A Cog in the Wheel

I've been duped. Don't you hate it when you are led to believe one thing and then the big switcheroo happens. I'm doing a temp job, scoring for a national, well respected company. I read extended responses to questions on an assessment test. So, they read a passage about waterfalls, and then a prompt asks the students to "describe how the water falls over the rocks. What in the passage tells you this?" This is not my question, but this is the kind of stuff we're reading.

My question has a possible 4 points. That means I have to find four things correct with the response that they answered correctly. And two of the responses have to have details. But if the first part isn't there, they can't get credit for the detail. Got it? Me neither. It's a lot of thinking. And it's not exact. Because kids are different (boy don't we know that!) and each one will answer oh so slightly differently from the anchor set (these are responses that have been selected to best represent what you are looking for in each score range). There is a lot of wiggle room. It's called holistic scoring.

Basically, holistic means you can make a judgement call, but only if it completely matches the scoring guidelines, but not really. Confused yet. Yes, this is not an easy task. It seems like the rules are always changing.

"Well, that response gets a 3, but this one only gets a two because we don't like that word as well as we like this one."

I'm told it works. I can't understand how you can have 75 different people, from different backgrounds, opinions, biases, etc, score something the same, even with a detailed outline of what is acceptable. Because it just doesn't work like that. You have to make a judgement call most of the time. The kids don't use the words they're supposed to. Does surprised mean excited, nervous, amused? Can you take good to mean kindly, likes, accepts? It's crazy.

So the duped part. Last year, when I did this job, I was paid by the hour, with bonuses for extra good work (meaning fast work). I did fairly well. Got a bonus of varying amounts every week. Yesterday, the supervisor on the job drops a bomb. We're getting paid by the piece. That means, every response I grade, I get 13 cents. Yes, I said 13 cents. So speed is obviously the key. But is that accurate? And how much do I have to read to make what I was making last year?

Well, kids, here's some math for you: In order to make $12.50 an hour, I have to read and score 96 responses in an hour. That's about 1 and half responses per minute. I don't remember how I did last year, how many responses I scored, but it was also a much easier question, so you could do it quickly. Read 100 responses in an hour, make $13.00. Doesn't seem worth it.

That's a lot of brain power used at night, when I'm sleepy and cranky and ready to relax. Not very relaxing, I'll tell you.

Could all be for nothing. Maybe I'll score 200 an hour and make $26 dollars. Maybe pigs will fly out of my butt. Maybe I'll win the lottery. Who knows. It could happen.

Classy People

I don't know what to say. I had a contractor in my house, he's working for our local gas company. They're replacing risers? Still not sure what it is, but apparently it's the pipe part between the meter and the house. Not sure why they had to do it, but the flyer says it's at "no direct cost to you." What about indirect? I'm thinking I will see the charge at some point, in higher gas rates? Certainly.

Anyway, he finished his job outside and he had to check to make sure all our gas appliances were working o.k. I told him our water heater was electric. He didn't believe me. Then he saw it in the basement.

"Oh, yeah, it is," he says. Yeah, that's what I told you. I smile.

He putzes around looking for some switch. "O.K., asshole," he says to no one in particular, "where are you? There you are." He gives me a 10 minute lecture on furnaces and how (pay attention ladies, because this could save you money), if your furnace quits, just switch the power off, let it reboot (or think, as he said) and try it again. Sometimes if it loses gas pressure, it gets "confused."

The contractor tells me this because, he says, I am a lady and he likes to let us know because the $150 service call could be a nice outfit for me. Plus, the "old man" (his words, not mine) won't be happy when he has to pay for it. I can see where he's going with all of this. Classy guy.

So, he's leaving, still making sure I understand about the furnace, how it gets confused.

"So you see, when you lose power or the gas pressure, the furnace is out here." His hands go up beside his head. "I know you wipe your butt every day, but you don't know which hand you'll wipe with. It's like that. The furnace doesn't know what to do next. So, you reboot it to get it back on the right track."

Furnace lingo 101.

It's not until he leaves that I think, that man just said "wipe your butt" to me. Ew. Ew, EW, EW. I'm sure that's not in the employee handbook - "How to talk to customers" Use phrases like Wipe your Butt and Asshole.

I'm not sure how to take that. Good thing the kids weren't here. That would have been really classy.

