We were contemplating in the staffroom which of our non-academic third year to send round to the academy for lacrosse practice when word came that we were to close. The chance to partake in the state-private partnership mooted by government might now be snatched from our grasp. Just the week before we had eyed up some junior pupils (like latter-day Gorbals diehards) likely to benefit from a weekly dose of drill with the officer training corps round the corner.
It was a bad month. The need to do something about the overprovision of places in Glasgow’s secondaries (fully acknowledged) was apparently to be addressed by closing the only one that surpassed all the national averages for passes at Standard grade and Higher - ours.
The old lags in the staffroom turned to the potential for honing their job interview skills, pitted against all comers at some future jobs bonanza. Some took a less than positive approach, suggesting ways to obstruct the process.
Stung by the spirit of non-cooperation, and suspecting that some of the unwillingness to get involved might contaminate younger, more vulnerable members of staff, we have rushed out copies of a new school song which should inspire staff in the closure struggle that inevitably lies ahead. By the start of the new term next week we hope to have a staff choir available at reasonable rates for whist drives and after-school clubs. The number goes something like this: The Interview Rap I’m the man for the job, ‘cos I’m hip and I’m cool And if you won’t employ me you’re just a total fool.
My principles are saleable, it depends on the price I’ll leap on any bandwagon, you don’t have to ask me twice I’m hungry for promotion, my teeth are very sharp But I don’t go on about it, for it doesn’t pay to harp On about these things.
I’m the ad man’s dream, for I can sell myself There’s no boring CV list, I won’t be on the shelf I’ll give a punchy paragraph, it’ll knock them in the eyes.
My presentation’s perfect, I’ve rehearsed some little sighs To show my sympathetic side, my caring human face.
But scratch beneath the surface and you’ll hardly find a trace, I’m in a hurry, man.
My suits are full of gravitas, there’s two or three a year For I wouldn’t want my chances to be seen to disappear By displaying an image contrary to the one that’s in demand If it’s quality I’m for it, but the width I understand Might present more pressing problems if I sat around too long So I flit about a bit you see, there’s never been too strong A pull to stay.
If it’s DMR or SMT or any other letter I’m behind it to the n-th degree, especially if my betters Might notice me from up above as deserving of promotion.
I’m not a one to contradict, to whinge or have a notion That might be seen as critical. I’ve planned the way; I’ve got to get away from kids before I’m left for dead, And that’s my mission statement.
Peter Maclaren
