I'm afraid my essays haven't been making it through the black-marker police, or perhaps someone is reading them out in Siberia somewhere. I'll write a few updates myself when I have the resources.
My grant application has been approved, and I've finally started purchasing materials for my library project. First was a small copier and several boxes of paper. Later will come 3,500 cardboard folders to cover all the music.
I came in last week with the copier and got quite a warm welcome from people who may have thought I'd been lying about this whole "free money" idea. I even got a kiss on the cheek from our 50 year old female door monitor with a mustache. It is about the only kiss I've had in 9 months, so I had to feel a bit appreciative of the attention.
Unfortunately, the minute the copier was in place, there was a line. Now, I had planned for this to be a music-only copier, but a few teachers had other plans. I also had planned to be out of town next week and hadn't evidently thought about the fact that people would be attacking the copier before I'd had a chance to set up rules and training.
Someone needed a passport copied. The director had a form she needed 15 copies of. All very draining to me who had hoped that people would suspend their Soviet desire to snatch everything available before it runs out! Well, I was wrong. I let them have their fun for a few minutes, and then I started packing it back into the box. This is when bad language skill is really a plus. I know they were asking each other why I was putting it in the box. . .where was it going. . . why can't we use it? But I just looked very confused and said "huh?" a few times. They gave up. Then when they all left the room for tea, I took the power cord and put it in my purse. I pictured their confused faces when they (of course) will open it and try to use it when I'm not there. They will yell across the hall, "Nina! The copier won't turn on! Nina! Do you know where the on button is for the copier!?"
Sometimes you have to be cruel to save the world.
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