Monday, October 28, 2013

Strikes, protests, and outright refusal
Today is day three in which T has had a weird day of school. The older kids organized a strike. The grievances vary, but have to do with massive budge cuts and the fact that the kids who live far from school have to pay their own bus fare. Many of the highschools had protests, but there was some confusion about whether or not T should be among those to occupy the school. T heard that the police could be called and that students would run the risk of being locked inside, so, justifiably, she decided to come home. For the past two days I have told her to try to participate in lessons if there were any to be had, but there were so few students present that the professors decided not to have them move ahead with learning any new material, and she has come home grumpy and out of sorts.

On Sunday, I decided that I was going to have a strike of my own. It has been eight weeks that I have had to beg coworkers to move the heavy equipment around from one classroom to the other and that my class has started late as a reult. Sunday was the day of the Lucca Marathon in which we are barraged with microphone announcements of the runners' progress every two seconds for five hours straight. It was also the day whent the time changed, but we didn't get to sleep late because of the marathon. We were still recovering from the  early Halloween party of the night before. On top of the discombobulating morning, I got to the gym to find workmen relaying the floors. The gymnastic balls I use for the class were scattered about in the unuseable room with paint dust all over them. I had to clean them one at a time with spray cleaner and have one of the workmen help me move the heavy bag of them into the other room. I then had to ask a client to move the stage for me because I couldn't find any coworkers who were all at the marathon. I ended up having 24 clients which is great for a Sunday morning, and we didn't have enough weights in the room for everyone.

 As I was leaving I asked the model girl at the front desk who dates the cute, young, salesman and poses for all the fancy gym posters, if I could vent to her for a minute. She looked alarmed and said yes. I told her that I thought that the fact that I have to act as a porter, beg for help, and start my class late every fucking week showed a huge lack of respect for the clients of the fancy gym. As I stormed off, I overheard her say to her friend, "You know, I think she has a point.  . ." Yesterday I wrote an email to my boss Giacomo who has not said boo to me in over two weeks about the situation. I edited the email down to be more to the point after F reminded me that men don't like to listen to a lot of words at one time. Needless to say, there was no response. Today I have decided that not only am I not moving anything anymore, I am also not asking anyone to move anything anymore. I will just tell the clients that it is not my job, and that if I were paying the dues that they pay, I would complain.

And yes, I would like to be fired now. That would be fine. Fingers crossed. By the way, today I skyped with my mom and she called me "the Lou Reed of Lucca." I asked if she knew that he had died. She said she did and  that there was an article about it in the New York Times. I don't know what my point is, but I think it does not bode well. And it is only Monday. Also the thing about teaching English grammar is that it would involve studying English grammar and the thing about that is that it is really boring.

No comments: