tea time

It is really impossible to teach English without tea.  I don't know if you've tried, but allow me to warn you now:  it's much wiser not to risk it.  Math I'm not so sure about (perhaps coffee would be better?), but English I can vouch for.  I don't really know what it is about the tea, but there's clearly something.  As one of my co-workers says, if you can't go without your tea, you might as well not go.

I made the fatal mistake of teaching without tea this morning.  It was disasterous.  I was sleepy, they were bored, the teacup was lonely.  It was a no-win siutation.

Taking tea of course brings its own set of hazards, chief among them being embarrassment.  I have twice spilled tea down my front in the middle of teaching class.  Having taught nearly four years, that averages out to a spill every two years, which really isn't all that bad considering the benefits.  Not exactly amusing when it happens, though.  At least not for the teacher.

Another problem with tea is that it spills on the ground.  I know you're not supposed to cry over spilt milk, but spilt tea is another story altogether.  Spilt tea is hot.  Hot and messy, especially when it's saturated in sugar.  It creates puddles on the floor (unless spilled over carpet, in which case it's invisible and therefore Not a Problem) and drips on the desks and leaves those yucky little circles on the counters.  It takes a bit of looking after.

It also makes it a bit tricky to carry everything else needed for class.  Dictionaries, more dictionaries, markers and boxes compounded with tea turn into near-deadly combinations.  My students have yet to see me enter a room and not deposit half the contents of my cup on the ground.  I'm sure they think it's some odd superstitious ritual I have and thus politely avoid mentioning it, tactful darlings that they are.

Yet another dilemma is the old cold tea conundrum.  What do you do when you suddenly realize you've lost track of time and let your tea chill (or room temperaturify) once again?  Drink it, of course.  What else is there?

Even worse than a good cup of tea gone wrong though is a good cup gone out of milk or sugar.  I drink my tea with an abundance of both and the lack of either is cause for great alarm.  The other day we were out of sugar and I flagged the principal down wildly and proceeded to explain the depth of the situation to him.  He ran away.  He's not a tea drinker, you see.

Those of us who are, though, have a bit of a bond.  We know just how vital it is that there be tea bags and milk and sugar and connive together when one aspect is missing.  Occasionally we send someone to fetch the delinquent item, but generally we just collect and squawk together about the inhumane conditions we've been so shamefully relegated to.  We find if we make enough noise, something usually transpires to bring the milk back.  A slightly deaf coffee drinker, generally.

We don't just complain, though.  We look out for each other.  We know how important tea is, and are quick to offer the making of a cup if someone is experiencing a particularly inclement situation, such as the teaching of defining relative clauses.  A cup of tea, as the facebook group says, solves everything.  And goes well with world domination, but perhaps we shouldn't talk about that one too much just yet.

Even better than tea time, though (which happens, on average, five times a day), is Biscuit Day.  Biscuit Day is Friday, and it is currently a bit farther away than I'd really prefer.  Biscuit Day happens when, at 10 am on the dot, the biscuits appear and offer sustenance to the otherwise half-dead teachers.  We live for Biscuit Day when we can be once again rejuvenated and revitalized with the provision of kingstons, orange cream filled delights and aspects of other gooey and crunchy goodnesses.

I enjoyed Biscuit Day so much when I first arrived my friends took to referring to it as "Five Pill Friday," unaware of another way to provoke more exuberance in a human.  They quickly worked out the sugar connection, but really, it isn't the sugar.  It's the Friday, which is exuberant enough of its own accord in my opinion.

And there you have it.  Tea is necessary for teaching.  I can't really explain why, but I can tell you that it is so.  And now I really must be off -- the kettle is calling again!