tell me about it

It’s an almost mindless exhaustion that grips me by the end of the school day. The pressure points in my temples are throbbing. The small of my back is a deep ache that spreads its fingers out along my backbone. By this time, my feet are crying for mercy, no matter how low the heel, no matter how loose the fit. They simply will not walk another inch. My shoulders are wound tight, and no amount of neck-cracking will relieve the pain. Once I reach home, I collapse into bed for blessed relief. It’s awhile before I can find a position that eases the strain in my back.

There’s only joy in teaching when your students cooperate. I’m tired (already?) of a job that requires me to scold children every day. When I have a good class, I return to the staff room with a smile on my face and a bounce in my step, no matter how exhausted I feel. I tell the world that my students are angels and I throw fervor and energy into preparing their next class. But when I have a bad class, when people don’t hand in their work, when they just won’t stop acting up and causing trouble, I sort of ooze back to the staff room in a puddle of misery. I wonder if they know that hours of preparation go into a single half-hour class.

I wonder if they’ll care, anyway; I know I was an awful student way back when. It must be karma biting me in the butt. :(

I can deal with students who aren’t academically capable but who are visibly trying; I can help a student (and gladly) who can’t grasp his or her work but who asks for help. I detest smart-ass students; the ones who think they know it all. Maybe they don’t need a teacher to get good grades for English - I sure never did - but that was why I enjoyed English classes so much. They were effortless. I just had fun doing activities, gobbling up comprehension passages, knowing I’d ace them all. I wasn’t a punk-ass, smart-mouthed snob to my teachers (I think). Well, maybe once or twice :P

The trainees gather in the staff room and share horror stories at the end of the day. We sit in utter exhaustion and shake heads in concerted bafflement; were we this trying, this much of a grievance to our own teachers? (Highly likely.)

I’d love to come back in a month’s time and tell you I’ve turned those students around and made them enjoy class. I hope I can. They’re good kids, and smart kids, and I think I’ll enjoy teaching them when they decide my class is worth putting effort into. So all I can do till then is to make it worth it.

Sigh. And when it comes down to it, I do love teaching. It’s a job (unlike any other) that I’ll gladly work hard for. My students are generally good kids who can be more than a trying handful, but who’ll surprise me some days with industriousness and good attitudes. Those days keep me going, and keep me in love with my career.

It’s just plumb tuckering me out.

My mother asked why I didn’t want to teach in Cath.olic Hi.gh, which would be more convenient in terms of travel.

“No bloody way,” I responded with fervor. “I’m not teaching in a school so near my house that I can bump into four of my students just walking down the corridor of my apartment block. And I’m not teaching in an all-boys school.”

“Why not?”

I shuddered. I presumed this action to be sufficient for her comprehension.

Today, my class gleefully proved my point. Last term, I set them summary homework to do. Ridiculously short homework for one whole week - just one three-row chart and one 70-word summary. Piffling. They were supposed to hand it in on Tuesday, their first English class of the week, but since this term’s timetable was changed, I saw them yesterday and assured them that they could hand in their work today. I reminded them. Yesterday. Many times.

And today, out of a class of 40, 29 people handed in their summaries. One of the errants was a girl. The other 10 were boys.

Add to that the number of times I confiscate Rubik’s cubes from them, remind the same select few to RETURN TO YOUR SEAT, WHAT ARE YOU DOING OUTSIDE THE CLASSROOM!??!???!??, WHERE IS YOUR HOMEWORK I TOLD YOU I WANTED IT TODAY, BY TODAY DID YOU THINK I MEANT YESTERDAY?, I SAID GO BACK TO YOUR SEAT, THERE WILL BE NO SNIDE REMARKS IN MY CLASSROOM, AND YES, I DO MEAN YOU, SET YOUR BUM DOWN ON YOUR SEAT AND IF YOU MOVE ONE MORE TIME IT WILL BE DETENTION FOR YOU MISTER I MEAN IT.

I absolutely refuse to teach in a boys’ school.

Well, R:I probably wouldn’t have as much problem, I suppose, though I’m not sure if it’s worth trading in for.

Excerpts from my Sec One express babies. I have a terribly soft spot for them because they really have been turned over to me these past weeks and I’m going to be so sad leaving them. It’s heartwarming to hear them moan and groan when they heard this was my last week in school too :/ Sob. I’ll miss all of you kids. Be good.

Anyway, I gave them a composition to write, entitled “How The Merlion Got Its Fish-Tail”. I got back several completely adorable stories, some rather puzzling and some gut-wrenchingly funny.

Here they are, reproduced verbatim without my amused comments and corrections.

