My Favourite Psychopaths

I wrote this letter to one of the higher-ups in the Victorian Education Department late last year.

Dear Phillip,

I have an issue I would like to discuss with you concerning Solar Hills PS, where I was Leading Teacher (ICT-Middle Years) between January 2004 and May 2005.

I left SHPS to go on WorkCover after suffering a stress-related illness due to workplace bullying by the Principal Min Worland and then acting A-P Gavroula Parageorgiou. My subsequent WorkCover claim detailed the harassment I had been subjected to and was accepted by the insurer CGU without proceeding to a Conciliation Hearing. I have been led to believe that claims must have an uncommonly strong basis for this to occur. I learned at around this time that I had become the fifth Leading Teacher or above to leave Solar Hills PS in six years. Two of these senior staff had transferred out, one had re-graded to speed his exit and one had, like myself, gone onto WorkCover, never to return.

The formal complaint I made against Gavroula was upheld and the investigator, then acting Western Metropolitan Region Director Noel Downs informed me that she had been given a warning. The claims I made against Min could not be substantiated as some incidents I described in the complaint had occurred while no-one else was present. I also believe there was a reluctance on the part of SHPS staff members who had witnessed Min’s harassment to put themselves in a situation where they might become the next target. I have the letters from WMR on file.

Having maintained semi-regular contact with a couple of staff members from SHPS I have been very disheartened to learn that there has been no leavening of the situation. I have heard that WorkCover claims for stress-related illnesses by SHPS staff members have continued and compassionate transfers have been granted to some teachers. Others have managed to transfer or find employment elsewhere via fortuitous natural attrition. Still others remain at SHPS.

Some weeks ago, I visited a staff member, Desi Simonidis, in the Mercy Mental Health Unit. Desi is an Education Support Officer of some 30 years standing at SHPS and is much-loved by the whole community. That wasn’t enough to protect her from being targeted by Min & Gavroula. She’s home now, but very unwell. Seeing Desi brought it home to me that something needs to be done.

Min & Gavroula habitually create conflict where none is necessary, construct adversaries out of thin air and simply must have a target. I wonder as I write this exactly who among the current staff has found themselves in Min and Gavroula’s cross-hairs because they: came up with a good idea before Min & Gavroula did; asked a question thought innocuous by everyone except those two; received praise from a staff-member that Min or Gavroula don’t like; noticed that the staff consultation provisions fall well short of those in the Agreement; or shown interest in AEU involvement. Or for no particular reason that anyone can discern.

These people have subjected teachers and ESOs to some terrible treatment over the past ten years. Unfortunately, many staff have not felt confident enough to make a formal complaint, so to be fair, neither WMR nor DEECD may have seen the accumulation of evidence necessary for them to be in a position to take firm action.

When I put it to the acting WMR Director at a 2006 interview that the school deserved better and could WMR not see a pattern in WorkCover claims emanating from SHPS, he told me that WMR were well aware of the situation. I don’t know if it’s a case of just waiting for the 60+years-old Min to retire and hope that the situation is resolved that way but Gavroula recently became the successful applicant for the A-P position and if anything, she has been a baleful influence on the gullible Min. The point being that no improvement should be expected while Gavroula is A-P, let alone if she was to become Prin.

When I left SHPS I felt that I had to forge ahead. I’d made a formal complaint after all, so I’d done my bit and to pursue the matter further might have appeared vexatious. I am satisfied with the way WMR investigated and acted upon my complaint back in 2005. But I had hoped that the warning to Gavroula might bring about some change. That is not the case. I want to emphasize that I am not seeking to have that matter re-opened, unless as part of an accumulation of evidence against Min and Gavroula.

The problem is that once clear of that very toxic work environment most people don’t want to be reminded of it, despite feeling greatly aggrieved and concerned for those who remain. I feel a bit guilty about not having followed things up and wish to see something tangible done about these very real threats to the health and well-being of hard-working, committed staff-members in a good school. One that is long overdue for some positive leadership.

I would appreciate any opportunity to discuss this matter with you and be grateful for any advice you could give me as to how to proceed with this.

Cheers

You Can Run But You Can't Hide IV

You might remember a tale of some minor work-related travails of mine from a while ago, related here, here and here.

It seems the object of my disaffection is acting on the unofficial advice given to her - she returned from Family Leave for about six months and now she's back on it again. During her return we neither spoke to, looked at, nor acknowledged each other in any way. We also went to some lengths to avoid being in the same vicinity.

That's a perfect resolution no amount of mediation could have produced.

