Sunday morning predawn and I’m sitting at the computer doing the adult version of homework. I’ve brought home stacks of registration forms for summer school to transcribe. It’s work that I should be able to do during regular work hours, but there’s never enough time. Even though I’m an administrative assistant
(read secretarial title-bump instead of payraise for more years than I care to discuss)
and not supposed to work outside of hours, that’s the story of my job for the last seventeen years. The things we do to pay the mortgage. At least I can type and listen to audio-books while I’m working at home.
– Quick soap box from someone who converts handwritten forms into computer data: When you fill out a form, be on your best behavior. If your handwriting is illegible, you’re at the mercy of the data entry person.
– When I can’t read a form properly, I pull out the little yellow sticky tabs and flag the form for later investigation. I’ll call the parent or student to clarify and record the correct info. I do this because I care about things getting done right. Not everyone does.
– If you submit illegible forms, especially to government agencies, the best you can hope for is bad data in the system because someone tried to convert your scrawl into sense. More often, because the data entry person doesn’t care (because s/he assumes by the look of your scrawl that you don’t either), information is either creatively invented or completely omitted. Such things have been known to slow down or stop mortgage approvals and trigger IRS audits among other less than desirable consequences. We won’t even start to talk about what scary things can happen with illegible handwriting in the medical sector - both patients’ and doctors’.
– Honestly, the point of writing is communication. If you don’t care to be clear, why waste the time and ink?
As you’ve probably guessed, I’ve used a lot of little yellow tabs this morning and will waste a lot of time on Monday clarifying information that should have already been clear. Since this is not an unusual sequence of events, it’s no wonder that one of my most frequent mental mutterances is the phrase “Idiots on parade!”
Again, story of my job.
– End of soapbox
(For this morning)
(Yes, I realize it wasn’t so quick as promised.)
Summer school is not the happiest place on Earth. No one (including the disgruntled summer school secretary) is thrilled to be forced to continue the school year far beyond its reasonable expiry date.
The students who must attend are not our most brilliant and motivated, not our crème de la crème. In fact, if you wished to be somewhat cruel (and yet still accurate), you might describe the summer school student body as our dreg de la dregs. Be careful to only think that phrase to yourself (keep it as another mental mutterance), if you want to keep your job wrangling the herd of poor choice makers.
This year’s crop does include a few names that make me smile though. I can’t help but note the irony as I add young Mr. Knower, Mr. Smartt, and Miss Wise to the list of those repeating classes.
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