—

“Once upon a time there was a small sardine who live in the sea. It was bullied by the other fish all the time. It tried going to his mother but she would only come back late at night.

One time, the other fishes gave him a wedgie. The sardine tried to tell the teacher bout the bullying but the teacher told him to stop lying. The fish felt very sad and that no one would believe him.”

—

“He finally caught his first fish after 4 hours of hard work.

He ate the fish and felt awkward immediately after. Although this was happening, he had no choice but hunt for more fish.

A day passed, the lion felt cold, weak and hungry. When he tried to trot, he fell on one leg. when he looked at his left hind leg, it was not a leg, but a flipper! Soon his right hind leg morphed into a flipper. His whole leg morphed into a fish’s tail. That was how the Merlion got its fish-tail.”

—

“Once upon a time, in a island far far away call Temasek, there was a brave and courage lion call Singa. He was the King of the forests. All the animals in the forests respect him and treat him like a father. Singa doesn’t scared anything but he has one worry. He have not find his true love. He always wanted a wife so that they can keep the next generation alive. Everytime when the matchmaker which is the monkey call cupid will give Singa all the female animals in the forest but none of them was what Singa like.”

—

“But one day, while Idrius was cutting down a tree, he heard a soft cry for help. There, he placed his rusty axe on the ground and listened.

“Don’t hurt me, please don’t cut me!” said the soft voice.

“Is this a prank? I’m obviously cutting down a non-talking tree!” yelled the old man.”

—

(The mermaid’s husband, the lion, has been eaten by a beast; so the mermaid has returned to the underwater palace to be reunited with her family.)

“During the reunion, the mermaid started puking and she craves for sour plums. so, her mother brought her to meet the family doctor. The family doctor told them that the mermaid was pregnant. Everyone was delighted. When she gave birth, the baby wasn’t a mermaid nor a lion. It was a combination of both. And, the royal nanny shouted, “Maybe we could name it Merlion!”

And, that’s how Merlion got its name.”

—

“(The lion) emerged from behind the bushes. “Hello everyone! Can I join?” he asked everyone. The other animals didn’t know what he was saying, it all sounded like growling to them. They ran as fast as lightning. Tears trickled down his hairy cheeks.

“Why doesn’t anyone like me? I don’t eat meat. I’m a vegetarian,” he said in between great sobs. He went to the nearest rock and sat on it, wondering why he’s born a lion.”

—

“The mermaid follow the witch instruction and came upon the kingdom of the lion she stealth into the chamber where the king of lion sleep. “oh he look so handsome!” said the mermaid “But I have to cut his heart out.” Just then a angel appear on her left shoulder and a devil appear on the right. “Don’t do it little mermaid!” said the angel “Do it!” said the Devil, “what the hell am I in heck?” “Look little mermaid he is so innocent you don’t want to kill him don’t you?” said the angel “Do it you will become beautiful!!” said the devil. the mermaid thougt about it for a moment and said “I guess I will….follow what the angel said…” “What?! you are hopeless!” said the devil and poof the angel and devil are gone. “OK…looks like I will just go back and report to the witch.”

“What?! you failed to get his heart?!” said the big bad stupid idiotic silly looking witch “very well then I will turn you into a half lion.” said the witch “No!! Noooo!” and poof her upper body become a lion and said “No! No! I would rather die then being so ugly!” said the mermaid “Very well then I will help you with that!” she point her wand and chanted something and poof the mermaid become a statue and now today we call it a merlion.”

“Today’s special is the Sunday roast, sir,” I inform the customer in my chirpiest waitress voice. “Comes with Yorkshire pud and mixed veggies.”

“Yes yes, a very proper English meal, of course,” the man says ingenuously, but shakes his head. “I can’t have that. It’s got meat in it. I’m vegan.”

“Really?” I ask. “Wow. It’s really difficult to maintain a vegan diet in Singapore if you eat out all the time, isn’t it?”

“Not at all. I have no problem with my vegan diet. See, I do a vegan liquid diet,” the man says. I raise my eyebrows. He sounds like a real health fanatic.

“A liquid diet? No wonder you’re so slim.” I arch my eyebrows as I peer at him. “Well then, I’m glad to inform you that we have lots of fruit juices here. Fruit punch, lime juice, orange juice, tomato…” But he’s shaking his head vehemently at me - “No no no. None of that healthy shit.”

I’m a little taken aback. “But you’re vegan,” I begin to say, and the man can’t keep his grin in any longer.