All Roads Lead To Rome - Eventually

As most of you know, I work in the city. And I don't mind the daily train trip in and out, going from Newmarket inbound on the Craigieburn Line, to Flagstaff Station on the Underground Loop in the morning, and then out the same way in the afternoon.
I leave work at around 5pm, which puts me on time for the 5:14 to Craigieburn. And if the 5:14 is too jam-packed to get on, which happens around once a week, the 5:22 is usually okay. But not always. Sometimes the 5:22 is just as crowded and then I'm stuffed. Because the next two Craigieburn trains run express between Kensington and Moonee Ponds, which means Newmarket is by-passed so those trains are effectively no good to me.

And it shits me. There must be a solution... wait! I think I've got it!

Craigieburn trains are interspersed with Sydenham and Upfield Line trains, all of which stop at North Melbourne. So if I get on a Sydenham or Upfield train arriving at Flagstaff before the next Crigieburn train, I can get out at North Melbourne and walk up and then down the ramps to the Craigieburn Line platform. Even if that train is jam-packed, there are stacks of people who disembark at North Melbourne to hook up with Williamstown and Werribee Line Trains. So no matter how chocka that Craigieburn line train was to begin with, I can always get on at North Melbourne.

I never have to miss a train home again! Ever!

Period of daily train travel taken to arrive at this stunningly simple course of action? 2.25 years.

Draw your own conclusions. But I'm on the verge of working out where babies come from too.

Chandleresque

Introduction:

Long-time readers of this blog will know that I'm an ex-teacher. I now work at the office of the Victorian state authority in charge of regulating the teaching profession. It's not a bad spot.Teachers have to pay $70 per year to be registered so to say we're about as welcome as a dag at a sheep show to some of our constituents is putting it mildly.

Every so often, staff organize lunchtime seminars on topics of general interest. A guest speaker will come in and talk and answer quesions for about 45 minutes. They've all been very entertaining. At one of these lunchtime seminars earlier this year, the guest speaker was writer Shane Maloney. He's published quite a bit of crime fiction and it's very good. He told us that he'd been influenced by writers like Hammett, and Chandler and Peter Corris in building a distinctive style that was of Melbourne's milieu, and he's right, you do get that feeling from his books.

What happened was, Shane Maloney arrived a little late on this particularly hot day. He apologised and then told us a bit about himself. His wife was a teacher so he understood us. We were in the extortion racket, he said. Pretty funny guy. And he'd been Cultural Director of Melbourne's 1996 Olympic bid. Somebody may have organized hookers, but it certainly wasn't him.

Anyway, there's a staff newsletter that goes out once a week and I put together a review of Shane's visit. Being something of a Chandler afficionado I thought I'd have some fun with it. But the Communications Manager couldn't publish it and I was inclined to agree with her. One of the characters was based on a colleague, you see. And there was just the one key phrase that made it inappropriate. See if you can figure out which one it was.

The Writer Who Arrived Late

I wasn’t doing much that day. The frosty blonde who walked into my downtown office looked like she might change that. She eyed me slowly and carefully, like I was something she’d just stepped in, and arched a manicured eyebrow at the Clayton’s bottle on the desk. I shrugged. All class, she raised the bottle to her mouth and uncorked it using her teeth.

She took a long, slow swig and shuddered. Giving her the once over, I could see she was a little on the short side, but with the kind of upholstery that could make a bishop want to kick a hole in a stained glass window.

“Call me Bridget,” she said. “I know a guy wants to meet you. Name’s Maloney. He’s waiting outside.”

“I bet you know a lot of guys, Bridget. Can’t think why any of them would want to meet me. What’s his angle?”

“His bio’ll say he’s a crime writer. The funny stuff. Booked him to crack gags at a lunchtime seminar and he didn’t show. I found him impersonating a foetus in a lane outside. The guy’s a mess.”

“Suppose you tell me how else you’re mixed up in this.”

“Me? I’m a fan of his. Least, I used to be.”

“Okay, show the comedian in. And then scram. Floozies like you I can get wholesale."

He was the kind of tall, stoop-shouldered streak of misery who looked like he’d been slapped around. By a dame. All his life. His oversized glasses sat crookedly on his sallow face. Plenty of laughs so far.

“What do you want, Maloney?”

“I need some protection. The tough guy kind. I think my wife’s trying to get rid of me.”

“What makes you think she’s not on the level?”

“She’s gone and got herself registered with VIT. Then I get this phone call from some dame in the VIT office asking me to come in and shoot the breeze. I’m supposed to be there now.”

