Men are funny!

This post was inspired by Deb's latest responses to Friday's Feast

Asked the question What’s one word or phrase that you use a lot? Deb responded "Believe it or not, I curse. A lot when no one’s around but Scott and the cats lol. My kids would never hear me say it but “F*ck me running” is my favorite phrase and one I use most when no one’s around."

I think everyone needs to swear sometimes - often, for me, an expletive is a really necessary steam release & "creative cursing" is downright enjoyable! [I know there are those of you out there who will use all those comments my parents did when I was young about a lack of brains and imagination because I need to swear ...... you weren't in the car when my dad called that lady driving into the swimming pool car park a stupid blind c*nt!] I'm not offended by swear words - they're only words, they can't hurt me - I find feelings/displays of hate, bigotry, racism etc far more offensive!

Anyway ..... down to my story and the reason for the title of this post!

I finished university in July 1997 and came to Kent for an interview; securing a year 1 teaching position in a small semi-rural town nr Rochester I moved here permanently and started work in the September. [At the end of July I had visited for a week - to meet my "class to be" and get to know the staff/GB/parents etc] So, my job started. The school was nice - set in large mature grounds, green fields, built in the 1950s so not ideal but a good sized airy classroom, with big windows and even a little patio and grassed area outside the window!

So September comes around and I start work. I have my class of 30 little darlings and the "deep end" becomes my permanent home. I explained this school was built during the 1950s right? So, the toilets (as was all the rage in the UK then) are in the classroom not down the corridor. Great? Right? [Children don't need to go down the corridor to the toilet!] Wrong! I don't have the benefit of experience from being a parent to know that little children don't flush after they pee/whatever (yet another thing they don't tell you during basic teacher training along with ..... no, that's a post for another day!) September that year was warm (is the term Indian Summer non-PC now?) and by the end of the week the fragrance of the toilets each day was getting me down!

So I do a whole-class spiel about "flushing & washing (your hands)" - we talk about why it's important. I make a poster for the inside of the toilets near the sink "have you flushed & washed?" We have gold stars for "flushing & washing"! I make a gold "flushed & washed" star chart, (so your star is stuck next to your name for the whole world to see) - decorated with cartoon loos (toilets) and taps (faucets)! At the end of the week we give a certificate for the "top flusher & washer" in the class!* The whole nine yards, bells and buzzers on it, everything!

By the end of the week, pretty much everyone is getting it! The children are all "flushing & washing" in fact we are probably going to the toilet more than is really necessary because of the gold stars. We are there - all except for C. Let me tell you a little about C. C was a gorgeous child - dark auburn hair, creamy skin with a sprinkling of freckles over his nose, a wide smile you just HAD to smile back at & dark hazel eyes that looked straight into your soul! But not one original thought to his name bless him! C was actually a year 2 child, but was in year 1 because he just couldn't cope with the curriculum** - he found everything hard maths, literacy, even PE - poor coordination too. And C was not getting "flushing & washing!"

So on day C asks "Miss Collins, can I go to the toilet?" "Yes C" says I "and don't forget to flush and wash!" So off he toddles and ..... doesn't come back! One of the children is sent to find him and comes back to report "C is trying to flush the toilet!" *success* "He can't reach!" *bless* So I go to help C with his "flushing!"

There is of course a reason that C can't reach. This school was built in the 1950s, so it didn't have low level toilets like this with a little metal flusher on the side -

Instead it had toilets with a high sistern like this. You know the kind of thing? Handle on a long chain, pipe from the water tank down to the toilet etc.

So, C has reached up to pull the chain and can't reach high enough, he's only 7 (and small for his age too!) As I walk through the toilet door he has put his foot on the pipe at the back of the toilet to stand on the pipe so he can reach up and pull the chain (this has worked, the handle is in his hand) - just like I've asked him to! So, I say (maybe a little loudly) "No, C!" - so he'll climb down and I'll "flush" so he can just "wash!" - WRONG!

As I call his name, C turns, the movement dislodges the pipe from the rear of the toilet, he falls and all of his weight is now on the handle, which pulls, flushes the toilet and breaks off! The water comes barrelling down the pipe, which is no longer attached to the back of the toilet and splashes all over the floor - soaking C (who's sitting on the floor with the toilet chain in his hand) and me in the process.

My mind goes blank!

The water keeps pouring!

My mind is still blank! SHIT! Think Joanne quick!

I open my mouth and out comes a strangled "Mynyffyrny!"*** I grab a child, send him to get the caretaker (who arrives @ a gallop), pick up a sobbing C, wipe him off, change his clothes and mop the floor once the water has been switched off! C stops crying once he realises he's not in trouble! All sorted, no lasting damage, no-one heard me swear (and if they did, they didn't understand me anyway) - I get to keep my job! Hurrah!!

And then 3 weeks later, a little girl dropped a Lego model she had spent 3/4 of an hour making and shouted "men are funny!" Ooops ..... that would be me then!! Another generation on the slippery slope eh?!?

* I promise you I have got over the "I'm a newly qualified teacher and I will hit you with a 25 pronged attack" phase of my life - honest ;o)
** This made his successes all the sweeter for him and me!
*** pronounced mun-uff-ar-knee - Welsh for "Oh bloody hell!"