Interview follow-up and Charity Shop Customer's Story

Well. It’s been a positive couple of days, innit?

After I dropped off Natalie at school (story about that in a few), I headed to the train station. Bought my ticket to Newcastle for the 10:22 train. Ate a blueberry muffin and drank a large coffee while I waited at the Victorian-era side of the station. Platform 2, to be exact. No 9 and 3/4 here. Took less than 20 minutes by train to get to Newcastle and it goes through sheep pastures and the remnants of the coal industry. What distinguishes Newcastle for me is the large buildings that aren’t cathedrals. This is how I know I’m in Newcastle and not Durham. Anyways, I digress. Stood in the taxi queue and the taxi marshal was a very pleasant man. Chatted him up for the two minutes it took for it to be my turn to get a taxi. Taxi marshals are responsible for keeping the line moving and he was supposed to be working with another man. But the other man was on his lunch break, sitting across the road watching us. We had us a small laugh. I get in the taxi and I have to surrender my nice large Costa coffee to the driver. Must be policy that passengers cannot have liquids whilst being a passenger. Mmmph. My driver was competent and the taxi smelled nice too. Black leather. I arrived 15 minutes until my appointment but I decided to go in anyways so I could wait inside as it was EXTREMELY WINDY. Home has its windiness, but here it’s a different thing altogether because it’s windy when it is cold and sunny and when it is cold and cloudy. There’s no good way to dress for this place. Or have a decent hairdo. Must be why those girls tease and sweep their hair over their heads. Seriously, they have hair like helmets. And the taxi cost £6.00. My train ticket only cost £5.00! Hmmmph.

I go in and am immediately buzzed in and am directed to Tanya’s office. Tanya is my case worker/coordinator/support consultant. I give her my paperwork that they requested, told her I was still trying to get a National Insurance Number, and that I didn’t have a checking account so I couldn’t write her a check. All of this was fine and can be taken care of at a later time, like today and whenever. I will need a UK police check as well as an FBI background check WITH fingerprints. Oh my stars. So I have to call the Embassy and the National Fingerprint Centre at Scotland Yard.

Is anyone else starting to think this is a bit more of hassle than what’s necessary? I sure am. But it stems from an incident where (I think) four girls were murdered by a supply teacher three or four years ago…and it was found that NO background checks were done on this man. So, I’m saving lives really by jumping through these hoops. Think about it. Back home, a lot of districts only required a high school diploma and a blood-borne pathogen training seminar for their substitute teachers. Some had the background checks…but not all. Don’t remember which though; I worked for three districts and I can’t remember. Sad.

I fill out paperwork and Tanya asks me more questions that she records on her computer’s questionnaire. And that’s it. I’m basically hired. I can start working as soon as I get my clearances and NI number, provided there’s a job needing filled. She calls a cab for me, one that she assures me is cheaper (and it is!) and I head back to the station. Caught the 12:34 train to London King’s Cross, which called (stopped) at Durham and I headed towards the charity shop.

Story about Natalie’s drop off:

Natalie is been very imaginative recently. In transit to school, we’re either on a boat or a plane. And we must always look for kites and trains while we’re on the bus. She likes to pretend she’s a puppy and can imitate the whimpering of Lady from Lady and the Tramp with great accuracy.

She really likes to go to St Oswald’s. She has a peg for her bag and coat with her name on it and since she recognizes her name, she knows exactly where to put her stuff. She’s usually going so fast at this point that sometimes she starts playing before I can get her jacket off.

MOMENT OF WIN: This summer we attended the toddler/young kids playgroup at the PlayPit (indoor climbing and slides and ball pit) where I had hoped that Natalie would meet some little girls to be friends with and where I could meet some little girls’ moms to be friends with. You know I had no luck. Crazy people will tell me their life stories, but normal people (by appearances) won’t give me the time of day. There was a couple of girls Natalie’s age with moms around my age and so I got excited. But each time we went, the moms would never look at me and if I said hello, it was greeted with a tight smile and nod. That’s it. Their little girls were little girls…they knew each other, but didn’t try to include Natalie or anyone else for that matter. Really, in hindsight it was quite pathetic of me. I did talk to some women there, but either their kids were too young for Natalie to play with outside of the group (like at our house or at the park) or they didn’t come regularly. I don’t feel like the two women I’m speaking of needed to include me, but I do feel that more courtesy could be shown when someone is sitting right next to you and they are obviously not from around. And I was on my BEST behavior. None of my smartass shit. You know, I’m trying to be me still, but a cleaned up version of me, capisce?  Anyways, how this relates to the drop off yesterday is that one of the moms has her daughter in Natalie’s group. Natalie tears into the room and immediately  heads for the table with markers, color pencils, and construction paper. And there’s this little girl screaming her head off. Poor kid. Then I recognize her and the woman bending down to her. It’s one of them! And she’s trying to leave and her daughter doesn’t want to be left. I mean, I’ve been there and Natalie’s been there… but not like this. It was brutal. Ugly.

And it wasn’t me. I kiss Natalie good bye but she’s already forgotten I’m there. I head out towards the bus stop and wait. And after waiting a few minutes, I see the mom walking towards me. She’s on her phone. Eye contact made, she looks away. No recognition, no head jerk, no crinkle of eye corners or even a rueful mouth. Okay. I know you’re on the phone but I was just in the room with you lady, while you ineffectively tried to calm your daughter down. I even sympathized but now, now I’m going to feel superior than your ass because my kid can handle herself in a school setting. I’ve helped teach her that and compared to your kid, my kid is so calm she sneezes serenity. Plus my kid is a nice kid that other little girls talk about at home to their parents…as I found out from the American (!) professor whose daughter, Irini, talks nonstop about Natalie. Take that to the bank lady! We got a saying back home, “I guess that’s how you was raised”. Don’t worry, I’ll be friendly, but now, the real me will be there when the mouth opens.

Charity shop story:

An elderly gentleman and his wife came in yesterday. I was working at the till, organizing the collectible souvenir spoons, trying to see if there was one I could send home to someone who collects them. SO IF YOU COLLECT THEM, LET ME KNOW. This gentleman stood at the counter while his wife browsed the knickknacks and linens. He begins watching what I’m doing. So I ask him some questions about some of the spoons’ place names that have worn off and he very kindly helps me with some of the pronunciations and locations of these places. Then he gets to talking about his mother’s silver service; the kind, the quality, the extent of it. He tells me about how his sister in law took all of it. He was in the War, showed me the patch badge on the front of his coat (had a matching pin too!) in one branch of the Air Corps and how his three other brothers were in the military also. So his mother dies but he can’t get home because he’s deployed. One of his brothers is able to get leave…this is the brother who is married. The War ends and the gentleman comes back home from his tour. He goes to his mother’s house and noticed the silver was gone. He can’t find the sister in law or the silver. Turns out it was worth hundreds of thousands of pounds even THEN. Imagine the value now. So, why couldn’t the gentleman find his sister in law? Turns out, the brother who was married to this woman, when he was home on the leave for the funeral…well, somehow the woman got it in her head to take the silver. He (brother) was in the Corp of Royal Engineers working on chemical warfare. He died during the War from chemical burns and she left with all the silver, headed somewhere south, and was never heard from by the family again.

Meanwhile, the gentleman’s wife has finished her browsing and is standing at the door. He looked up, looked back at me and said, “Well have a lovely day my dear. Goodbye now.” He offered his wife his arm, put on his cap, and out the door they went.