“Can’t help you, Maloney. I don’t do matrimonials. But that’s not the whole story either. In my line of work, you get used to taking slaps from guys the size of beer trucks. Or the occasional slug from a pearl-handled .22 straight out of an alligator purse. But if there was any sort of law in this town, it’d say don’t tangle with VIT. I don’t like ‘em. Nobody does. And I don’t like the racket they’ve been running shaking down teachers these last eight years. But we both know a bankroll fed by a guaranteed $70pa from 110,000 chalk-jockeys can buy a lot of nasty friends. So far, only the ambulance chasers and yellow press have had the guts to try to put a kink in their hose. I figure if your wife’s mixed up with them, you’re already near the top of the coroner’s dance card. And I’m not going to be the sucker wiping up the grease stain left behind once they’re through with you.”

His bottom lip trembled like a Liberal leader making a concession speech on election night. He was drenched in sweat. Sure it was hot, but not enough to explain that amount of perspiration. It was starting to spread out across the carpet like ink on blotting paper. And I was almost starting to feel sorry for him. Almost.

“Tell you what, Maloney: I’m not taking your case, but I’m damned if I can let a string-bean like you go in there without some kind of cover story. I’d feel like an accessory. So listen and listen good. This may be your only chance. Walk in all hot and bothered like you are now. That way, it’ll look like you at least tried to be there on time. Make all the right apologetic noises but don’t labour it. Nobody likes a milquetoast.

Turn on the charm. Start with a slow smile. And let ‘em know you’re onto ‘em. That you’ve got a make on their racket. Hell, even show a little knowing admiration for the kind of cunning needed to get a stranglehold on the teaching caper in this town. Do that, and they’ll be grinning at you through their shark-teeth like you’re one of them, a co-conspirator.

Once they’re hooked, you can take ‘em through the reading process from their point of view and then hit ‘em with an insightful history of your writing. Why it reads the way it does. How your main character, ALP drone Murray Whelan, came into the world and how he makes his way down its mean streets. Then give ‘em the inside dope on the crime-writing schtick: how you gotta play the game the way other crime writers have, but with your own angle, not following a recipe.

Throw in a few celebrity name-drops whenever you can too. Everybody loves insider gossip. That kind of stuff’s been filling seats since before Vesuvius gave Pompeii a makeover. And don’t back off on the zingers, either. They’ll get restless if the wisecracks slow down to Monash Freeway speed.”

He was nodding like one of those toy dogs all the Sunday drivers used to have in their back windows.

“Have you got all that?”

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Just one more thing Maloney: if you had anything to do with that failed cheapskate Olympic bid all those years ago, don’t mention it. There’s a lot of people still sore about that.”

“Thanks. You’ve probably saved my life.”

“Think so? You’re wife’s a registered teacher. They don’t let go easily…“

Epilogue:

Maybe you had to be there. But I've read a couple of Shane Maloney's books and they stack up pretty well. During his talk, he explained how he'd worked out who his protagonist was going to be. He thought Peter Corris' private investigator Cliff Hardy was a good fit for Sydney, and Bondi in particular, but he couldn't see a shamus quite suiting Melbourne. So his protagonist Murray Whelan is an ALP staffer whose chief domain is Melbourne's northern suburbs. Two of his novels have been adapted into a couple of pretty good films, Stiff and The Brush Off starring David Wenham as Murray Whelan.

So, did you work out which bit rendered it unsuitable?

You Can Run But You Can't Hide III

Interested readers might need to refer to the two previous posts on this matter just to refresh the memory.

The union rep at work is one of those people you just instantly warm to. For me, it was because she reminded me in looks and manner of a former colleague I liked a lot. But beyond that, she's a voluble, witty and clearly caring person who is passionate about what she believes in without beating anyone over the head with it or taking herself too seriously. I needed advice about what to do after the incident with Michelle so we went into one of the interview rooms and I went through it all with her.

She was sympathetic, but rational at the same time. She warned me against catastrophizing. I could see her point, but I felt like I'd stumbled onto something considerably ugly about my workplace to which there didn't appear to be an easy remedy. We consulted the staff handbook and it didn't have much to offer so she advised me to take it to my manager and see what could be done via the organization's structure.

When I told my boss about the incident she was typically forthright: "Why didn't you just tell her to get fucked? I would have." I had to laugh at that but pointed out that it might then have degenerated into an ugly scene for which I would have had to shoulder some of the blame. She told me we'd need to consult the CEO, who I have every confidence in. He's a bloke who knows all of the legislation and regulations back to front and is pretty good at explaining it all.

He gave me two options: one, to approach Michelle and try to sort it out myself; or two, to make a formal complaint, which would mean an investigation. I chose the latter because I didn't want to run the risk of making a mess of any approach to Michelle.

