Sometimes progress is a pain in my ass.
Thanks to another epic snowfall, state testing is an epic
fail. Tuesday's required long
composition tests for all students in grades four, seven, and ten, fall victim
to a Nor'easter. It is the only mandated date that cannot be
changed without a directive from the education commissioner. The same scenario played out years ago,
leaving many school systems that had delayed or cancelled openings shit out of
luck, forcing students to take the make-up test or take zeroes.
That section of the test is now re-scheduled for
Monday. We, however, have the reading
comprehension portion to complete, a two-day test of reading and writing that
involves both multiple choice and short answers. Short answers, or open responses, are
supposed to be a paragraph each, possibly five to ten sentences. The kids we have this year are writers; not
always good ones, but, god love 'em, writers, just the same. My team drags on and on as students attempt
to squeeze full-length essays into the tiny one-paragraph spaces in their
answer booklets.
But that's not the truly amazing part.
The truly amazing part is the on-going construction right
outside my window. In addition to
boulders being dragged around and machines that go BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP all bloody day long, there are also men leaning up
against the screens in the class windows, heavy machinery driving back and
forth making some kind of road right along the brick outer wall of my room, and
the port-a-potty is close enough for me to hand the guys toilet paper when they
need it.
I have been assured that construction will cease for the
mornings of testing. Turns out this is a
fallacy; you know, like the Tooth Fairy, the Easter Bunny, and a raise in my
paycheck. The noise has become such a
part of our daily lives that I don't really want to call attention to it lest
the children become as fixated on the distraction as I have. I can even put up with the peep shows that
will be provided without a cover charge via those exiting the portapotty.
What I absolutely cannot tolerate is the conversation
happening right outside my window. I let
it go on for about five or six minutes, and then I sneak over. By "sneak," I mean "easily
approach" under cover since the windows are made of plexi-glass from the
1970's and are completely opaque. I snap
open the window, which casuses the men to jump then stand completely still like
deer in the headlights: What was that? … I don't know. Go check it out. No, YOU go check it out. I'll follow ya… As soon as the window is open, I say
through tightly clenched teeth, "Gentlemen, you'll have to MOVE because we
are TESTING IN HEEEEEEEEEERE!!!!!!"
Someone must've pre-warned them about me because these poor
fellows jump nearly fifteen feet at the sound of my voice and immediately move
away, babbling incoherent excuses that leave a trail behind them that's about
as welcome as a fart in church.
The second day of testing the noise is a little better until
I write a note to stick to the top of the MCAS box stating that the noise is
better. Suddenly the same three brave
but clueless workers begin congregating outside of my window. At 9:30.
In the morning. On a school
day. During testing.
They seem to be trainable, however, because as I approach
the window, there are either sensors, they can feel my presence, or my figure
casts a shadow along the whited-out panes.
The moment I get within striking distance, the workers scatter as if someone
across the site yelled "FREE COFFEE!!!"
That's not the truly funny part. The truly funny part is that the make-up for
the long comp that got snowed out is randomly scheduled for Monday.
And on Monday, it's supposed to snow.
Touche, Mother Nature, touché. BEEP BEEP!
