Friday.
D-Day.
Project submission deadline.
We are required to submit one copy of our document electronically onto a University website called 'Blackboard' and bring a hard copy to the tutorial.
The document is supposed to be accompanied by a 'Contributors' List', detailing exactly who did, and more importantly who didn't, do what.
My agreed task was to write the introduction and conclusion.
I ended up writing a missing section at the eleventh hour.
I also volunteered my advice on the editing.
But I resisted the urge to take control.
Just.
I only have 2 classes on Friday.
Spanish language at 12pm followed by this tutorial at 1pm.
Yesterday, my boyfriend arrived this side of the Atlantic for one of his fortnightly sojourns.
I have left him at home in bed recovering from jet lag.
As I walk to the tutorial, I decide to check my phone for any potential love messages from 'San Fran Man'.
I cannot believe what I read.
I have one message.
It is from Maisie, the coordinator for our group.
Maisie, who I expect has been working closely with Charlotte, the editor, fine-tuning our document into the best shape possible.
Maisie, the individual assuming control for the final stages of what needs to done.
When she first proposed herself for the role of coordinator, I thought she was cut out for the job.
She looked geeky so I presumed she would be hardworking and studious.
Furthermore, she is from Texas, where I know they have a hard-line attitude to criminals.
'She ain't gonna take no shit!' I figured at the time.
Perfect.
But appearances can be deceptive.
Her reaction to the non-contributing free-loaders has been nervous laughter.
Mine has been sleepless nights.
The message reads;
'Hey. So Charlotte and I are having technical difficulties. Do you think you could upload the assignment to blackboard? And add just a few changes to the contributors' list?'
ME???
It is 12.55pm.
I am standing outside the classroom.
Overcome by a rage of furious incredulity.
Maisie has a great deal to learn regarding the difference between 'delegating' and 'flinging a hot potato'.
And I'm the one to teach her.
I try ringing first Maisie, then Charlotte.
No answer.
I am having a hot flush.
I convince myself it's due to anger rather than age.
Then I see them both strolling along the corridor towards me.
'Hey!' smiles Maisie.
Rendered speechless, I hold my phone in front of her in a way that says 'WTF?'
'Oh it's all cool. We managed to do it,' she laughs, nervously.
I say nothing and we all enter the classroom as the tutor arrives.
He wants us to spend the first 10 minutes in our groups discussing our thoughts on what went well and what went not so well during this first assignment.
I don't know where to start!
We have to decide on 2 things we'll keep and 2 things we'll change for the next project.
It goes without saying at this stage that 'Wing Man' is missing.
But 'Lady Marmalade' has shown up, in an orange haze.
Glowing like the 'Ready-Brek' kid.
Personally, I'd be very happy to make both of them the 2 things we'd change.
However, it is not possible to expel members of the group.
I know.
I checked with the tutor last week.
I voice my frustrations at the unfair division of labour and the fact that 'certain individuals' did nothing.
I flash a look at 'Lady Marmalade'.
She starts muttering some excuses about email problems.
Maisie, instead of berating her, laughs nervously and says;
'I know you had problems with your email and I, like, totally understand'.
I look at Maisie in a way that I can only describe as aghast.
'Well I don't!' I say, a little too forcefully.
'Lady Marmalade' looks at me as if I have slapped her.
She must be able to read my mind.
Perhaps she's more perceptive than I have given her credit for.
'I don't!' I say again.
This time I am glaring directly at 'Lady Marmalade'.
'If you have problems with your email,' I point out, 'then you go to the I.T. lab. They are really helpful there. And that is what they are there for. You don't just do nothing!'
She is glaring back at me with pinched lips.
In combination with the heavy layering of lipstick, the result is quite uncanny.
She looks like she has a piece of shriveled orange-peel stuck on her face.
The tutor hurries us along with our deliberations and tells us we have 3 minutes left.
We decide the 2 things we'll change.
Firstly, we'll each do our own research and writing, rather than dividing the tasks.
Secondly, we'll get our writing to the editor by an earlier deadline.
The 2 things we decide to keep are the Editor and the Coordinator.
It's a disaster waiting to happen.
©Alacoque Doyle
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