Then, when he was putting the finishing spray on the new set up outside, he walks off my stone path through my garden and promptly tramples the only living balloon flower that came up from last year with his size 12 work boot. Aaarrrrggghhhh.

I love classy people.

House Rules

I had a busy weekend. Went to my parent's house for a birthday/Derby Party. We go every year. My mother has the unfortunate luck of having her birthday right around Mother's Day. Sometimes she gets two celebrations, sometimes she gets one. She'll get two this year, but one, Mother's Day, without her children around.

I think she prefers it that way.

Let me explain. My mother is very particular. She has always been that way. She believes there is a right way to do everything. And it's usually her way...no, always her way that is right. She can be fun, but she also forgets what it's like to have small children running around. I think she was that way when we were little. I remember going on outings and bike rides with my dad all the time, to give Mom a rest. I always thought it was a nice break for us from the rules.

Now that she is a grandma, she has all kinds of rules that we have to follow. There are certain places that toys can be played with. Toys are not allowed to migrate from the toy room upstairs. There is no running. Shoes must reside in the shoe stand in the laundry room. There is no food eaten anywhere except in the kitchen. When you are finished with your meal, you are to wash your hands...in the powder room off the laundry room - no where else. Save your napkin, or you don't get dessert. Take your leftovers with you when you leave. Please make your beds exactly the way you found them, down to the last crease. Put your dishes in the dishwasher, but wipe off the inside door of the dishwasher or else it stains the stainless steel. There are certain places for everything in the fridge and they need to be put back there. Etc., Etc., Etc.

There are many more, but it's starting to look ridiculous. She has created this perfect little life, with all her things in the right places and everything going neatly the way it needs to go. Only, it's not.

She has a 93 year old mother, my grandmother, who is constantly throwing her curve balls. And she hates it. Unscheduled doctor appointments, trips to the grocery store, illness - now I hate when that's not scheduled... Anything out of her schedule or happy little order throws her off. I used to think it was my fault. That if I was a better daughter, if I worked a little harder, tried a bit more, she wouldn't get so mad. But now I see, she just needs medication and a good therapist.

So, back to the weekend. Things are humming along. It's been rather pleasant for a change. Everyone is having fun. Kids are being good. There is wine, chips and dip, cheeses, funny hats, lovely hats, and running horses. She's in a good mood and, frankly, it's a miracle. Then, dinner time.

There are 10 people in the house for dinner. Four kids, one nonegenarian, three 30 - 40 somethings and my parents. It's bound to get a little chaotic. That's life. Not in my mom's house. We do what we've been asked to do. It's her birthday, we're supposed to help out and make it so she doesn't have a lot of work to do. That wouldn't be such a challenge if she weren't so damn picky. It's just not possible to do it the way she wants, because you just can't tell what that will be from day to day. And then my son, my lovely boy, follows orders to wash his hands after he is finished with his meal. But, he tries to wash his hands at the kitchen sink. Oh, horror! No! Yes, and he gets chastised for it. And then my mom is in a bad mood. The tension builds, her mouth tenses and everyone feels it.

It blows over, faster then I thought it would. But boils to the surface again the next day, when, once again, the boys - in their rush to wash hands like they've been asked to - go toward the wrong bathroom and get in trouble. I can't take it and I snap back. It happens. I reach a point where I just can't stand to see my kids get in trouble when they are making an effort. I argue with her. Her rationale? She doesn't want the kids messing up the guest bath (that I am currently using anyway) because the fixture is harder to clean and why the hell does everyone keep fighting with her about that?

I guess that's fair. It's her house. But it's not the hand washing we are argueing about. It's all the rules. A rule for handwashing, a rule for toys, a rule for activity, a rule for eating, a rule for sleeping, a rule for everything. It's too much. They're young, they're boys, they forget. I want to say, "Lighten up, woman. It's just a house. You're going to clean it anyway when we all leave, why does it matter? Do you want your grandkids to remember what an anal tight ass you were or how much fun they had at grandma's? Because, right now, it's leaning toward tight ass."

I can't wait to be a grandma. I'll let them run around the house, eat sugar, run their hands along the wall, scream at the top of their lungs, scatter the toys around, and wash their hands where ever they damn well please. At least they are washing them, right?