No more ‘zing’ in year-end bash

The annual school get-together for teachers can sometimes be more of an obligation than a time for fun and camaraderie.

ONE of the things I’ve discovered about my ex-colleague Dilla over the many years that I’ve known her is to never take her “proclamation of the facts” too seriously.

Not even when she declares them with the tone of authority usually associated with someone leading the Rukunegara pledge in public assemblies.

So when she pronounced in an ominous voice that the single most uncreative event organised in the entire schooling year was the annual school dinner, all I said between mouthfuls of roti canai banjir was, “Oh come on Dill, it’s not that bad!”

Dilla looking a little miffed, curled her lip and then said somewhat coldly, “See, that’s what happens when you get so used to ‘boring’ that you don’t know what ‘interesting’ means.”

She then put down her spoon and fork and in a manner of deep insightfulness, said, “I think you people have been in cages for so long that you have forgotten how to fly.”

My lack of enthusiasm at Dilla’s attempt to sound profound must have shown because she shook her head, took a swig of her tea and said, “Okay, let’s have a mature teacher-toteacher discussion on this. Now give me a recount of the most memorable annual staff dinner you’ve had in your years of teaching. We’re talking about the year-end staff dinner or lunch… you know Jamuan Akhir Tahun… not other things.”

Un-lucky draw

I wracked my brain trying to think of memorable staff dinner moments to impress Dilla and finally after a few feeble attempts and looks of disdain, I gave up.

“So after some 30 years of teaching, the highlight of your entire annual dinner experience was getting a box of plastic containers for the lucky draw in 1999? You, my friend, have just proven my point,” said Dilla.

“The single most ‘uncreative organised event’ in the school calendar is the teachers’ annual dinner, lunch or high-tea. I rest my case.”

Thinking about it later, I knew of course that although Dilla was exaggerating, there was nevertheless an element of truth in what she had said. Like some other school-organised “fun” event for the staff that usually turns out to be anything but fun, the annual staff-dinners or lunches also often turn out to be nothing to shout about.

In fact, it seems like such events are organised for the sake of being organised. It is like a permanent item on the staff club committee’s list of things-to-do each year and so it is done. Most of the time, the organisation revolves around getting the most affordable food and venue within the budget we have, and drawing up a schedule of who would be doing the major speeches.

And of course the highlight of almost every one of these events is the “lucky draw” where usually everyone gets to take home something depending on how “lucky” their number is.

When you really stop to think about it, it may come off as a rather pathetic culmination or celebration of a year’s teaching with all the hours and the effort put in. But this is how it usually proceeds.

You get dressed up according to the stipulated dress code or theme for the event that year, which somehow always manages to leave a few members of the staff a little disgruntled.

“Why do we all have to wear blue?” or even worse, “Why do we all have to wear our batik uniforms?”

The event begins and after a few obligatory speeches, everyone starts eating and this is usually when the “lucky” numbers are called out. You go up when your number is called, everyone claps as if you had just won an award and then you go back to your seat and continue eating until you think you have had enough and can slip away quietly.

Being amiable

If you have had the misfortune to sit at a table with people you are not particularly close with, or next to their spouses whom you don’t know at all, you begin to think why you were not as smart as your other colleague who had wisely excused herself from the event due to the marriage of a nonexistent bachelor uncle in another state!

But you remember that you are a teacher and you attempt to be amiable with the others at the table, joining in the conversation although you don’t really know what’s going on.

Also, you try to be friendly with your colleague by asking the Science teacher’s wife sitting next to you all sorts of questions about her husband’s sleeping or eating habits. You feel a little hurt at her tight-lippedness until you discover much later that the Science teacher was not even married and the lady was somebody else’s wife!

Apart from that, you discover that the cherubic-faced teacher’s child seated beside you has successfully ripped open your lucky draw gift and is using the pretty porcelain vase you received to scoop peanuts off the floor!

But things could be worse you reckon even as you catch sight of the 56-year-old Ustaz whose youngest child had just finished college, looking with puzzlement at the baby gift set which was his lucky draw prize.

To be fair however, despite the monotony and lack of diversity in these affairs, there have been many occasions where it has come off as enjoyable not because of the event itself but due to the opportunity it gives for teachers to come together.

It is one of the rare times we can sit down and talk about things without school-matters having to come in between. It is also how one perceives these events that may make the difference between tedium and enjoyment.

Some of us do anticipate the idea of being able to dress a little more glamorously than on normal school days and being able to let our hair down a little.

On the other hand, there are teachers who are quite thankful for the minimalist way these events are carried out at times. “We come, we eat, we talk a little, try to smile a little, get our gift, we go back. That’s good enough for us.” Perhaps there is some validity in the justification of their approach.

But the irrepressible Dilla refuses to let go of the issue. “Why don’t we just change the whole order of things?” she says with a gleam in her eye. “Make it a fancy dress dinner where everyone comes in period costume, say, during the golden era of the Malacca sultanate, or have a Bollywood theme with performances.”

“Hmmn ...” I said, “very interesting. We could do that.”

Deep inside somehow, the image of the elderly History teacher resplendent in his royal Malacca robes seated next to a Bollywood dancer didn’t seem very appropriate with a yearend school event. But then you never know. Stranger things have happened!