Unforunately the investigation was unable to verify my claim. Colin had taken the safe option of not remembering and Michelle denied that there'd been anything untoward, adding that she was prepared to apologise if she'd said anything offensive. Qualified apologies aren't worth a pinch of shit but the manager in charge of the investigation had organized mediation if I was interested. I wasn't.

Both the CEO and the manager confided that Michelle had come under notice for similar incidents but no-one had put in a formal complaint. They both indicated that they believed my version and were sorry that it had happened and also apologised that the investigation had been inconclusive.

I rejected mediation because I wasn't prepared to give Michelle any opportunities to save face or manipulate the situation any further. What if she was to say something that pissed me off during the session and I reacted, or worse, overreacted? Then I'd come out of it looking like a ratbag. So I politely declined, but added that if Michelle could be quietly advised to give me as wide a berth as possible from here on, I'd consider that a good outcome.

So that's where it stands. Her husband Jeremy and I get along just fine, Colin too. I don't have any ill-feelings towards them. They were both stuck in the middle.

Michelle's still on Family Leave but will be returning. When she does, I intend to avoid her like the plague. I hope she's got the good sense to do likewise. That might just make the situation manageable.

You Can Run But You Can't Hide II

The investigation into the complaint I made against Michelle has concluded. Her response to the complaint consisted of a denial of the allegations I made in the previous post on this. The statement fom Colin, the only other person present, apparently doesn't confirm the allegation. In Michelle's case, it's downright dishonest, and to be fair to Colin, he might not have been able to hear her clearly, so quietly was she speaking, and his memory was probably drink-affected. So that's that, although I have been offered mediation, something I'm sort of half considering.

But only half considering. Mediation implies that there is middle ground here. I don't believe there is. Michelle deliberately set out to attack me and I'm not interested in having that watered down. I certainly don't feel like compromising or adopting a let's-agree-to-disagree-stance on the matter.

Let's back up a bit. Bring you into the picture. It was a fairly warm night at the end of year function and the Federation Square locale lent itself to making everyone feel pretty relaxed and comfortable. I'd managed to MC the awards part of the evening on behalf of the social committee without drowning in flop sweat and even got a few laughs out of the crowd. Everyone was pretty pleased with how things had gone. And I'd enjoyed it too.

What I'd feared might be something of an ordeal had actually gone over pretty well, so I could relax. And I think you all understand the state ol' Lad prefers to be in to do that. I smoked a couple of little spliffs in quick succession and felt great. Self-contained and comfortable, I stayed outside for most of the night and engaged with a passing parade of colleagues as they took in the fresh air and smokers and non-smokers alike botted cigarettes.

The actual incident has already been described in detail so I won't go over it again. As I extricated myself and headed off to meet up with some of the cricket dads at a pub near home, I thought briefly how fucking weird the whole encounter had been. I returned to it at different times over the weekend and it had me a bit worried. Was my workplace a bitch colony? Had a whole squadron of nasty types been bitching about me to Michelle during her family leave or was it something she'd come up with all on her own?

I thought Colin might bring the subject up on Monday but he didn't so I asked to speak to him on Tuesday. We went into one of the interview rooms and I had to jog his memory. I thought it was pretty clear on the night that Michelle was giving me the shits. He'd at least seemed to pick up on it while she was going through her character assessment of me, even if he might not have heard her exact words. I probably said way too much to him as he is a particular friend of Michelle's husband Jeremy, a lovely bloke who works there too.

I told him:
1) I'd had experience with outright bitchery at a previous school and it had driven me out of there;
2) I was worried that Michelle might be representative of an unhealthy workplace culture;
3) That I might now appear to be wearing a bullseye for nasty treatment, from either Michelle or like-minded others;
4) That I now had prior knowledge of Michelle's nature, something that I would not be able to forget easily if Michelle applied for a higher position and I was on the selection panel;
5) That people who' had formal complaints against them upheld tend to spend whole afternoons crying in the toilets;
6) And that Michelle was fortunate I had been unaccompanied that night. TLOML might well have torn the tacky tattoo off her chest and shoved it down her trailer-trash throat.

Colin said he understood how shitted off I was and that he would, if I lodged a complaint, make a statement that would support my version of events. So much for that.

I needed to consider this carefully. So I asked the union rep if she had a minute for a quick chat.

You Can Run, But You Can't Hide I

Merry Christmas and best wishes for the new year to everyone.


