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trespassers will
Monday, 2 February 2009 01:45 pmThere's a large, red notice on my office door saying that I'm NOT available for curriculum advice today. As I sit in my office frantically catching up on admin, the classic sound effects run as follows:
FOOTSTEPS down the corridor, growing louder. They stop just outside my door.
A PAUSE, while the student reads the various notices (including an Ursula Vernon Snoggox) on my door.
A further pause, which I identify as the NARCISSISTIC SECOND, during which time the student clearly decides that their particular curriculum problem is obviously far more important than the notice.
A KNOCK. I don't answer; it's repeated, because they haven't read the notice which says to knock and come in.
Student eventually puts head around the door and says something that invariably starts with "I know you're not available, but ..."
A sort of SQUELCH-BOUNCE-BOUNCE-BOUNCE noise as the severed head, neatly bitten off at the neck, rolls away down the corridor, still mouthing lists of extenuating circumstances.
In the Department of My Body Actually Hates Me, I now have a sort of scratchy-throat-coughy bug, and toothache. Theory: it doesn't hate me so much as it hates me doing this job.
FOOTSTEPS down the corridor, growing louder. They stop just outside my door.
A PAUSE, while the student reads the various notices (including an Ursula Vernon Snoggox) on my door.
A further pause, which I identify as the NARCISSISTIC SECOND, during which time the student clearly decides that their particular curriculum problem is obviously far more important than the notice.
A KNOCK. I don't answer; it's repeated, because they haven't read the notice which says to knock and come in.
Student eventually puts head around the door and says something that invariably starts with "I know you're not available, but ..."
A sort of SQUELCH-BOUNCE-BOUNCE-BOUNCE noise as the severed head, neatly bitten off at the neck, rolls away down the corridor, still mouthing lists of extenuating circumstances.
In the Department of My Body Actually Hates Me, I now have a sort of scratchy-throat-coughy bug, and toothache. Theory: it doesn't hate me so much as it hates me doing this job.
