Waiting for Judgment

Some of us are eager to please, and some of us are super-competitive, and some of us are both. I'm both. Give me a job, and I want to do it well. I want to be the best at it.

Bored Gods and Goddesses aren't plagued with doubts about their skills. They're perfect all the time, and they are not particularly eager to please. Oh, to be divine!

I'm still waiting for my final teacher evaluation of the year. I've had two already: one announced, one unannounced.

Have you ever been hunched over and overwhelmed by your grueling job, only to look up and see someone standing there with a clipboard, charting your every move? And then scoring it numerically? How can a number be affixed to something as nebulous as teaching? Well, fling some money at some specialist, and they'll find a way to quantify everything.

Have you ever sat down to lunch with a bunch of colleagues who've all been evaluated numerically, and their numbers are all better than yours? Welcome to my world! The 25-year-old, second-year teacher who is with me 8th period got a better score than me ... and he was late to class.

I'm never late to class. I still wallow in mediocrity.

Our school district uses an evaluation tool called Danielson, which has about 10,000 categories, called "domains." Supervisors breeze into the classroom, watch the goings-on for a class period, and judge all of those domains based on a 40-minute span of time, one day out of 181. One would think that everybody would be mediocre under those conditions, but some teachers are always distinguished. They get 3.95 out of 4 possible, time after time. (I'm beginning to think some select few of my colleagues are actually bored deities. But I'm afraid to out-and-out ask.)

The thing about observations, they're the only time a boss even comes in your classroom. It's not like these people pop in to say howdy and see what you need. They don't drop by to chew the fat. Three times a year they slither in and start assigning numbers to every little thing. Then they disappear.

It's the middle of April, most of my co-workers are long finished with their evaluations, and I'm still awaiting the clipboard.

 At night I dream the observer is in the back of the room ... and I'm passing out textbooks and dropping them on the floor ... and the document camera won't turn on ... and the kids aren't paying attention ... and half of them are asleep. Then I wake up and go to work. Day in, day out.

All this and Donald Trump too.

Texting a Bored Goddess: Persephone

Anne
seph where r u? i'm cold af


Persephone
i'm home w/ my man <3 <3


Anne
plz plz plz hop on da
train!!!!


Persephone
ive had enough of my mom im staying
home for the summer


Anne
if u dont come there wont be
summer!!!!!


Persephone
my mom doesnt respect my
man its soooo obvious


Anne
u no u missed easter


Persephone
for realz? early


Anne
not that early seph ...
come on its supposed 2
snow tmr


Persephone
why should i care
down here im queen
up there im princess
and u try goin 6 months
w/out ur man! Im 3000
yrs old i deserve respect


Anne
well u no how moms are
but i think ur mom likes hades
come on she is crying, be a sport


Anne
seph? u there?


Anne
SEPH PLZ


Anne
discounted easter candy
chocolate bunnies 74 cents
at shoprite


Anne
peeps at deep discount
and still soft ... aren't u
sick of pomegranates


Anne
????????


Persephone
k k k tell my mom 2
pick me up 30th st station
2:00 on wed. It's baseball
season & it's all He watches
and He likes the Yankees


Anne
YAY! will do <3 u seph

Interview with a Bored God: Dionysus

Boy, am I ever in a slump! Here I sit, it's Spring Break -- the longest holiday I will have until next Xmas -- and the weather is straight outta February. To make matters worse, I'm now gun-shy about writing on this platform, since the Trickster God of keyboarding wants to blot out all my hard work.

But soft! There's someone at the door! Oh. My. Goodness. I wish this God was more welcome here than he is. All the same, let's give a warm, wonderful "Gods Are Bored" welcome to Dionysus, God of boozy parties!

Dionysus: Anne, baby! Spring Break! It's time to partayyy!

Anne: Don't you remember, Dion? I packed it in. I don't drink anymore. I just went to a wedding last weekend, and I didn't even have a glass of champagne.

Dionysus: And you wonder why you're so unhappy? I've got about 10 picker-uppers that will light your fire.

Anne: Nah, bro, I've been off the sauce for five years now. Mostly I don't miss it.

Dionysus: Don't expect me to nominate you for a position as a nymph or a dryad, or any of that! Grapes are good. Especially fermented.

Anne: Stop! You're not cheering me up! You're making it worse!

Dionysus: Well, if you're not jonesing for some vino, why else would you be depressed?

Anne: Do you want the whole list, or just the top ten?

Dionysus: Killjoy! Look, there's a sports bar within walking distance! Go up there and watch the NCAA finals, grab yourself a brewski. You've even got a local team in the game ... and I recall that when you and I were bffs, back in the day, you were a Michigan fan.

Anne: Pass.

Dionysus: Whoa, you are definitely in Downerville. Catch a God up. What's the problem?

Anne: We've got the worst president in my lifetime. He's so bad, I can't even joke about him.

Dionysus: As bad as Caligula?

Anne: Getting there.

Dionysus: ... Because no one could joke about him either.

Anne: This cold spring is a bummer too.

Dionysus: Come to sunny Italy with me! We'll eat some fish, some pasta, drink some red wine ...

Anne: STOP ALREADY! All I want to do right now is buy myself a big plate of pasta and a bottle of wine! You're a terrible God.

Dionysus (proudly): I do my part. Hey! Where's that cute little tabby cat?

Anne: She died.

Dionysus: Aww. I liked her. But ... you had a birthday not long ago, right?

Anne: Okay, I'm usually polite, but fuck you. I don't want to contemplate my age. Or my dead cat.

Dionysus: Well, surely you've been posting witty stuff on your blog ...

Anne: Not a thing.

Dionysus: Anne. You've got to get a grip ... around a nice crystal wine goblet! Everything looks bright through the bottom of the glass.

[Dionysus spills a whole bottle of finest cabernet on Anne's sofa.]

Dionysus: Oooops!

Anne: Gods damn it! Things were bad enough around here! Look what you've done to my upholstery! Ruined!  That's it. Out you go.

Dionysus: All right. Be that way! I'm off to the sports bar!

Anne: Knock yourself out. If there's anything worse than thinking about Donald Trump in a sober fashion, it would be thinking about Donald Trump after a bottle of whatever that awful deity just dumped on my furniture. Guess I could take a small comfort in that.