Youve done it. Congratulations. You made your way through the maze of university with its heady mix of decisions between a night out with friends or essay writing. A night in chilling with friends or essay writing. A night sat in the darkness pretending youve got no work to do or... essay writing. Youve staggered out into the light, squinting like some debt-ridden Neanderthal as real life blinds you. Youve done it though. Youre an adult. You had hopes and dreams. Of course you did. Find cures for diseases. Help the poor. Win the Nobel Prize for Literature. Unfortunately, you missed the careers fair because of a particularly bad night on The Ladyboys (a pint of bitter, a double gin & tonic and a large Baileys Goddamn you Alan Partridge box set) and now youre sat back in your old bedroom at your parents house looking at career opportunities. The local pub needs bar-staff (in five years, if I apply myself, I could be a manager). The local supermarket wants graduates for its management plan (in five years, if I apply myself, I could be a manager). Also, the local off-license is looking for weekend staff (in five years, if I apply myself, I could drink all the booze). Then it hits you as hard as the button click of your mouse. The job you said you wouldnt do because your degree was meant to help the greater good. The job you laughed at for all those years you were a student. The job you had no respect for. Youre going to have to apply for teacher training.
20. The First Day Of The Teacher Training Course
Youve bought your pencil case. The highlighters. The comedy folder with Spider-Man on it (I grew out of comic-books years ago, Im an adult I think youll find). Basically, you're going to treat being a student-teacher as one great post-modern pseudo-intellectual comedy rollercoaster. You can eat this course for breakfast and still have space for a coffee-shop croissant afterwards. Walking into the college where youll take the course, however, immediately fills you with dread. You shrink. You avoid eye-contact. Oh my god. After all those years at school, at college, at university... youre still a bloody student. Entering the classroom you spot the usual suspects. Sarah the Swot. Pencil-case unpacked and pens placed in obsessive right-angles. Chris the Kool Kid. Hes slouching in his seat. Nothing in front of him (Alright mate, can I borrow a sheet of paper?) and Keith the... well, no one really knows about Keith but he is dressed all in denim. The teacher enters. They look both angry and depressed. They dont want to teach teachers. Its the worst thing in the world. Teaching people who think they know better. Its like being at sixth-form again. And so it starts. Ice-breakers. Getting to know each other. Oh my. Its so passé. Ice-breakers? Really. Who falls back on that? Standing up and asking each other questions. Then you go through the course guide. Then you talk about your background. I mean really?! Who starts teaching a course like that? You vow, upon Blooms Taxonomy, you will never, ever start a course like this.