“Yes, I love fruits and vegetables,” he says proudly. “I get my fruits from wine, and my vegetables from beer. Told you,” he beams at me while I give him an incredulous oh-I-can’t-believe-you-were-bullshitting-me look, “I’m on a vegan liquid diet. Gimme a pint of alcoholic barley juice. I specially like that brand.”

He points at the tank card on the table.

“Heineken please!”

Yesterday I discovered that my the soles of my shoes lack friction and that the front metal step of the pub is extremely slippery when wet.

I discovered these two facts when they synergized to form an event which resulted in extreme embarrassment and pain (and large painful lumps and bruises on my leg and foot), both of which were experienced by myself.

My lower body swung into the air, propelling my upper body to swing toward the ground, and while I was able to break my fall with a well-placed arm, my left leg slammed back into the metal step.

This hurt.

My manager was right behind me and with a cry of distress he rushed to my aid.

“Ah moi, be careful! Are you okay?”

I pulled myself painfully to my feet and discovered a customer standing in front of me looking similarly horrified at my spectacular plunge.

“You don’t have to fall for me, you know, I don’t think that’s part of your job description,” the man joked, reaching out his arm to steady me.

With great calm and composure, I managed to find it within me to forgive his attempt at humor and dredged out a weak laugh.

“I’m all right,” I assured them, rubbing my knee simultaneously. “Ow.”

Relieved that the crisis was over, my manager looked at me with amusement in his eyes.

“Pain or not?”

“Of course lah!”

“You must be very heavy,” he grinned.

“Shut up.”

I recite the order back at the customer, who is gaily decked out in a red, yellow and green Jamaican beret with fake dreadlocks cascading down his back - with a matching shirt.

“One bottle of Havana Club, four diet Cokes, two Asahi bottles, one pint of Heineken and a pint of Strongbow cider.”

He grins at me and bursts into song.

“AND A PARTRIDGE IN A PEAR TREEEEE!”

—

Guy Right beams at me as I put down their drinks.

“Thanks love,” he says, curling his hand around the pint glass.

“Cheers,” I reply (cheerfully).  “That’ll be twenty-four bucks, guys.”

Guy Right looks vaguely surprised.  Guy Left waves his arm expansively at me.  “No, no, he’s running a tab,” he informs me, and I glare at the misinformed captain’s order for a second before Indian Chap presses a fifty-dollar bill into my hand.

“I’ll take care of this round,” he tells me, but Guy Left shakes his head.  “Put it on the tab,” he contradicts.  I hold up the note, but Indian Chap seems disinclined to take it back.  Before I can say anything though, Guy Right, who has been studying my face all this while, suddenly pipes up again.

“You know, Beth,” he says, reading off my nametag, “you’re not pretty, but there’s something about your face that’s very attractive.”

I raise my eyebrows at him as Guy Left throws up his hands in horror.  “You don’t say that sort of thing to a lady,” he chastises Guy Right.  “And anyway, I think she’s beautiful.”  He smiles cherubically at me, but I’m still trying to digest what Guy Right has said.  My battered ego decides it’s better for me to take it as a compliment, so I just grin and tell them that everyone’s entitled to their own opinion.

Guy Right tries to make us understand what he means.  “No really, she’s not what you would call conventionally pretty, but there’s just something very attractive about her -” but he doesn’t finish because Guy Left roars at him to shut up.  Still, I sort of understand what Guy Right means, so I smile empathetically at him.

I’d almost forgotten about the note in my hand.  I hold it up again.  “So guys what do you want me to do with this?”  Indian Chap still makes no move to take it back, and I’m a little perplexed.  I try a bit of teasing.  “If none of you wants this I’d be happy to take this as a tip!”

Guy Left grins.  “Go on then.  It’s yours.  Keep it.”

I shoot him a look of surprise.  “You can’t do that, it’s his money!”  I indicate Indian Chap with a tilt of my chin, who has kept silent all this while, though judging by the look on his face has been greatly amused by all the verbal byplay.  “You can’t give away someone else’s money!”

Indian Chap finally speaks up.  “Oh yes he can,” he deadpans.  “He does it every day.  He’s a banker.”

“Oh, that explains everything!”  I laugh.

Guy Left looks at me.  “Seriously, take it.”  He folds my fingers around the note.  “Merry Christmas,” he says.

I look at Indian Chap, and he just smiles at me.  On the other side, Guy Right is still examining my features.

Finally I relent, and I incline my head in acceptance.

“Thanks, you guys.  Merry Christmas to you too.”

I go about my rounds to the other tables and by the time I get back to them, they’ve waved me over and placed the bill folder in my hand before kissing me on the cheek goodbye.  I crack it open after they’ve left - and it’s another ten-dollar note.

