were over, my only question was: Will I hear either way? Answer: Yes. Phew. Hope I didn't go over my "allotted time" for that one!

On my way out of the office I felt like saying, "I hope you get it!" to Visibly Annoyed guy still sitting in his chair. But I'm trying to use sarcasm less. (Hahaha! Get it? I'm being sarcastic about being sarcastic!)

On my way home I got a call from a charter school scheduling an interview for the next day and this morning I got a call to come in TODAY to interview for a part-time high school position. Way to wait till the last minute, guys!

I did want to tell you (my four followers) about those two interviews, but they went OK and really don't hold the same entertainment value as the one above. I also had an incident on a Pirate Ship with Daughter in which both my knees locked up and remained excruciatingly painful for the next 24 hours. The doctor (well, nurse practitioner, really-I'm not important enough to see a real doctor) said "Welcome to Your Thirties" before telling me I'm a little overweight (really? I hadn't noticed EVERY SECOND I'm awake). But my Zumba career's not over.

Phew! What a week!

Saturday, August 7, 2010

Miss Spoken

ME: Do you want your juice in the box or in a cup?

DAUGHTER: In a cup.

ME: Any specific cup?

DAUGHTER: Yes, a pacific cup.

Thursday, August 5, 2010


Daughter and I were talking about last names and first names. This is how the end of the conversation went:

Me: What's Papa Dan's real first name?

Daughter: I don't know, what?

Me: Papa DAN? It's Dan.

Daughter: What a coincidence!