So I’m sitting in my car having lunch and reading a book, killing time before my next viewing when something catches my eye. Looking up I see a shifty bloke unzipping his pants ready to take a leak against the side of the building. Do men still do this? Seriously? Stop it at once. I thump my fist on the horn and gross bloke damn near craps himself blurting out “Sorry..thank you” before running away, miniature penis too small to flap in the wind. Boys are boogers.
In case you were wondering, I was reading A Visit from the Goon Squad by Jennifer Egan.
My second day as an invigilator and my first stint as ‘The Patroller’. I wanted a cape and mask but was given a clipboard instead. My job was to patrol; to be there if any of the invigilators in 10 exam rooms needed me. They hang out a big red sign like a bat signal and I respond to their every need. Usually this means escorting students to the bathroom. The Escorter.
If no one else can take you to the bathroom, and if you can find me…
All the exams yesterday were nursing related and in addition to student nurses, there were auxillary and qualified nurses sitting exams as part of their CPD. The first woman I escorted told me she’d had three children so there was no way she could sit for three hours without needing the toilet. ‘My bladder is shot,’ said she. It was a woman to woman comment; obviously I am so old she assumed I had children and would empathise with grim tales of my own battered bladder. I am uncomfortable when strangers decide to share and I barely discuss my bladder with my doctor so I feigned polite interest and tried not to throw up in my mouth.
The next woman, about five minutes after the first, did exactly the same although she upped the ante with five children. I wondered if this was what happened at mother’s coffee mornings, swapping war stories of buggered bladders, hideous trophies that prove how fertile they once were. Five children? That’s just careless.
The third woman didn’t say anything for which I was grateful, but she did look exactly like Count Dracula from Sesame Street for which I was delighted.
I anserrhed wan question; two question…
Yesterday was my first day as an exam invigilator. As days go, it was pretty uneventful although I did trap myself in a disabled toilet using nothing more than the power of my mind and the belt from my coat. Luckily I managed to free myself by reverse engineering the power of my mind and the belt from my coat.
I was the youngest invigilator by about 200 years. It seems to be a twilight career choice; something to get you out the house when you no longer have a real job to define you. One invigilator seemed to relish the power of giving out instructions to the students, although relish might be too mild a word to describe the genuine pleasure she seemed to enjoy. Her flushed cheeks and heavy panting suggested that barking out instructions in a loud voice to 30 people is the true path to locating the female g-spot.
I tried to be helpful in a more calming and quiet manner. Checking one girl’s script paper I gently pointed out she had written her date of birth wrong. “You’ve written 1992,” I said, leaving out you silly-billy.
“Yeah. I was 20 last month.”
My own puzzlement was echoed on her face as I tried to do some quick maths. Surely if she was born in 1992 she could only be 9 or 10 tops…bloody hell I could be her mother! I resisted red penning a giant F on her paper and joined my colleague in shouting.
No talking. Exam in progress.