I carefully load my hands with the five glasses and make my way to the table outside.

“One Bacardi coke, one half pint of stout, vodka lime, pint Heineken, and a Chardonnay,” I recite as I put down the drinks one by one. I look up and the customer is watching me in fascination.

“Just how many fingers do you have?” she asks.

I laugh. “Last time I checked, I had ten, same as you.”

She shakes her head. “I don’t think I could carry five glasses all at once. That’s neat.”

“It’s practice,” I say ruefully. “I don’t like loading a tray when I can just use my hands.”

—

How to be a good customer:

1. Call your waitress/waiter by name.
It’s always nice to be addressed by name when I’m serving customers at the pub. I wear a nametag for a reason. It makes me really happy when customers take the trouble to notice my name and say, “Thank you, Beth”, and a happy waitress means even better service.

2. Be courteous to your waitress and treat her with respect.
I am not your slave. “Please” and “Thank you” go a long way. I do not respond to “Oi”, “Eh”, or similar other Neanderthal grunts. And if you try to pinch my butt, I will break your wrist.

3. Don’t make unreasonable demands.
If you want a couple of things, ask for them all at once. Don’t wait till I’ve gone and gotten your Tabasco sauce before you ask for more napkins, and then another glass of ice water, and then oh some tartare sauce would be nice, and could I get you a slice of lemon for your damn ice water, and shucks would I mind warming up your pizza in the oven because it’s gotten cold, and oops you’ve got to leave so could I run back to the kitchen and pack your stupid pizza in a box for you?

4. Don’t break the rules.
Don’t expect me to like you when you’re pouring shots from the vodka bottle that’s hidden in your handbag. Or if I’ve told you nicely that outside food isn’t allowed, but you’re chowing down on it anyway. And if you’re a Thai hooker sneakily soliciting among our customers, we will bitch openly about the unlikely size and heft of your breasts. It’s only natural.

5. When the place is closing, the place is closing.
I really hate to chivvy customers to leave (especially when they’ve just left a beautiful tip). So take the gentle hints (stacking up of chairs, wiping down tables, curtains drawn, waitress looking like she’s about to cry, etc) and take your own initiative to leave before I have to ask you nicely to go. Like my supervisor likes to say, “Guys, you don’t have to go home - but you can’t stay here.”

6. Tip your waitress.
I know, I know, I’ve made this point to death. But really. Look at what you’re signing - is service charge included? If not, and service was good, do leave a tip. Even if service charge is included, if you felt your waitress did a fabulous job of serving you, go ahead and leave a tip. It won’t hurt. Your generosity is appreciated, all the waitstaff will recognize you as a good tipper, and you get even more fantastic service. What a lovely cycle.

Almost everything that could go wrong today, did.

I overslept on the train and got off at Bugis. Took a train one stop back, got off, happily walked up the escalator and stared dumbstruck at City Hall MRT for about two seconds before turning back around to take the train another stop forward.

Got off at Raffles Place MRT and found to my horror that the place was inundated with overly-buff men and butch girls celebrating dragonboat-worship. Had to squeeze through the crowd and suffered the indignity of a grossly hairy and sweaty man wiping his arm against mine. Stifled my helpless squeaks of horror and tramped grimly onto McDonald’s. Had five minutes left to make it in time for work and as luck would have it the lady in front of me had some sort of brain impediment that caused her to be extra picky over her order and waste my precious time.

I finally made it to work with an inch to spare. I noticed with surprise that half the walkway has been set up already. “How nice,” I thought, and greeted Zet with a smile I felt was quite cheery despite the tragic morning. He promptly removed my smile with the phrase, “Eh, you’re the only one doing opening today.”

Me: Huh?
Zet: Yah, Jonathan not coming. Oh but I helped you do half the walkway already *beams proudly*

I mentally called Jonathan several choice names in my head as I dragged my feet up the stairs. Later while setting up, I found people crowding our quayside to watch the boat races. If you ask me the drummer has it bloody easy. Anyway I was delighted at my chance to take my bitch mood out on the people trespassing on our space so I started dragging tables willy nilly all over the place to block their way while sweetly saying “EXCUSE ME!” and “PLEASE MOVE THANK YOU!”

This one idiot decided that moving meant shifting his weight from one foot to the other while ignoring the poor sweaty waitress setting up the entire quayside alone, so I calmly dragged the table across his foot. “Oops, did I hurt you? My, I’m sorry,” I told him with wide innocent eyes as he sheepishly moved away.