This is a letter I had to write to the CEO of the organization I work for:

Dear Anthony,

I’m bringing an incident involving myself and Michelle McClennan to your attention I informed my Manager, Rae Newcombe, of this incident on Wednesday 10th December after some careful consideration. I ask for your assistance to resolve this issue locally.

The incident took place at our end of year staff function on Fri 5th December:

At around 11pm I returned inside the venue to say a few goodbyes to people and approached Colin Ginty, who was in conversation with Michelle McClennan. I shook hands with Colin and thanked him for his efforts on the Social Committee. Colin returned the thanks for my agreeing to MC the awards segment of the evening.

It was around this point that Michelle began speaking to me and went into some detail as to her assessment of my character. Her conclusion was that I was an attention-seeker of little substance with a poor work ethic who tries to get by on personality in order to mask these shortcomings. I was quite shocked by this and tried to deflect her by thanking her for the career advice and turned away towards Colin.

She then commenced a monologue that seemed to be outlining my psychological profile, positing deeper problems she felt I may have which cause what she had described earlier. Again, I attempted to deflect rather than confront her by complimenting her on her grasp of psychoanalytic theory and turned away towards Colin once more.

I am unable to give precise details of what she actually said because I was a bit shocked by what I took to be an unprovoked attack on me. I was also somewhat transfixed during the conversation by the tone of voice she used, which I can only describe as very nasty, cat-like and reminiscent of that used by upper-primary school girls when they’re being particularly cruel to each other.

With a little help from Colin, I was able to cut her off by turning the conversation to another function I would be on my way to afterwards and said a final goodbye to both Colin and Michelle and left. I noticed what I interpreted as a fairly smug, self-satisfied look on her face as I turned away.

I hardly know Michelle at all, beyond the type of greetings and small talk I might engage in with any staff member with whom I don’t work directly, and she also took family leave not long after I commenced in mid-July, so there’s been very little interaction between us. I have neither said nor done anything that could possibly have generated any personal animosity between us, nor had she, up until this incident occurred.

I believe we have a very healthy workplace culture here with, from my observations, almost exclusively positive interactions between staff, so I’m still somewhat shocked by the nastiness involved in this. I’d like to be confident that this incident is a result of a series of poor choices made by a single individual and is not representative of tendencies to be found in other staff members.

I assert that this incident constitutes action taken within a work location that directly affects an employee that the employee considers is otherwise unfair or unreasonable and ask that it be investigated and, if proven, action be taken to ensure that it does not occur again, either to me or anyone else.

Yours Sincerely,
Lad Litter


More to come on this one. That's for sure.

Gone...

You might remember I was having virus-generated PC problems at home. And that I was trying to get a solution via the http://www.techguy.org/ forums. This is a great way to solve problems and I highly recommend the website.

Alas, I had to have a problem that resisted even the good folk who trawl those forums dispensing sound advice. Okay, fora for those of you who insist on correct Latin plurals.

For some reason, the WinXP disk's recovery mode just wouldn't fix things so after a couple of luckless weeks, I rashly went for the reinstall option. After all, it only warned that I MIGHT lose the contents of the My Documents folder. Any chance is better than no chance at all. So I did it.

And lost everything. Family photos and video, family history research, personal stuff, everything. And 28 nearly-completed posts for this pathetic blog. When I say that they were all brilliant, witty, cutting-edge pieces of fine writing that could change your whole outlook on life, please take my word for it.

It's my own stupid fault. Mea culpa. Again with the Latin. I should have had virus protection in the first place. And even failing that, I should have waited until I came across someone who could help me recover Win XP without causing loss of data.

And then last week, TLOML's laptop surrendered its internet capability. And I got knocked back for one of those Virtual Community personal PC loans. Something about me only being in the new job for less than six months. So we're technologically-challenged at home.

Luckily, I'm now semi-comfortable at the new workplace and have girded my loins and posted this from work.

I'm not back in town as such, but I'm entering Kalkallo.

Kalkallo - small town on the northern outskirts of Melbourne

At A Standstill...

There are 27 files in the PendingPosts folder on the hard drive of my PC. There are 28 viruses, trojans and spyware gremlins infecting that PC. Just as soon as the new ADSL was connected, they flooded up the cable like sperm swimming towards an egg. But unlike fertilization, they all got through.

Now I'm waiting for our good friends at MicroSoft to deliver the Win XP disk I need to fix the damned registry problem the spyware has caused. And then I'll need to get some anti-virus software on. Last fucking time I ride bareback.

The battery on this laptop is getting low and TLOML has left the power cable at school, the darling. My blog and web access might be in tatters at the moment but life is not. I'm enjoying the change provided by my new job and funnily enough, I think I'm a bit more pleasant to be around for my loved ones. The Bombers playing great footy also helps.

