Extreme surface tension.
I might tolerate this humiliating job a little more; I might despise my students for their intellectual deficiencies a little less if I got any sense that they were making any effort to learn in our classes or that they appreciated what we’re trying to do. In spite of claims a few years back that the students who were in our classes showed (comparatively speaking) a greater improvement in English than those who attended our schools because of academic merit (and, therefore, only learnt English within the Chinese education system), I don’t doubt that for six years, the marks that our students have got in the final exams have had almost nothing to do with attendance in our classes.
At a rough estimate, the parents of the kids I’ve taught have spent the better part of ¥5 million (c. £368,400) in total for their little brats to attend these classes since I’ve been China, and that’s just counting my halves of them. “Have the parents spent their money wisely?” No. “Would they have achieved just as much burning their money or flushing it down the loo or simply throwing it out of a window at random intervals?” Yes. Yup, after six years of teaching English in China I can <span class = “übersarcasm”>proudly</span> say that very, very few children I’ve taught in our programme have ever put in the effort that would justify their parents’ expenditure.
Class 5 were the big dollop of shit icing today’s enormous turd that passed as an attempt to impart knowledge to these 行尸走肉. Time to start sharpening some barbs for the report books.
It’s small wonder that every time a holiday passes, I regret its disappearance into history because I know what awaits me on the other side. We have classes for another five days before next week’s exams which, unofficially, mark the end of my sixth glorious year teaching English in China. Let’s hope the driver of Time’s wingèd chariot goes Warp Factor 9 on his conveyance.