All in an afternoon's rant

Pay it Forward

The petite lady's look was that of exasperation as she stopped rooted at the stationary escalator of the overpass. I have no idea what was going through her mind at that moment, but I sure was glad I had retraced my 10 steps to offer my help. I had already finished climbing the steps to the escalator at the overpass when I saw her approach with her baby in the perambulator and a grocery shopping bag. And she was thrilled too, for I'm sure she probably had wondered long and hard how she was going to manage - I know I would. And I'm glad I'd made her day a little better that moment.

Mrs F

And it lifted my aggrieved spirits a little, after what I'd gone through an hour and a half earlier. But I should have known better when a parent came for a PTM but sat down with folded arms and held her chin up, saying nothing as we sat face-to-face. And it wasn't as if I'd asked to see her to discuss about her daughter's progress. Honestly, I don't think I deserve this at all: How she thinks her daughter is not performing as she would like, while at the same time, reiterating the point that she doesn't expect much from her daughter because she doesn't think her daughter's talented (quote and unquote), but hinted through extremely artful speech that it's all my fault (as her enrichment class teacher) for not connecting with her daughter and even disliking her (heavens forbid, but being looked at from the corner of her obnoxious daughter's eyes every Saturday afternoon sure isn't an ego booster - who's hating who again?) and thereby, her daughter is underachieving because I'm one of those teachers who simply don't care about my students (at this point, I was indignantly fuming because I'm pretty sure what kind I am) but will talk to her daughter to put in more effort to make it work between us ('cuse me?!!).

And no, I don't think I need to know how she raises her children (and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from saying,"Oh yea, I sure can tell.") or how she thinks that the younger girls she works with in the office are just so inadequate (whatever that means) or...gosh, I can't even remember what she'd rattled in the supposedly 15-minute session which dragged for a good 40.

Of course I was mad, so mad that the only decent vocabulary I could manage in the staffroom later was "What the F!" But funnily enough, coincidence beyond coincidence, she happens to be Mrs F-- (too bad it didn't spell u-c-k). But I was commended for being so calm and cool during the meeting (I didn't close the door of the room we were in).

A Poignant Reminder

At the end of the day, the amount of wealth one possesses doesn't translate how well or badly one treats others, for the other Mrs I'd spoken to in the last 5 months turned out to be really nice and humble people.