I sink into my seat as Outlook begins to spit out all of my unopened emails. Why the fuck is my inbox not in my list of Top 10 Things I Hate About Work?
I don’t bother to entertain that question further, I’ve got a lot of work to do this morning. Besides, there’s one particular subject title that is distracting me, a meeting request from Principal O’Donnell. Fuck off. I accept the invitation. I notice that the Head of Senior School, Mr Alex Tovsky, is also on the invite list. You can fuck off too! Most likely they want a more formal discussion about what had happened with Donnatella. I’m not in a position to dwell on it. I’ve got too much work to do.
Time really is the greatest magician. It’s there, it’s always there, it’s right in front of you, but then you blink, and just like that, it’s gone, no time left to do anything. In this case, no time to finish marking my student exams. I’ve only managed to correct one-third, and I have less than two hours before reports need to be completed. I don’t have two hours though, because I have a class in thirty minutes. So essentially, I have half an hour, half an hour to finish marking over fifty exams. Not to mention the other giant task of inputting all student assessment scores into the school’s online reporting system. Shit.
I need to motivate myself. I can do it! Yes! I can fucking .. cheat! That’s right. There’s no time to mark fifty papers in thirty minutes. However, thirty minutes should be plenty of time to make up scores in my genius little head!
That is pretty fucked up.
I find my class lists with the student names on them. I pick up my red pen and I look at the first name listed.
Gemma Acosta. Hmm, Gemma Acosta. Another mediocre student. Has shown some potential, but lazy as fuck. She shouldn’t be rewarded for this laziness, but neither should she be discouraged. She’s one of those students I neither particularly hate nor particularly like. It helps she isn’t obnoxious, which is definitely in her favour. That’s worth an extra five percent at least. So in light of all that, and considering her past results during the year, seventy two percent for her exam sounds about right.
This is just fucked up.
I do feel torn. Despite being fully aware of the absurd contradiction, I feel incredibly proud that I’m working hard to get this done, but still, I can’t ignore this discomfort I feel, that this ‘hard work’, is just so so fucking unethical.
I know these kids well though, I know my scores are five percent either way of what they would actually get. Only a gifted and experienced teacher can accomplish such a feat. It’s almost a shame not to use such talents. Besides, Tovsky will get a hardon if he finds out I didn’t complete reports on time. I’ll have to watch that incompetent fuck cum in his pants while riding his fucking high horse. No, I can’t give him the satisfaction. It’s almost a moral obligation to make sure that doesn’t happen.
The rest of my colleagues aren’t much better either. I look around and I see incompetence .. mismanagement .. hypocrisy .. grandiosity .. cowardice.
I suddenly feel less uncomfortable in continuing with my highly inappropriate conduct. So much so in fact, I would dare say that I am actually quite comfortable. Wow, who would have thought my dear super-fucked-up colleagues, myself included, could band together like that, becoming the means to forgive myself, so that I can soldier on, and survive the day, guilt free.
I need to speed this up.
Heather Arlington. Smart, but she’s a bully, a real hardcore bitch. Definitely in need of some humbling, but can’t be too much, she’s the type that would want to see her exam. I can’t have that. Eighty four percent.
Simon Batista. Meh. Fifty percent.
I’m making amazing progress, racing down that list like a mother fucker.
Triston Browning. Ha! Fuck you! Little shit. Twenty eight percent.