A couple of years ago, when I lived in the Middle East and my kids were little, I switched professions from a banker to being a Year 2 teacher for four years.
The second school I taught in was a hellhole. The school’s Director functioned like a dictator and expected everyone to follow her rules without questioning them. I found some rules and behavior odd, but I dismissed them initially.
Cameras were installed everywhere, in the classrooms and staff rooms. I initially thought it was some security requirement until I found her scrutinizing every class and teacher on the camera. She never trusted her staff but would look back to the camera.
She insisted we copy her on every email sent to determine whose ‘fault’ it was whenever trouble brewed. She would fire people for some insane reason. The staff was scared and on the defensive all the time. I heard stories of teachers who quit and joined other schools, and the department heads of this school would go to the new school, meet the ex-employees, and ‘demand’ they come back. I was wondering if these stories were true.
I found the invasion of my privacy and the continuous supervision of my actions very claustrophobic and decided to quit after five months. I was moving to England in June, so I resigned and gave my month’s notice. I thought of spending my last two months in the country enjoying myself as I wrapped up ten years of our lives. The environment at school was always too toxic for me, so rather than finishing the school year in June, I decided to call it quits in March.
With my resignation letter in hand, I walked in to speak to my Department head and told her of my intentions. She refused to accept the letter and said I needed to talk to the Director.
It was probably the protocol, so I set an appointment to meet her. I met the Director and told her I was moving to England in June and wished to tender my resignation. I would give one month’s notice and hand it to any succeeding teacher. I told her I had to wrap up my life and needed the time.
She replied ( arrogantly as though I am her slave): “You can’t!
I thought, “Excuse me!” “What do you mean I can’t?” But I didn’t say it aloud.
I: I don’t quite get what you mean. ( I repeat my intentions)
She: I said you can’t. You have to wait till June. ( not a request, but an order)
She asked, “Do you have a problem with your husband?”. “Is he forcing you to do something?”
I was even more flabbergasted by her question.
“Whoever thinks like this?” I think to myself.
Then I got psyched. I didn’t have a problem with my husband, nor was he forcing me; even if he did, it was personal and none of her business. How could she ask me something so personal in a professional setting? She wasn’t my buddy. I felt she crossed my boundaries, and I was rather annoyed.
I was dumbfounded. Professionally, I had never encountered such behavior before and didn’t know how to handle it. So, I told her she probably needed time to consider it. I would wait for her to get back to me. I felt that sense would prevail once she processed this fully. She, however, refused to accept my letter.
Days passed, and I didn’t hear from her. My frustrations at being caged in the school were growing by the minute. I tried talking to my department head again, but it was futile.
I decided to take things into my own hands. One Friday in March, I handed over everything, like library books, reference material, etc., in my name and left for the day.
On Sunday night, I wrote to her and the department heads a resignation email stating that, further to our previous discussion, this was my resignation letter and it was from immediate effect. I thanked her for the ‘wonderful’ experience in her school and pushed the submit button.
The following day, my husband and I got frantic calls from the school. I picked up my phone, and it was the department head. She was a polite lady, and I felt she was being coerced into saying, “You better come, or you’ll be in trouble”.
I replied that I hadn’t done anything wrong and could not be in trouble.
The Department head transferred the call to the Director.
Director: “You better come now. You have to hand over the books in your name.”
Me: “I have already done that.”
She checks with the others and gets enraged.
She: “You better come, or I’ll call the cops!”
I: What do you need the cops for?
( I was hopping mad by then, but in my mind, I knew this woman was insane. I was moving countries in 2 months, and I did not want to be in trouble because I poked a psycho. I had students’ books and stuff in the classroom, which I was technically responsible for. I didn’t want her to turn things ugly just because she could. The cops would talk in Arabic, which I neither understand nor can speak. I was an expat in a foreign land and had heard enough tales of people getting into trouble.)
So I told her I would be at school in half an hour.
I met up with all the department heads and the mighty devil when I reached the school office. The heads told me how my leaving would cause the kids to be unsettled. I agreed that was true and was sorry, but I had to leave. I told them that kids are more resilient than we think, and they were getting a new teacher with 18 years of experience, and I knew they would shine with her guidance. The Director then had a one-on-one with me. I told her I would give her a week and hand it to the new, experienced teacher. There was no negotiation.
She then told me that she never had a single employee who stood firm to her. She told me she was impressed and would offer me a management role in the school.
“Over my dead body”! I thought to myself.
I politely declined her offer and served my last week as promised.
I walked out on the last day, knowing the smell of freedom.
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