"If we could draw a graph of your productivity over the past 2 years, what do you think it would look like?"
A question posed to me by the C*nt on Thursday.
In my head, the reply went:
"Dunno? Maybe one of the most productive you've seen? 'Cos fuck knows I pay damn good attention, work pretty feckin' hard and hand stuff in early if not on time 9 times out of 10. But please, because I've had a few blips this past week or so, feel free to not only embarass me in front of everyone, but then go and call me "juvenile" to your colleague who's painting an axe in the corner."
But the yellow bellied twat that I am, I said this.
Yup. That's right. Sod all.
To put the duration and uncomfortabilty of the silence into some perspective, imagine every classic western scene that's included a tumbleweed rolling across the screen and lay them end to end.
I just shrugged my shoulders and bit my tongue.
Not in a "I-will-not-stoop-to-your-level" way more of a "I'm-genuinely-scared-of-the-ramifications-of-what-I'll-say-to-you-because-you-are-the-one-with-the-authority-here-and-I'm-not-so-it's-probably-for-the-best-that-I-say-nothing" kind of way.
The set up for this question basically involves me being extemely giddy.
1)Because it's last period Drama and means I'm 1 1/2 hours away from home.
2)Because I'd done my LAST EVER speaking exam that morning.
3)Because I'd been literally locked in the exam room with the examiner during said exam.
Probably no excuse but shut up. My blog. My opinion. Feck off.
I spent the lesson dicking around, which, true, is getting more and more common but I honestly would care more if The Twat had actually prepared lessons and if he hadn't run out of things to teach us.
Both things, I can assure you are TRUE.
But he still insists on making us write essays (timed at 45 mins) during class time, look at exam mark schemes, look at example scripts and (these are his exact words) "highlight the good sentences."
He is ruining my favourite subject. Has in fact been doing so for a very very long time, gently eroding away the complexities at the heart of one of the oldest and most beautiful art forms to such an extent that last week I sat in The Manchester Opera House wondering about the Social/Political message of Little Shop of Horrors, instead of simply enjoying the fact that the black guy from Tracey Beaker was singing the Blues in the form of a man eating plant!
I DESPAIR!
Some of you (yes all 2 readers) might think I'm getting a little complacent, big headed if you will because the word has been going around that people think I'm big headed and think I don't need the help. Bull. Of course I do. But to be helped I need to be taught. Preferably by someone who
1)Isn't a failed actor
2)Doesn't waste 3 hours of my time with ridiculous lesson plans when I could do it in the comfort of my bedroom, with the [TOS cast] to keep me company.
3)Wasn't going bald at the age of 17.
I don't care if that one was below the belt. It needed saying and quite frankly, his unprofessional manner of audibly slagging students off to his colleague's whilst they are in the room, means I get to play the bald card.
End of Rant.
On a happier note.
[Title Of Show] has gots a Tony Nom
NPH is set to host them.
And I got to see The Grandad in a Sailor Suit whilst singing about NYC this week.
It's the little things that make life worthwhile.
I think the bald card is the one and only thing that seperates The Brecht Bummer from being a general tumour on the breast of society. If you're going act as if you are a theatre god, not only to be worshipped but also to be able to decrease the self esteem of a student with three words, at least don't do it when the glare of your head has caused me to squint my way through you lesson for the past 18 months.
ReplyDeleteBig up to you.
There have been so many instances when he has ruined my day that I may start say he's brechted my day.
He's a skid mark and he know we know it.
lol.
ReplyDeleteno need for anything more.
just lol.