The Consequences Of Being Ruled By Anachronisms.

[ladymirth]

It’s official. Our principal hath gone Round The Twist.

 

And heck, taken the rest of the administration along with her.

 

First it was our coordinator, Mrs. S, who we all thought needed a vacation very badly, when she instructed, nay DRILLED, all the hundred odd prizewinners of the upper-school to “clap exactly eight times, and I mean EIGHT times at the end of every block of names I FINISH reading,”, during the rehearsals for this year’s school prize giving. The reason behind this was that we would create an “abominable ruckus” if left to cheer as we liked.

 

As consequence, this year’s prize giving became a standing joke, because all the prizewinners ended up clapping exactly eight times SIMULTANEOUSLY, at the end of every ten names, thoroughly confusing all the poor parents and invitees who wanted to applaud their own daughters. Not only did the whole thing turn out sounding like a drill display at a military recruitment camp, but the entire congregation ended up following suit because they always take their cue from the prizewinners seated at the front. It was the most hysterical thing I’d ever seen. The trustees and the Guests of Honor were totally confused (I think some of them thought we were boycotting the ceremony!) and the organizers sat at the front of the podium with mortified expressions. Of course, it wasn’t as though they could scold us afterward, as we were only following orders. It wasn’t as though they weren’t just asking for it!

 

But it seems that they have yet to learn their lesson. A few days ago, on the last day of the term in fact, all 3000 odd upperschoolers were hauled out onto the school grounds for general assembly at eight o’clock in the morning, by decree of our beloved Principal  a.k.a The Pila. General Assemblies should be listed under examples for the OED definition of “tedious” in themselves, in fact, we have long since decided that they are simply euphemisms for, “shut- up- and- stand- up –straight- for- two- hours- while- The- Almighty- Herself- yells- out- everything- that –makes- you- incorrigible- genetic- aberrations- into- a -microphone”. On a bad day, she’d even take the time to recount vignettes from her own antiquated school days, which had kicked off with her being part of the choir which sang the national anthem at Sri Lanka’s first independence day celebration, some fifty years ago. It was all downhill from there, as far as we can surmise.

 

Now, in the absence of an auditorium large enough to hold the entire upper school, they are made even more horrendous as we are shepherded onto the school ground and packed like sardines into suffocating rows of humanity, SMACK in the middle of the mid-morning sun. And this is SRI LANKA we are talking about. Mid-morning suns mean business at this end of the hemisphere. In short, it’s like Auschwitz Appreciation Day. Sometimes, when too many brain cells get burned away, I have hallucinations of screaming “I aint no Nazi! Get the U.N peace corps in here! This country would get slapped with a trade ban faster than you could say Kofi Annan if they saw such an infringement of human rights and it would be ALL YOUR FAULT you stupid @#$%!”.

 

But I digress.

 

Anyway, what happened was that on this particular day, we were all sighing with relief that it was cloudy when the sun decided to go “PEEK-A-BOO! WHO”S UP FOR SOME IMPROMPTU LASIK SURGERY?!” by appearing from the roof of the nursery building and damn near blinding half the students. So, there we were, blinded and dying, watching our hard-preserved complexions being burned black, as The Pila ranted on about:

1. How she didn’t like our attitude
2. How she didn’t like our shoes
3. How she didn’t like our uniforms (KNEE LENGTH!!)
4. How she didn’t like our behaviour
5. How we were incapable of behaving in a “lady-like” manner (She loves that word more than her firstborn!)
6. How she was forbidding us from having class parties, class trips, food-fights, water-fights or any kind of end of term fun whatsoever.
7. How she would not hesitate to kick any one or all of us out of school if we were reported to be “dating”. Apparently, we do not need to date even with parental consent. The school would be happy to forward a character reference to any prospective suitor with matrimonial aspirations once we have finished our academic careers.
8. How she didn’t like our cheering squads at our last LC/MC Rowing Regatta (Which we won! WE WON! TAKE THAT LC!)

It was this last bit that really took the bakery (she has been systematically taking all cakes and biscuits on offer since she was first appointed to our school.) Apparently, she didn’t think that yelling “YAAAAY!! GO MC GO!!,” till we were hoarse, “lady-like” at all.

“I can’t think where you pick up these vulgar words from,” she glared, pursing her lips like Queen Elizabeth.

It took us a few minutes to realize the “vulgar word” was “Yay”.

“All of you shouting Yaaay, like hoydens! I no sooner stopped you spelling out your school names and other such nonsense than you had to go and scream that. What is “yay” supposed to mean anyway? In my day, we would all just sit and clap and call “Hear! Hear!” when we needed to cheer. I expect you all to follow suit at future events. I will not have my students making such an ugly and unlady-like spectacle of themselves in future! Is that understood?!”

 

Swear on my soul, that’s what she said. We left in a stupor of disbelief, not entirely sure we didn’t just have a mass hallucination as a result of sunstroke. I now have re-current nightmares about us having to sit, cross legged and sedate, in the stands, complete in silk stockings and feathered hats and gloves (although I have no idea where the Mallory Towers ensemble came from; I can only imagine it goes hand in hand with the word “lady-like” as used in the antique nut-meg grater tones of the Pila) clapping EXACTLY EIGHT TIMES in unison and calling feebly, “Hear! Hear!”. And all of this while those LC hoydens scream themselves hoarse going “YER WHAT?! Yerwhat, yerwhat, yerwhat?!” or die sniggering.

 

Maybe we can get our rowing team disbanded before then.

 

We have reached a rather scary conclusion about all of this: Pila’s body may have aged with the passing of the decades, but her mind is still stuck in 1948, singing the national anthem to the Queen Mother and Prime Minister D. S. Senanayake.