Goodhome

 Pablo paused in his tracks. This was most unusual. For the past four years, Whaea Selina had been turning up at Hells Pizza every Thursday at Lunchtime to deliver pizza to Ranui children, and it was only by their reading efforts that Whaea Selina had been able to survive because Lord knows that she couldn't subsist on the cold chicken and carrots school lunches. By extension Pablo had been eating whatever had been left over if it hadn't been snatched up by scabbers.

He thought she might have continued on, but the Creek Valley children were too well fed to need Hells Pizza, or maybe, they preferred the fancier Sal's Pizza? It had special sauce flown in especially from New York. But there was no sign of a reading deal on their door. 

Pablo turned to go and crossed to the Goodhome Gastropub. He smelled a faint whiff of cheese, and there was a sign outside their door. It read Quiz Nite Wednesdays. And inside, he noticed there were...books! They lined the shelves above the tables and near the pokie machines too. This was a definitely a pub Whaea Selina would patronise. 

Pablo was in luck, it was Wednesday. He just had to wait around past Happy Hour and see if Whaea Selina was at the Quiz Nite. Surely she would be there, they always needed her to answer random quiz questions. He recalled the last Kahoot quiz she held there was a question that most smart children got right and only the non-readers could fail.

Why must we be quiet in the library?

a) There's a baby in there and it's sleeping

b) If its noisy Whaea Selina gets a headache

c) So we can read our books in peace

d) So we don't have to call noise control and pay a huge fine

On the trail

 Mr Muggs tuned left and Pablo turned right. They had decided to split up and then meet up in the middle at La Porchetta if neither had not found Miss Selina by then. La Porchetta had cheese, and it also had fancy feast Italian food. 

Mr Muggs was a bit reluctant to leave Creek Valley School though, because it was rumoured to have good butter chicken at the school cafe. But he knew that even if it had, Whaea Tilot would likely not approve as only she made authentic butter chicken. She got the children to grind the spices especially in the mornings, she never took shortcuts. However Mr Muggs knew even butter chicken would not keep Miss Selina at a school. Something had happened that had made her leave. Perhaps she was offered better food at Mr Lobster. And the closest school there was West Auckland Middle School. 

Mr Muggs made his way down Central Park Drive. He passed the Chipmunks Playground and cafe (but no library). No S. He passed the Kings Plant Barn, which looked like an MLE. No S either, but maybe it was just not a planting day. Learning Network hadn't seen her recently either, though one lady said yes she was here once enquiring about books. Mr Muggs noticed that 'Teaching to the North East' was on sale. He thought TT should have bought the teachers 'Teach like a Pirate' instead.  It had a better looking cover.  There was a long stretch of shops and businesses before he got to Mr Lobster. The only thing, when he looked in all the female customers sort of looked like S with black hair and pale skin and he couldn't tell which one was her. 

Meanwhile Pablo was making enquiries at Hell's Pizza. No sorry we haven't had any orders all year from any schools. Not even Ranui. The children must have given up on reading books! Pablo was aghast. Had they lost their appetites?  Now what was he going to do? 

Better Work Stories - Fashion designer

 One of my fellow  teachers was looking at my job situation. Of course nobody now has money to pay a librarian, and so she looked at my hands like she was a gypsy fortuneteller and told me that I was to be a fashion designer. 

I nearly fell out of my chair. 

There is no way I could be a fashion designer. I don't even have a sewing machine. And I didn't feel like I could really draw what clothes people could wear only to have them made in a sweat shop in Bangladesh, Vietnam or China where all clothes are manufactured these days, as they sure are not made here. 

I have lived long enough into the 21st century to know that every decade in the past has reached the nadir of fashion and now anyone can now just wear anything they like. It's only in certain places, like schools and working in retail that you have to wear ugly uniforms. 

So if you wanted to wear a meat dress or all your soft toys like Lady Gaga, you now can, and nobody would bat an eye, and even wearing your underwear on the outside is acceptable. Girls can wear pants and boys can wear skirts and everyone can wear a pink t-shirt. I remember years ago we had this 'Trash to Fashion' parade at the Trust Stadium, where everyone literally wore rubbish. What creative things you can do with black plastic bin bags knows no bounds. 

