Irish Teacher: To the woman drinking wine who called me a saddo, don't take the train
I’ll mark the exams on the train.
I’ll mark the exams on the train, and it will all be ok.
Welcome to the inside of my Sunday afternoon head, recovering from a few Saturday evening glasses of wine, facing a looming Monday morning deadline.
Why, oh why, had I told my students I’d have their results to them on Monday? Sitting on the Dublin-Cork train, cold and alone, I thought of bouncy energetic Friday Me.
“I’ll have your exams back next week.”
Wouldn’t that have been grand? Lovely and vague. Why Monday? Why, Friday Self? Why?
Still, the plan was solid: three hours of concentrated work would do it. The train was a perfect setting: no distractions, not even a trolley cart. I was ready to roll. Good pen? Check. Marking scheme and exam scripts? Check. Genuine curiosity about how my lovely students had done? Absolutely.
It’s going to be… okay.
It’s all going to be okay.
And at first it was okay – better than okay. I’d a four-seater to myself. In truth, I was verging on smug as I got stuck in, vaguely aware of a woman on the phone, a few seats up, telling her mother about her weekend.
That’s sweet.
I felt that way for a while – for the first twenty minutes at least – before realising there would never be silence in that carriage ever again. It was phone call after phone call. The mother. The husband Don. The friend Tina. Back-to-back chats. The other friend Mary. She’d just called to say she loved her.
A man got up and stormed out of the carriage. I started to pop my head up in the hope she might sense it was unfair on the otherwise silent passengers. Nothing. It just went on and on and on, whilst I scanned the same paragraph again. And again.
Is there anything more annoying than listening to a one-way conversation for hours, not knowing when the booming voice will stop or start or stop again?
I had to do something.
My pile of papers was not moving. I would have to stay up through the night! No! This was not the plan! And what about the three lessons I’d hoped to prepare later?
For the love of God, what about the children?
Okay, I didn’t think that last one, but I was close.
At this point, she was screaming something about a trip to Galway. Poor Galway, I thought.
I made my move.
“Sorry, I understand you’re on the phone” – I dialled up the sweetness – “but can you keep the volume down a little; I’m trying to work.”
Silence. I pressed on.
“Is that okay?”
Face like a slapped bum.
“No. It’s not okay.”
I returned to my seat, defeated.
The next act in my carriage’s entertainment was all about the loser working on a Sunday. I was a saddo, jealous of the fun she was having. And lots of other words I can’t mention.
Note to self: it’s even harder to ignore a one-sided conversation when it’s about you.
To be fair, she had a point. Sunday night marking on a train is indeed joyless. Marking is one of the harder parts of being a teacher, but it’s necessary. Good marking can really make the difference, so long as the student gets clear guidance on how to improve.
I’m not sure I got that, back in my day. We got a range of words, poor to excellent. Does every student get proper feedback now? I hope so, especially at Senior Cycle. I hope I give it. I hope all teachers do. I also have no faith in those Pre-exam companies I’ve come across. I once saw a student get a satisfactory mark for writing that he hadn’t read the book but heard it was good.
Pointless.
To finish my tale of train-marking woe, the woman left us at Limerick, having had her drink confiscated. Some lovely passengers supported me, and it all ended well. I worked like a Trojan from Limerick to Cork. I didn’t quite make it, but I made a good dent before my evening session.
So, yes, rest assured, this loser working on the Dublin-Cork train on Sunday evening got her marking done on time.
And fellow traveller, if you’re out there, have a great trip to Galway. I mean that sincerely. But please, please, pretty please, think very seriously about how you get there.
