My very first job I worked as a bagger and runner for a inner city grocery store. With me never really learning Spanish, I really worked on learning body cues, eyes and body language. Moms frustrated with kids, the various staff that ranged from retired grandmas who returned to the working field and young kids in college who were already living on their own. I was used to catching people's glances, the eyes of a man watching a woman walk down an aisle, a flirtatious look between co-workers, the late-night redness of eyes after a few too many. The hardest face ever for me to read was that of Mr. Lao, one of my supervisors. The Vietnamese man never showed any type of emotion. He would have won the lottery and you would have thought he dropped a kidney stone.
After a few other service jobs that had more to deal with behind the scenes work, I began a long "career" of sorts with the county Toll Road. All I did was see faces! Morning faces, business faces, drunks, the police behind large aviator sunglass faces (too many viewings of "Cool Hand Luke"!), the looks of confused people driving the wrong way, the astonished look of people after an accident.
Being able to read faces (or at least the luxury of trying) has served me well as a teacher. I know the look of a kid who is confused and the kid too cocky to have even looked for his answer within the text. I know the looks of kids who probably were getting the business from their moms before they rode the bus, only to hear it from the bully or the one kid in class who can't read but is always talking trash about how smart they are.
Of course, reading kids is only half the fun. Working with fellow teachers is another sub category of people watching. As a cut-up myself, I had to know which teachers were prime for ridicule, sarcasm or nothing whatsoever. Now being on the other side, teachers are so fun to watch. I love the looks across the room when a principal spouts a philosophy they're not buying into. Or the look down onto a phone when looking for a volunteer. I especially love the looks of teachers in the summer.
My wife and I signed up for a development day, but were moved along to the side as everyone storms in at 9 (we want kids to be there on time, but we are allowed to show up whenever we want). One lady was not "registered" and was having a hard time being told to wait and wasn't convinced she was going to get her stipend. This was the moment when she decided to look around the hall at the many of us waiting alongside. She needed some support for her frustration and surely her teacher brethren would stand by her side and ease her frustration by agreeing with her. All she saw from my wife and I were shrugs and smiles. It's like the guy in line at a fast food restaurant who just had cheese on his hamburger and didn't ask for it and has to look around the entire place for someone else who was wronged. Dude, if I wanted someone to spit in my food, I'd ask, otherwise take your grievance elsewhere!
Once we entered the room, I was struck more with the decor of the building. Old pictures adorned the walls (one frame showcased scholars that suspiciously ceased in 2006) and the library windows were postered with reading campaigns from the early 90's. The heat was no better. Since the building had AC in only some of the rooms, it seemed fitting we were pitted in room without. The sound of box fans whirled around the room. Everyone had sweat on their foreheads. One large man sat in the high school sized chair and sweated profusely. His arms seems almost too small for his body. We never saw him after lunch.
One group of teachers were from the same building. I loved their camaraderie and conversations, he sharing of a pack of gum, the same destination for lunch and hair tied back in a pony. I loved the look of the guy in the Darth Vader rolling chair, his Charlie Sheen shirt sweating along with him. Even the lady with the perpetual smirk drew my attention. She too was like the registration lady in that she wanted some confirmation from the room on the day's dynamics--the heat, the computer problems, the stalling of the professional staff. I never once smiled at her as I didn't want her to somehow influence me into her worldview. People in complaint mode, teachers or otherwise, always someone in their camp. They are like prize boxers who cannot walk into a ring without an entourage. They are surrounded by back-patters and towel wavers. Even when their faces are being pummeled, they can sit next to their complaint coach and fight another round.
How did I stay cool? I teased my wife with "I hate yous" and drawing in her book. I wiped sweat on her arm and judged her choice of lecture snacks. I dozed off. Tomorrow we go back. I'm wondering how many will return (knowing that we are getting a stipend will mean they will come back, if anything, they will complain more because they feel entitled to being paid). My wife and I will be there. Nothing to complain about that.
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