I've been neglecting all of your blogs too as I'm not quite bold enough to run through them at work. Being new and all.

But guess what? One of my new colleagues is the partner of a blogger who I've been reading and commenting on for the past two years. Small world. Delightfully so, sometimes.

New Job

My Long Service Leave ended just last Thursday. Counting the Christmas school holidays, I haven’t worked since December last year. On Friday, I commenced Leave Without Pay. And as this juncture approached, I didn’t really know what I was going to do. Job-wise I mean.

This is not a wolf-at-the-door situation. I can do Casual Replacement Teaching if nothing falls into my lap. And if that’s unbearable, I can always go crawling back to my teaching job. So I’m not in the same situation as some poor bastard who’s been retrenched. I’ve jumped, but with a parachute securely strapped on.

I’ve been half-heartedly checking employment opportunities since about April. Something in training, perhaps. I have a B Ed and a Post Grad Diploma in Educational Computing. Neither of which makes me an appealing prospect for training firms. Certificate 4 is the preferred qualification there.

But just last Friday afternoon, I found out I have a new job, starting on 14th July. I’m pretty relieved, as you can imagine. I’d been feeling a bit guilty about making my family hostages to fortune.

The interview was on Friday morning in the city. With a State govt statutory authority. Being a qualified teacher was one of the selection criteria for the job. So I wouldn’t have to bluff my way through, too-hopefully claiming that skills I’d picked up during 25 years as a primary school teacher were transferable to whatever job I was going for. This was a job for a teacher that fulfilled all my requirements: it didn’t involve actual teaching!

There’s a bit of a pay cut involved. Leaving the profession right after a salary increase to take up a lower-paid job might not appear the smartest move and has generated quite a few interestingly arranged wtf facial expressions. Including from my new boss.

I’ll be working in the city. First time since 1978. Catching public transport. The kitting up will be expensive. For a teacher, the general rule of thumb in the absence of a dress-code is sort of just below smart casual. Or in my case, very casual and not always smart. From now on, I’ll be in shirt and tie territory.

And loving it.

WorkCover Blues I

Sorry about the long absence. I ran out of dope.

This is a true story. The names have been altered, but not the initials. In a kind of homage to Frank Hardy’s Power Without Glory, if you like. Criminal libel, come and get me. Just over two years ago, I entered the twilight world of the WorkCover claimant. This is what happened. Needless to say, I hadn’t thought I’d ever be in a situation like that.

I’d been teaching at Oxford Primary School in Melbourne’s far outer west for ten relatively happy years. And I had it pretty good, being the Information and Communications Technology specialist teacher and all. I mean, kids want to stay on the good side of the computer bloke. You never know when he’s going to need someone to test out games or let your grade have a bit of free time in the lab at lunchtimes. But I thought I needed a change, just the same. I was keen to move on and also find a spot a little closer to home.

Right before the end of 2003, a job was advertised that would suit me perfectly. It was an ICT specialist teacher position, and the job description was pretty much what I was already doing. In fact, this Solar Hills PS in Melbourne’s west wanted an ICT set up very similar to what I’d helped put in place at Oxford over the previous 5 years or so. So I could swan in, hit ‘em with all of the ideas that were starting to go stale at Oxford, and look like I was some kind of expert.

The Acting Principal, who chaired the interview panel, was someone I’d worked with previously, if briefly, and she seemed okay. TLOML had even worked there about twenty years previously so there were some familiar, if older, faces on the staff.

When I got the job, the techie at Oxford told me that he’d heard there was a lot of friction between the Principal, Min Worland, and the Assistant-Principal, Mary Gajic who was acting in the top job. Oh well, nothing to do with me. I wouldn’t have any trouble staying out of it. And when the job started, Mary was away in Europe on Long Service League, so the catfight potential was reduced.

But according to Min and the Acting A-P, Gavroula Parageorgiou, there were concerns over the job the staff were doing. Shit, I thought. I’d never been in a school where the staff were not well-regarded by the Principal Class people, so I hoped it wasn’t going to be too much of a pain in the arse for me to get them to use computers.

There were some warning signs during that first year. In the beginning, the Principal had seemed okay and I hadn’t seen her do anything too far out of line, but there was a bit of clubbishness about the school leadership group, which I was on, and a lot more denigration of staff-members when issues were being discussed than I was used to. Denigration that looked like it was unwarranted.

And I got the third degree once in a meetingfrom a couple of older female teachers who didn’t like the big changes I’d made to the ITC set-up, which were really pissy to begin with, but these two were threatened by them. Like getting staff using email for instance. You know the type.

