So I spent much of yesterday finding ways to look busy enough that people wouldn’t bother me. Or at least that those who found it necessary to bother me would excuse themselves for interrupting (my trying to look busy-ness) and move along quickly once I barked out an answer. I hate being bothered. Especially at work.
But really, I was waiting all day to hear from my son who started his first day at his new school. Finally. School here in the river city started almost two weeks ago, but because I didn’t sign a lease on the new place until the last minute and therefore couldn’t prove residence to the new school, to any school, I couldn’t register him. Apparently, they don’t just let you ship your kid off to whatever school you find convenient – you actually have to prove that he belongs there, and this requires more documentation than it does to say, ship him off to war. Or get him a credit card.
So when I finally had a lease to show and knew which school the squirt would be attending, I requested his records from his old school be sent to his new school and I went to the new school to fill out paperwork and hand over the myriad of documentation required to register a child for free public indoctrination in the state of Virginia. This included a birth certificate (to prove he was indeed born in these United States and is entitled to a free government brain-washing, er, education), his last report card from his previous school (despite the fact that this very document will be included in his school records), the aforementioned lease or proof-of-residence, his social security card (to ensure that the correct serial number is recorded on the microchip to be implanted in his brain), and a copy of his shot record (to ensure that said microchip planting has been accomplished).
Failure to provide ALL of these records results in the inability of said child to attend school, which is by the way, mandatory (but only in the you-must-send-your-child-to-school-or-we’ll-charge-you-with-truancy-and-neglect kind of way, not in the we-the-government-must-provide-your-child-with-an-education-without-burdensome-complications kind of way).
Having submitted all such documentation to his school last year, I assumed this procedure would be relatively quick and painless. I found out of course that you can never underestimate the ineptitude of a government institution. Especially one meant to serve the public directly.
I showed up with said son on the first day of school, documentation in hand, assuming his records had arrived in the week and a half since my request. Again, underestimating. No such records and no child in school. I filled out another form, this time with his new school, to be faxed to his old school in order to request the records again. The woman in charge of enrolling new students said she would call me as soon as they arrived and I could bring him back then and she’d register him for classes. I assumed this meant his records would be faxed or emailed in a nice, tidy pdf document to his new school. I have to stop assuming.
After the second day of school had come and almost gone, I called the enrollment woman at his new school. She didn’t know if she had the records yet and that she’d have to call me back, and after taking my name and phone number, she hung up and was not to be heard from again until the next afternoon when I, tired of waiting to hear from her, called her back. Once again, she took my name and number and said she’d call back.
At this point though, I was on to her game and called his old school myself to inquire about his records. This required two phone calls and an email before receiving the response that his records had been sent on Tuesday (the first day of school, the day the request was faxed – not the day I originally requested them a week earlier). But apparently the school system is unaware of the wonders of modern technology, and my son’s records were instead sent via United States Postal Service. And not the one with the shiny new trucks and aero planes, but the one with the Conestoga wagons and foot messengers.
Still, by the fourth day of school, I assumed the records would have arrived. They were, after all, only being sent from one county to another. Forty miles. Another stupid assumption.
Monday morning I got the kid up, made the kid shower, brought the kid to work with me, and in between coughing fits, called the enrollment woman at the new school to say I was bringing the little monster in as I was sure she had received his records. She was not so sure and said she would call me back.
She did not.
Apparently, her phone only works for incoming calls.
By noon, I was suffering from full-on respiratory fits and dragged the kid home to our new, underfurnished apartment where I passed out on the floor until well past the time I could call this woman back. For the next three days, I made a phone call in the morning, only to be told she hadn’t received the records the previous day and would allegedly call me to let me know if she had them now. She seemed unalarmed that my fourteen-year-old was missing out on the first weeks of the school year, and seemed to imply by her nonchalance that I should be unalarmed as well.
Meanwhile, my bored yet happy not to be in school son kept me from squandering too much of my sick time on napping and complained about how he didn’t want to go to this school anyway, about how he didn’t have any clothes to wear, about how he wasn’t going to make any more new friends here, and about how the world had yet to bend to his glory.
Friday, certain that I was enjoying myself more than I had a right to, and desperately in need of nicotine, I dragged myself to work and left the child alone. I drafted a very pointed letter to the enrollment woman, detailing my every effort to resolve this records situation and get the kid in school, and I faxed it off.
Within twenty minutes I received a phone call. The records had apparently been placed in someone else’s box and that someone else had no clue what to do with a set of school records for a new student, so there they had sat. But now everything was fine, and he could come in on Monday. And by the way, he could just come in alone, there was no need for me to be there.
Like I was going to miss my chance to sit in her office and make her uncomfortable. Right.
Upon hearing the news that he would be starting school on Monday, the kid smiled and hugged me and thanked me profusely for all my hard work.
Okay, so he said something along the lines of, “Screw that. I’m not going.”
Of course, he assumed I cared what he thought.
I did not.
So I spent most of yesterday waiting for his phone call, waiting to hear about his first day, about how his teachers were all stupid and his classes were all stupid and the other students were all backward and completely unworthy of his time. What I got was this:
“Hi, Mom. I’m home from school. It was okay. My friend came over. Hope that’s okay. We’re going to the community center. I’ll call you later. Love you. Talk to you later. Bye.”
I didn’t even get a chance to respond.
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