On mufti day at school everyone was wearing either track pants and sweat shirts, or, if they were children, their onesies and unicorn horns/Disney princess dresses, or superhero costumes. It was like Armageddon Comic Con Cosplay meets Book Week. If it was not mufti day, everyone would be wearing blazers and ties and looking like they went to Hogwart's School of Withcraft and Wizardry, or if doing sports, like the All Blacks team with advertising branding prominently displayed, and in mourning because black is the new black. Or something.

My preference is actually bathrobe and/or toga/wrap/pareu/sarong/lavalava, because you can just tie that around your body without having to sew anything. Security blankets are the new hoodie. 

But who am I to dictate what anyone else wears? I think it's only because I am harbouring a secret desire to have everyone dress in stripes for the largest Where's Wally Day ever, and get into the Guinness Book of World Records, but of course that's just crazy talk again and not going to happen as long as we have people that take their day jobs seriously. Everyday cannot be a party. We are in an election year as well, so all the political parties are parading around in the respective colours/gang patches and people are wary of showing their affiliations. So if I became a fashion designer, I might only add to the confusion. 

Last few years have become a bit of a masquerade though but I've just stuck with the surgical blue masks and scrubs look because its the fashion to look like a zombie who just got out of a hospital bed, with bed hair and bandages. It's fun to dress up I suppose, but to make a living out of it I am not sure. It just might be creating more work for the people that have to do the laundry (me). 

Well, it was either that or work at SpecSavers like another teacher suggested. 

Mr Muggs investigates

 Mr Muggs the library cat was at Creek Valley School after having crossed the bridge of troubled waters, to find S was no longer there either. Well she WAS here, said his sidekick Pablo, and there was evidence that she HAD been there...Mr Muggs glanced around and saw all the fiction chapter books had been genrified, the non fiction had been sorted into Dewey Decimal, and the lounge chairs had been feng shuied. There were also tell-tale spider plants. They could only come from one plant the mother of all plants, and Mr Muggs remembered S had told him she originally got the first baby from Henderson Intermediate. 

But he must have missed the memo because none of the teachers ever remembered seeing her. She was like this invisible ghost librarian that only the children ever saw and you could never rely on what children told you. 

Well look at this, said Pablo. There was a note on the noticeboard in the office that read 'You're cool'. Who would that be? We all know teachers in this school aren't that cool. None of them wore dark glasses yet could still read a book like S did. 

There were two graduate bears wearing their caps and gowns sitting on the top shelf. Which was labelled 'Top Shelf'.One had an engineering degree and the other had studied business. Wouldn't they know? 

Ah Miss Selina or rather 'Mistress Selina' yes said the bears she had been here they confirmed as they had presided over her piece of paper that was her MLIS degree. But it had mysteriously disappeared and was now replaced by a picture of a bookworm eating a book. 

Where did she go? Back to Ranui School? Not likely. The green gorilla was still there and hungry. Mr Muggs consulted his Wises Map and looked at all the schools in the area. Pablo would know where she had gone. He had a good nose for anyone who had the cheese touch...and it seemed Miss Selina inadvertently had the cheese touch. 

Pablo said she was definitely here as I scoured the staffroom and she left her china soup spoon, a rice bowl and some chopsticks. That could only belong to her as all the other staff subsisted on coffee and cereal. Pablo suggested they ask Hell's Pizza as he was really hoping she did take up the job delivering pizza to those who've read 7 books on a full-time basis, now that she had the cheese touch. It was just down the road. 

Mr Muggs investigated the returns trolley. He saw there was a book that had just been returned. It was called 'The Man who Ate Lincoln Road'. I reckon she would have gone one better than Hell's Pizza. Besides this book is a little out of date don't you think? It still has Valentines in it! 

Pablo agreed. Mr Lobster Yum Cha restaurant it is then. 

Better Work Stories - Vet Nurse

 This might have been the perfect job for me. I looked after cats in the cattery and prepared pets and their anxious owners for repair. Of course I didn't mind cleaning up cat poo and bird poo and doing all those things only a crazy cat lady could do. Play with yarn, roll around in catnip, talk in cat language etc. After all, Catwoman was my supposed alter ego. I had nine lives, and spent most of them on the catwalk, treading the fine balance of navigating the pitfalls, barking dogs, and humans who just didn't understand cats. 

You had horse whisperers and baby whisperers, I was the cat meower. I had about five cats in my charge and one cat that had 17 kittens (it was the neighbours, they took no responsibility for any of her pregnancies) but we loved her so much that we were willing to rescue her from the SPCA and give her a good, even better life chez the Chan family. We had chinese food of course, what cat doesn't like mum's cooking. 

