Tuesday, April 05, 2005
Crazy Brits
I have a temp job this week as the receptionist with the British School of Washington. This means that among other things, I have to get up when it is still dark and then figure out how to ride the bus. But that's a different post.
The most fun part about this job is that the teachers actually are British, as are most of the students. (Well, one teacher is Scottish, but she's not the one named McIntyre, which confuses me greatly.) That means that there is the good tea in the staff lounge - no coffee - and they definitely speak differently. Some of it I can figure out, I know where the boot of the car is from reading Agatha Cristie books. But when they all get together and start talking, they might as well be speaking another language, I can't get any of it. I have trouble understanding parents on the phone too, between the accents and the slang. One parent said to tell her children not to take the bus, as she would be there to catch them after school. Right. The following exchange happened during recess after lunch with one of the older kids. I image she's about 9 or 10:
GIRL: I need a bump note.
ME: A what?
GIRL: I need a bump note. Like, for bumps...(pause, looks to gauge comprehension. I still have no idea.) Are you new?
ME: Yes. I'm not sure what that is, tell me more about it.
GIRL: Like if we fall down or get hurt, we take a note home.
ME: Like an Incident Report?
GIRL: Yeah...(pause, as I fill out the note) Are you American?
One of the things that this school does that I don't remember from my education is that whenever the kids get bumped, bruised or bled, we write up a little thing titled an Incident Report to send home to the parents, keeping a copy for the Incident book (which is quite large and growing, I've done three of these today). The book says Incident, as does the paper itself, and yet, I've clearly marked myself as American by not knowing what a "bump note" is. It's also funny that she had no idea if I was new or not... on the other hand, I can't remember new people in the front offices of my schools, but then I went to public school where there was a serious "Front Office", not the closet with the quasi-computer that I've got now.
But the cookies are good. Er, "biscuits."
The most fun part about this job is that the teachers actually are British, as are most of the students. (Well, one teacher is Scottish, but she's not the one named McIntyre, which confuses me greatly.) That means that there is the good tea in the staff lounge - no coffee - and they definitely speak differently. Some of it I can figure out, I know where the boot of the car is from reading Agatha Cristie books. But when they all get together and start talking, they might as well be speaking another language, I can't get any of it. I have trouble understanding parents on the phone too, between the accents and the slang. One parent said to tell her children not to take the bus, as she would be there to catch them after school. Right. The following exchange happened during recess after lunch with one of the older kids. I image she's about 9 or 10:
GIRL: I need a bump note.
ME: A what?
GIRL: I need a bump note. Like, for bumps...(pause, looks to gauge comprehension. I still have no idea.) Are you new?
ME: Yes. I'm not sure what that is, tell me more about it.
GIRL: Like if we fall down or get hurt, we take a note home.
ME: Like an Incident Report?
GIRL: Yeah...(pause, as I fill out the note) Are you American?
One of the things that this school does that I don't remember from my education is that whenever the kids get bumped, bruised or bled, we write up a little thing titled an Incident Report to send home to the parents, keeping a copy for the Incident book (which is quite large and growing, I've done three of these today). The book says Incident, as does the paper itself, and yet, I've clearly marked myself as American by not knowing what a "bump note" is. It's also funny that she had no idea if I was new or not... on the other hand, I can't remember new people in the front offices of my schools, but then I went to public school where there was a serious "Front Office", not the closet with the quasi-computer that I've got now.
But the cookies are good. Er, "biscuits."
