A Day at the Races

After many room changes and much waiting and chit chat with Hil’s homeroom teacher, I eventually get to hear all about how wonderful Hil is. It is great fun to learn how buoyant and assertive she is in class. The teachers love her. Lars would be glowing – had he bothered to show up.

I am feeling pretty good when I venture down the street to meet with Mr. Rotelli and some clown who says she is the Director of Pupil Services. I am hoping to be proven wrong about the district’s preparedness to handle bullying in all its shapes and sizes.

And I am happy to be working from home, to be truthful. It is a very productive day when you are not being interrupted constantly or having to handle the calamity du jour, or brainstorming what exactly to say to the hiring manager whose candidate is qualified and capable to do the job but has such annoying personal qualities that if they were ever seated together on a transcontinental flight he’d end up murdering her in her seat before they reached cruising altitude.

I go to the office. I take a seat. I have my file.

He comes in wearing a bad suit and what appears to be a toupee. She is in a mint green polyester something and should have considered a wig. And maybe a little lipstick. They scream of tired old bureaucratic complacency. I am waiting for yellowed index cards to come out so he can read from his notes on this topic.

He’d like to share that superduper up to the minute policy with me. Only he only brought his copy. And there is writing on it.

What? You don’t have a soft copy? How current can it be?

He mentions (laughing) that it has the names of all the people who had it before him. (OK just how old is this thing?)

I ask him to make me a copy. I will review it later. I have bigger things to discuss.

I take them through how I came to be involved. How I had a bullying situation to deal with with Pat and had had to make several trips to the school. How in that process I’d been underwhelmed with their procedures and their organization. I’d smelled smoke. I’d gone looking for fire. And found what amounts to an inferno.

Oh no. No, we have it down.

I start by reviewing the poster. I call it a joke. The lady with the Barber School haircut says it is for compliance purposes.

I ask her when they intend to comply with the statement which reads that me and my kids and a whole pantload of other people will be provided with the policy every year and that communication will have the name and contact information of the Compliance Officer, so I can reach him or her when and if I need to.

They look at each other.

She says, “Umm, well, I, we really don’t do that.”

Precisely as I’d thought. And we are off to the races.