My vet nurse description wasn't much it was basically caring for animals. However at the Swanson Vet it wasn't just cats, though they operated a cattery, but all other pets, including dogs and mice. Unfortunately for me, dogs and cats generally do not like each other. And in the operating theatre, I had to witness dogs getting their balls chopped off and mice being euthanised. I was stoic though and this of course came with the job. I would hold their paws while the deed was being done. 

The price people paid for their pets was pretty steep, though I suspect children cost a whole lot more. The only thing that undid me was the medical smell, of dried blood and disinfectant and iodine, that in an enclosed space made me feel very dizzy and faint, so I didn't last very long in that job and had to quit. 

I do wonder sometimes what turn my life would have taken had I had a stronger constitution and stuck with what was the animal division of Shortland Street. When Socks was nearing the end of his life mum made an appointment with the Vet, but he knew what was coming and snuck away. So we never did find Socks though sometimes his ghost comes to visit me at odd times (usually at night) waking me up but I just open the window and say go to the flowers where he's supposed to be sleeping. 

Every hospital needs a cat though and Waitakere has one called Daisy. Though we didn't see her there last time mum got drained of blood. I now avoid hospitals whenever I can because of all the traumatic memories, long buried,  of nearly losing my life in one. Though I sometimes think they could do with better books instead of Women's Weekly magazines in their waiting rooms, circa 2002, though it is entertaining to read the latest gossip out loud to patients who really really want to know just what the Royal Family are up to.  

Mum was very disappointed I did not become a nurse like the heroines on Shortland Street that she watches every night at 7pm. I remind her she already has one son who is a surgeon, she doesn't really need me in the medical profession. Don't I have enough drama in my life already? If the DHB had proper libraries for patients in hospitals and I could just go round reading bedtime stories and singing lullabies to distressed patients I could possibly do that, but whoever heard of such a thing in New Zealand?

The MLE

 Princess Anne was keen to show off Avonlea Private School to her visitors who were an international congress from CCTV. This included the formidable Mrs Trunchbull, former Headmistress of Crunchem Hall who was utilising the barn as a MLE - modern learning environment for her brand of special callisthenics. Whaea Caryn had the feeling that she actually was training her pupils for the circus but she didn't want to say in case she was wrong to a two-time Olympic Gold medal winner of the hammer throw.

They entered the barn where indeed there were bales of hay piled up from the summer harvest. Mrs Trunchbull had just been transferred from Crunchem Hall now that it had been bought out and rebranded 'The Cool School'. Miss Honey  had taken over management. 

Miss Honey! Spat Mrs Trunchbull. The children adored Miss Honey who was originally a  lowly librarian until child prodigy Matilda appeared on the scene. It was only because Matilda was a genius and actually read the books that nobody else in school read that she was able to put the fear of God into Mrs Trunchbull, who had to admit defeat when she was outsmarted in the school spelling bee for being unable to spell Missisissipi. Matilda then appointed Miss Honey to the top job after proving that Mrs Trunchbull had cheated her out of her inheritance. It was all very messy but it was all in writing in the annals of Roald Dahl. 

Princess Anne had kindly taken Mrs Trunchbull in as PE teacher where she was now in her element, and now her bullying had an outlet when she wielded her ice hockey sticks in the cold Canadian winters. Her team was now the main feeder to the Toronto Maple Leafs.

TT was impressed with the school and wondered if she could apply for a transfer. Whaea Caryn was holding out though, her husband back in the Land of the Long White Cloud had been calling her saying he was unable to cope with her being so far away and that he needed her back as she was the only one who knew how to change the lightbulbs in their new housing compound on Teacher's Row. 

Whaea Caryn was only slightly annoyed. I thought I left plenty of soy wax candles in the cupboard! Surely hubby knows how to light a candle. She now had to spend some time writing step-by-step instructions in an email and a flow chart diagram and several graphs.  TT was glad to help with this. He just needs to be taught Whaea Caryn. I understand, we are so busy teaching tamariki that we neglect our husbands. But that requires another school...

Princess Anne of Green Gables

 Whaea Caryn and TT finally arrived on Prince Edward Island after their successful CCTV conference. They were meeting Princess Anne of Green Gables, who was Headmistress of Avonlea Private School and was giving the teachers of the Land of the Long White Cloud a tour of the campus, of where she had been based for 16 years.