Then the PE teacher resigned during my second week there, walking zombie-like into my class from next-door at about 9:30 in the morning, handing me a handwritten note and leaving the school immediately, and me with a double grade. He’d had a confrontation with the Principal over his teaching allotment and told me as he gave me his resignation that he wasn’t going to put up with her abuse anymore.

I didn’t really have a view either way about Min and Gavroula. I hadn’t really seen them do too much wrong up until that stage. But TLOML quickly developed a very firm opinion of them when she met them at a staff do.

“That Principal. I reckon she’s a bit funny.”
“Don’t be silly. She’s alright.”
“And the Assistant Principal or whatever she’s acting as. I can’t STAND her.”
“How can you say that? You hardly know her.”
“Oh, I don’t need to know her, you stupid man. And don’t give me any of that innocent-until-proven-guilty crap. She’s an absolute bitch. I know that.”

The apparently instantly-detestable Gavroula had even told me that she and Min were very disaffected with the Australian Education Union, in which I’d always been active.This was a bad omen for me. People who leave the AEU in high dudgeon, or worse, stay in it so they can obstruct what the AEU might be trying to achieve, and run and tell the Principal what people say at meetings, are impossible. They usually take that disaffection, and the petty bigotry that goes with it, out on anyone who is still active. They are without exception, unreasonable, spiteful, vindictive, and always behave atrociously. I wouldn’t have described it thus if it weren’t true in every case in my experience. And it is.

Gavroula showed her hand early when she confided in me that our AEU meetings should be held on a Tuesday, so that she could meet with Min straight after, because Min liked to be kept informed, you know. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. You’re going to get sick of me telling you that. I told her the AEU couldn’t let its meeting dates be determined by the convenience of a non-member and left it at that. The relaying of sometimes sensitive AEU information I’d have to think about and leave till later.

Mary returned from LSL and disappeared a short time later. Actually, she went on sick leave never to return, but there was a story behind it that I didn’t hear till much later.

It was starting to get curiouser and curiouser.

Just Slip Out The Back, Jack...

Fucking work again. I’m filled with the ol’ tell-tale dread every morning. It’s not all that bad when I get there, but it’s never actually good. I’ve been phoning it in this year, without working from home either. So I’ve come to a decision.

DUN DUN DAAAAAAAA!

I’m applying to take next year off. I’ve got nearly five months Long Service Leave, which would take me up to around mid-June and then I should be able to get Leave Without Pay for the rest.
I’ll spend the first couple of months fixing up the house a bit, or at the very least removing the many signs of my criminal neglect. Not that I’m not house proud, just lazy. Physically, morally, intellectually, socially. Read my profile, and don’t say you weren’t warned.

The next couple of months after the home maintenance frenzy will be spent looking for the SOMETHING ELSE that might prevent me having to go slinking back to my current job with my tail between my legs. Well, at least then I’d have something between my legs.

Oh, there’s just the small matter of my boss approving all of this. He has a higher opinion of me than I do. He took a bit of a punt giving me the job in the first place. He’s probably weighing up the costs and benefits of not having me around in 2008:

Costs:

1) I’m the only one who knows how to do certain things that need to be done. I’m sure a few of my colleagues put up with my incompetence because I’ve taken on areas of responsibility they’d rather avoid;

2) I’ve set a few things in motion that might fizzle out without me. (see Benefits 2) below);

3) I’m not such a bad fellow at times. Really;

4) I’ve had some very expensive training paid for by work;

5) I’ll probably end up coming back;

6) They’ll have to get The Office out on DVD if they want to see a dickhead in a workplace setting who thinks he’s a lot funnier than he really is;

Benefits:

1) I’ve become a liability. And not the tax-deductible kind either;

2) How will the things I’m doing get done without me? Better;

3) Someone who doesn’t want to be there won’t be;

TLOML supports me in this. She doesn’t want me to just spiral downwards. She’s in the same line of work and understands the pitfalls.

It would really piss me off if I had to saddle up again next year.

And no, I’m not a jockey. I just use loads of pissy cliches. I told you I was lazy.

Lucky I Work for Dale Carnegie

We had a very busy week at work and the business with my not-meant-to-be-sent resignation email to my boss had to wait a little while before he could call me in for a chat. I wasn't worried about what he might say, but I was mentally prepared for a bollocking. He told me how I'd probably been feeling and hit the mark, describing peaks and troughs which cause you to to go home at the end of a bad day thinking all is lost and alternately finish up a good day feeling great about the world.

