Principle vs. Principal

OK, I've tried to calm down. I took a shower. I'm a little calmer. I'm more frustrated now than mad.

I have a class this semester that is driving me nuts. Theoretically, it sounds super. It's called Teaching Writing, and we talk about the different strategies to effectively teach our students to write well. Nice, diba? The problem is, my classmates are idiots. OK, not all of them are idiots. Some of them are just lazy buffoons and I have no idea why they're even teaching.

Breathe. Breathe. I'm resorting to name calling, I know this. Must. Be. Rational. Must qualify these angry feelings with logical reasons. (Must. Stop. Talking. Like Captain Kirk.)

So anyway, unlike my other Educ and Lit classes, all my classmates here are also English teachers. I had high hopes that I would engage in lively debates and discussions regarding the different paradigms we adopt in our classrooms. But alas -- oh, alack! -- my classmates are idiots severely uninformed. No, that's not it. If that were so, then I'd pity them. No, they're amazingly lazy. They're lazy thinkers, that's what.

OK, OK, back to the story: Our professor gave us a bunch of sentences to look over. The sentences were from past New York Times articles. Apparently, some of those sentences had not-so-obvious errors, and they were able to make it to the published version of the newspaper. Our task, then, was to spot those errors and correct them. (Yes, I will post those sentences in another blog post. Maybe tomorrow.) English nerds like me just love this stuff, so I pounced on those sentences with glee.

After going through those sentences on our own, we all discussed the changes we made. One of the sentences was this one:

She said that the jury had been told the principle purpose of the enterprise, as the indictment charged, was to generate money for the detectives, through legal and illegal activities.

The error in the sentence was the word "principle" -- instead, it should have been "principAL." We went on to the next sentence...when all of a sudden, one of my classmates (henceforth called she-who-started-it-all) said,

"Wait. There was nothing wrong in that sentence!"

"I know! I think there's an error with the error," said another classmate (who thought she was being oh-so-witty -- OK, I shall stop with the sarcastic name calling...).

*Mild laughter from the class.*

"No, it really should be 'principal' -- with an 'A-L,' " said the teacher.

"But they weren't even talking about a school, so how could there be a principal?" said she-who-started-it-all.

***At this point, I would like to pause to eject expletives off air. Cue the elevator music.***

Dude, pare, chong naman o...Grabe, diba??? Diba? DIBA?

DIBAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA???

"Principle is like a belief, like you what you believe in," my teacher said calmly. (Really, I didn't know how she remained so calm. I'd be sputtering my words in disbelief at this point.)

"Yeah, but principal is like, the head of the school!" said another classmate.

ANUBAAAAAH. PANGINOON, KUNIN N'YO NA PO AKO!!!

At that point, I calmly (I swear, I tried to be calm, even my seatmate, who knew how pissed I was, said she was impressed) said, "Principal means lead, head, or foremost. That's why the principal is called the principal, because he or she is the head of the school."

"Oh, I didn't know that," said she-who-started-it-all. "Well aren't you a Ms. Snooty Know-It-All?" she said half-jokingly. (See, she started with the name calling...)

*More laughter from the class.*

Breathe, just breathe. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5...Oh screw it.

It's no use...here it is, folks. Brace yourselves:
No, I wasn't being snooty. I was being frikken' CORRECT. I refuse to feel bad because I was correct. I didn't tell you that you were a dumb broad and that you shouldn't be in a classroom -- although I should have. well, maybe not in those terms -- so don't call me snooty, biatch. Who do you think you are??? Why am I being called out for something that we should know! We're English teachers for crying out loud! I'd understand if there were, I dunno, Math teachers in the room. (But I'm willing to bet that my other Math teacher friends would know the difference anyway.) But this...THIS?!?! It's not like pondering on the exact value of mfing pi!!! (Wait, does such a value exist? I dunno, I'm not a Math teacher...which brings me to my point...GAAAAAH!!!)

I can't believe that people like you teach!!! And I can't believe that I was in a room full of English teachers and not a single person backed me up!!! Didn't anybody else know of this??? Am I -- the minority, the one who did not grow up in America, the one whose first language is NOT English -- am I the only one who knew this???

The fact that you are teaching and my husband cannnot is beyond unfair!!! My husband is far more intelligent, compassionate, and appreciative of our vocations as teachers!!! And he can't teach because he has no papers, but YOU can??? You awful, turdish, ludicrous woman!!! We've been in this country for so long and we can't find work because people like you are the ones these schools prefer??? ARE YOU FRIKKEN' KIDDING ME?!?!?!?!?!

My friends (McCain mode...), I apologize for my tirade. And no, I didn't say these things to her. I just tried to swallow my anger as best I could, and proceeded to yell in the car, on the way home.

But as you can see, this goes beyond her idiocy. I am angry at what she represents: I am angry at the school system, I am angry at the fact that my poor husband has been out of work all this time because of this. THIS. THIS.

I miss home. I miss my school. I miss my co-workers. I miss the gazebo. I miss my friends. I miss my friends in the gazebo who would understand my frustration and not think that I was overreacting (well, maybe they would, but they know that's how I am and they'll love me anyway). I miss my girl friends who would share my frustration, who would see that this is pain speaking, not anger. This is the pain that comes from seeing my husband being rejected over, and over, and over again because no school wants to sponsor him ("We can't at this time." BOVINE POOP.) This the pain that comes from him feeling bad when it's really not his fault. This is the pain that comes from seeing him trying to keep it together for me. And this is the pain that comes from trying to keep it together for him.

Peace out, folks. I'm too upset to close this rant with a witty remark. I'm spent. Don't worry, I'll feel better tomorrow. I just needed to let it out.