Yes I grew up here, said Princess Anne. She insisted on being called Princess and not 'Principal'. Her red hair was piled up into a bun on the top of her head, and she wore a long dress with puffy sleeves. In her hand she wielded a long rod, which had measurements on it, and said it was her 'pointing stick' and that all veteran teachers had to have them. We have authority to rule, thus, we must never be seen without our rulers, advised Princess Anne. She smiled, and tapped her pointing stick to the ground. 

When I was a girl I was the naughtiest, most rebellious child in class and could never stop talking. I also broke a slate over poor Gilberts head as he pulled my braids. He is now the caretaker of the school. Actually he is over there right now. Princess Anne pointed her stick to a burly man over in the far field who was raking autumn leaves into a large pile.

TT looked around the old schoolhouse. It had not changed since 1911. There was a bell at the top and the traditional blackboard and rows of hinged desks. Do you teach here?

This is where I do my history lessons, said Princess Anne. But I have also installed CCTV behind the blackboards so we can do zoom online learning for the 777 other students who've enrolled. My face to face class is restricted to 66 lucky pupils. 

Do you have a library? Asked Whaea Caryn. She glanced at the Canadian flag held aloft outside. It was fluttering in the cool breeze. It swelled her heart with pride to see the red maple leaf, to her it looked like a red leaf shaped love heart, and was really her ace in her pack of teaching cards. She always played the Canada Card whenever teachers questioned her methods. 

Princess Anne snorted. A library? Don't be absurd. The only books we have is my hagiography series written by Lucy Maud Montgomery. That's the only books we need to read at this school. 

But where do you go to relax and read books? asked TT. She was thinking the extra space could be another classroom. 

Princess Anne said there was no need for a library. We don't have bean bags at this school. If children want to read books and roll in the hay, they can do it in the barn. She pointed her stick in a north easterly direction, and sure enough, there was a big red barn that looked like a giant MLE. 

Better work stories - Usher

 One of my friends now works as security for all the big concerts and sporting events around Auckland. I wouldn't do that as I'd probably be beaten up and flattened, but I did have a similar job once in my 20s at the University when showed people to their seats at the theatre, where I wasn't paid but got to see a free show. It was usually a play put on by the Auckland Theatre Company. 

I had no real aspirations to be an actress and being in the limelight but dressing all in black and being invisible was something I could do. My boss at the time thought I was terrible as I was supposed to sell programmes for $8 a pop and I never sold any, as I thought people should get their money's worth of tickets that were already expensive as it is and didn't need to shell out for the program to go with it. Most people who I asked if they would like a program declined. We were all poor students!

I don't recall many of the plays, except for No 2. in which Madeleine Sami did an Robin Williams/Aladdin virtuoso performance of as many different Indian accents as she could, and one play (was it The Graduate? or A Streetcar Named Desire) where Elizabeth Hawthorne streaked naked across the stage. It was theatre, anything goes. 

After the play was over and everyone ushered out, my boss who had his eye on me said he was watching me all the time and I was a bit unnerved by this. He was probably bored watching the same play over and over every night and thought I was much better entertainment. I was doing my English papers at the time and studying drama so I thought I should at least see one play. 

The only time I got up the courage to act was when we acted out a scene from Top Girls by Caryl Churchill in the drama studio. I played the waitress so and didn't actually have to say any lines. Which was alright but I ruined the scene because I made believed I was a clumsy waitress who dropped all the food. 

After my stint as an usher was over I had two big black bin bags full of black clothing enough for several funerals so ended up donating them to the Salvation Army. I preferred the big broadway musical type shows to the serious political and fringe ones anyway but that kind of theatre never got a look-in at the University. My boss was dismayed that I would sometimes fall asleep on the back row though actually I slept anywhere and sometimes in lectures if they were too boring as well. 

Unlike in Shakespearean times, the patrons of this theatre were not riff-raff groundlings who snacked and drank mugs of mead while watching the show. They did not have rotten tomatoes tucked up their sleeves or a hook to drag anyone off the stage. This crowd was very polite and clapped at the end, because it was usually the sons and daughters of the wealthy scions of Auckland (doctors, lawyers, engineers)  having a night out at the theatre and acting for fun if they couldn't be full-time on Shortland Street.