This boss of mine is a likable, avuncular fellow who is very popular with all of the stakeholders here at work. He invariably exercises good judgment about when to be firm and when to let things work themselves out. I think he's read and implemented How To Win Friends And Influence People without appearing like a slick salesman.

I let him know that I felt the disaffection I'd been letting myself wallow in was down to me and I needed to keep a detached professional distance between myself and the job, and not get sucked in to reacting emotionally to setbacks. I also let him know that I could feel things getting better as I tried to deal with people who I understood were not going out of their way to give me the shits, just being themselves and could be brought round.

He offered me a week off at any time in the future if I felt a little hemmed in, which was very generous. He also told me that he was happy with how I'd fitted in during the year-and-a-bit I'd been there and that he regarded my continuing as vital.

I've put aside feeling sorry for myself and have girded my loins (I'm sure everyone's loins need girding at some stage) to work a bit harder and smarter in the areas of my job that really count. Ordinarily, I need to do a fair bit of work at home just to keep my head above water and I've been coming home drained and not wanting to touch work-related stuff. Which just makes things worse. A little each night will get me back on track.

I also told him that I liked this particular workplace above all others and the abortive resignation business was because if I couldn't cut the mustard here then I didn't want to go anywhere else, but make a clean break from the whole business.

I'd already thought this bloke was the best boss I'd experienced in a fairly good field over a long period of time and this confirmed it. I'm staying. And I'm finished with whinging about work.

Stupidity, Thy Name Be Lad Litter

Yetserday morning I composed the following email to my boss:

Hi ****,

I have to tell you that I intend to resign from the ********* and will need to discuss an appropriate exit strategy with you. The plan at this stage would be to finish here at ******** at the end of June. With a LSL entitlement of around four and a half months, my resignation would be effective from the end of that leave period.

My official letter of resignation will follow our discussion once we’ve sorted out all of the correct dates.

I do not wish to continue as a member of the ********* profession without a meaningful sense of commitment to ****** and I apologise for the inconvenience and disappointment this will undoubtedly cause. Especially here, where you and **** and **** and all the staff have been so wonderful to me during my time here. My leaving will remove the potential for greater disappointment were I to remain.

I intend to fulfil all commitments and will leave everything in good order in all areas.

I had a distinct chill around my feet so I saved it into drafts rather than send. But it went! And I didn't realise until yesterday afternoon when I started to have second thoughts about packing it in. Remember that Simpsons episode when Homer sent the nasty ungrateful letter to Mr Burns? Fred Flintstone did a similar thing. I'm a living cartoon sitcom.

I feel better about my job now. So this morning I sent this email.

Hi ****,

I sent you an email yesterday that I meant to save into drafts but must have clicked on send by mistake. Please disregard. I’d like to speak to you briefly about it sometime over the next couple of days.

I feel really stupid but the kind of stupidity I can laugh at, not the sort that has led to my current crisis of professional confidence.

I hope my boss can laugh at it too. Even if it is between gritted teeth.

Going, Going, Gone...

I'll be submitting my resignation tomorrow morning.

It will be easy because:
1) I hate my job;
2) I don't want to do it anymore;
3) It will arrest my downward spiral;
4) Long Service Leave entitlements add up to about four and a half months;
5) I'm looking forward to being at home for a while and fixing up a few things.

It will be hard because:
1) I'm turning my back on a career of c.25 years;
2) I don't know what lies ahead of me;
3) It's a great place to work notwithstanding my disaffection with my particular line of work;
4) People there have been wonderful to me and I'll be disappointing them;
5) Whatever job I get next is bound to be on much lower pay.

I'll continue until June to see a few ongoing tasks off, tie up all the loose ends I possibly can and try to leave things in good order for my replacement.

So it goes.

Sea Change My Arse

I haven't posted in ages. I'm slack. I'm also back at work these last two weeks, which means I can't find enough time to do all of the things I want to, like when I started this blog during my holidays in a flurry of activity. I specialize in pissy excuses.

I also specialize in hating my job. Over the past few weeks, I've looked at other career options in a half-hearted, indecisive sort of way. Let's face it, there's not much out there for lazy blokes who are running away from a career rather than diving into a new one. And even though my profession is notoriously underpaid, I'd have to take a hell of a pay cut in almost any new job. So fuck that for a joke. I'll just have to stick it out.

At work, I am up and down like a yoyo. Hating, loving, begrudging, tolerating my job. Sure, it's the nature of my work that causes this. But my own nature has a bit to do with it too.

I'll have to work up a big post on how it came to this. I could do with the catharsis.