October 25, 2009

More on School

The girls are on a 10-day break; all of next week and through Wednesday of the following week. No one seems to know why. We will head to Amsterdam for a long weekend next week.

Prior to the break, parents were treated to the Euro version of a parent-teacher conference. This was a fascinating exercise in uselessness. The week prior, we received an email with an attached schedule. Now, it is important to note that were not to actually fill in the schedule. No, we were merely to admire the spacing, the font, etcetera. On a separate piece of paper, we were to write down the names of the teachers we wanted to see as well as the times (anywhere from 5:30 to 9 pm). Then, the children were to take this paper, along with the blank schedule, to each teacher and hold it up like an empty porridge bowl in Oliver, while the teacher decided whether the child/parent was worthy of a conference. If and when worthiness was established, the teacher would select a time for the conference. Stay with me here, because this gets a bit complicated. The time for the conference is established based on the following criteria, in order of importance.
1. It must not coincide with any of the times requested by the parent;
2. It must be as far from the time requested by the parent as possible; and
3. If other teachers have already filled in an appointment, this appointment must either conflict directly with that one or, failing that, this appointment must take place as far from all other appointments (and, of course, the times requested by the parent) as possible.

Imagine my delight when the Claire came home with the following schedule (I have translated the time for your reading pleasure):

5:30-5:35: Mme. Granjean. Mme. Barbier
5:35-5:45_______________________
5:45-5:50________________________
5:50-5:55__________________________
5:55-6:00__________________________
6:00-6:05_________________________
6:05-6:10___________________________

and so on until:

8:55-9:00: M. Radford


Upon receipt of this schedule, I reached two important conclusions.

1. Mme. Barbier hates Mme. Grandjean
2. M. Radford is passive aggressive


Megan has the same teachers, so the thinking was I could discuss both girls during the appointments.

The astute readers among you will have noted that these appointments were 5 minutes long. Five minutes! Two days after we received these schedules, the school issued the following email.

"Dear EaB Victor Hugo Parents,
The Parent Association would like to say a few words about the Parent-Teacher Meetings you’ve just signed up for.
Many of you may be expecting to have a “meeting” with these teachers. Many of you may wish or need to have a “meeting” with some of these teachers.
But 5-minute slots don’t really allow for “meetings”. So please keep this in mind, if only out of courtesy for the parents who may be waiting in the hall...
We recommend that you make a point of asking teachers for their contact information, and for advice about how to schedule real “meetings” with them in the future.
We sincerely hope that you’ll find the time to participate in this important academic event."


I'll admit it. I am one of those idiotic parents who was expecting a "meeting." I wished and needed a "meeting." Now, I'm told that I need to show up at school (half an hour by metro away from home) and spend three and a half hours there in the evening for the purpose of scheduling a " real meeting." And call me oversensitive, but I get the distinct impression that I'd better damn well show up for this "important academic event." I'm feeling the urge to go rent a car.

So, off I go. I meet Mme. Barbier first, but only because I'm five minutes early and she is lurking in the hallway. Picture, if you will, Mme. Barbier. She looks exactly like Barbara Eden (I Dream of Jeannie). Bleached blond hair pulled back in a high pony tail, fake eyelashes, bright blue eyeshadow, black eyeliner. Fortunately, she's opted out of the silk balloon pants, halter, and pointy slippers and replaced them with black leather pants and black suede boots with 4-inch heels. I'd put her at about 60 (She could also be the model for "Mature French Barbie". Note the name). She jumps out in front of me.

"English? Mme. Barbier?" she barks. I am too frightened to tell her I have actually scheduled an appointment first with Mme. Grandjean. Plus, I realize, she already knows this and has scheduled ours accordingly (see requirement #3 above). Finally, I am deeply afraid that if I cross her in any way she will fold her arms, blink, and freeze me into place for the rest of the evening. So, I follow her obediently into the classroom.

"Claireworksveryhardshelacksconfidencesheneedstopayattentiontoneatness." She ushers me out of the classroom and searches for her next victim.

I look at my watch. 5:32!! There's still time for Mme. Grandjean. By some miracle, I find Mme. Grandjean's room. I introduce myself. She snorts. I'm not kidding, the woman actually snorts at me!

"ClairejoinedtheschoolLATE! ThenshewasSICK!She'sstillcatchingUP!SheneedstobeNEATER!"

Another snort. And I'm back in the hallway. It's 5:34.

Three hours and twenty minutes later (and let me tell you, there's not a lot to do in a French school at night. I am reduced to practicing my snorting.) I'm waiting outside M. Radford's room with several other parents. Another teacher walks by.

I don't know how she makes the time, but she says:

"Why are you here? Mr. Radford has been sick for three days. He will not be here tonight. I wish you a pleasant evening."

Of course we never got to Megan. For all I know she's not really going to school but slinging beer in the bar down the street. I'm thinking seriously about skipping the "real meeting." I don't think I can handle any more important academic events.