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.