Zet finally came to pitch in with the quayside and he tried to use his manager voice to move people away. Let’s just say his manager voice isn’t too effective because he’s this small-sized guy with a little boy face. So I kept being a bitch waitress and used my no-nonsense if-you-don’t-get-out-of-my-way-I-will-bean-you-with-this-table voice which worked a lot better combined with my I-hate-all-you-stupid-people expression. If you couldn’t already tell, I was not in a pretty mood.

Finally got everything set up after being sarcastically polite to a group of people whose bags were in my way. Luckily for them they moved quite readily. It must have been the look on my face. Powerful.

Something finally went right when I got posted inside and the other two got posted outside because it started to rain pretty early on. The poor girls were running in and out of the rain while I got to concentrate on the customers inside the pub. It got really bad during lunch when the kitchen got slammed and the other two were quite drenched in the rain.

I can only blame people who choose to sit on the quayside just to watch a couple of people row boats around the disgustingly murky Singapore River while eating lunch. It stands to reason that because there is no cover between the quayside and the pub that it will take awhile for your food to get to you. The poor waitresses have to balance trays of food and drink and umbrellas. We can only carry so many plates at one go. And when you make friends with other tables and order 14 dishes at one go? Service is going to take awhile.

After having to replace about six dishes on a table who felt their food was too cold for comfort, this other customer came in and complained that the fan was spluttering grease on his shirt and said we should reimburse him for his greasy shirt.

I restrained my urge to grease his face with the English breakfast grill I was carrying, then stopped myself from going out and breaking the fan into tiny bits for daring to malfunction today.

Half the walkway was rendered completely useless because of the damn rain. We pulled down the plastic curtains to shelter the quayside and our wide-screen TV from the rain, but some customers complained that they couldn’t see the boat races. So we rolled up the curtains again.

Then some other customers complained that they were getting wet.

I contemplated rolling over and dying quietly.

Things were so slammed that even our HR person came to help out with things. She smiled wryly at me and encapsulated everything when she shook her head and said, “It’s just one of those days.”

Then Ray came up to me when work was almost over and asked in a hopeful voice, “Beth, you free to work to eight today? We don’t have enough people.”

I gave him the most incredulous look I could muster.

“No. Way.”

At least I had enough sympathy to actually feel a bit guilty for not working extra.

Note: This post is guest-written by Michele, the one who introduced me to the pub I currently work at. Since I’m off work this week, here she is with a guest post to keep y’all happy.

I went outside to hand out some change and get some bills signed because there was a lull period inside.

Sure enough, a man at table 56 waves at me. I go over. Three guys and a girl, all Chinese looking but turns out, only the girl is local.

Guy 1: One more round for everybody.
Me: (Eyeing the glasses & noting that two were identifiable) That will be a pint of Kilkenny, a pint of Guinness and what are you drinking Ma’am?
Girl: Tequila.
Me: On the rocks or neat?
Girl: Rocks.
Guy 1: (Sniggers) Rocks!
Me to Guy 2: And you sir, what would you like?
Guy 2: (Points to completely empty rock glass)
Me: (seeing customers walking into my post and losing patience fast) What is that sir?
Guy 2: Sea Bass.

Me: (Wondering if that is some new exotic cocktail that I have not heard of before): Let me repeat your orders. That will be a Kilkenny, a stout, one tequila on the rocks and one Sea Bass.

Everyone nods.

I return to the cashier, and somehow I’m suspicious about the Sea Bass drink. I turn to my boss and ask, “What is a Sea Bass?”

Boss: It’s a fish la, girl.
Me: I know. But a customer ordered it!
Boss: He wants a Seabreeze la.
Me: Ok.

I change the order to a Seabreeze, but just before putting it into the order box, I decide that a Seabreeze is too difficult to sell if the order is wrong, so I sigh and head back to that table outside.

Me to Guy 2: Sir, just to confirm with you, you want a Seabreeze right?
Guy 2: No, Sea Bass.
Me: (totally losing it) That is a fish, sir.
Guy 2: (chews on a fry thoughtfully)
Me: …
Guy 1: It’s on the menu, let me show you.

And then he proceeds to flip the page open, and point to a drink. I am bursting with curiosity to see what exotic drink this Sea Bass is. And what do I see??

Chivas.

Me to Guy 2: (trying not to laugh or cry) Would you like your CHIVAS on the rocks or neat?

I go back and recount the incident to my boss, the cashier and my supervisor. Everyone except one waitress has heard it.

20 minutes later, my supervisor calls me. He looks like he is about to burst with laughter as he waves for me to look at a captain’s order. On the captain’s order written by that one waitress, I see the order for “4 Sea Bass”.

I burst into laughter.