Fragment #5 - 6 pm at Starbucks, Buchanan Street

"I think Friday is the best day for teachers. You know you are going to spend two long and nice days away from children. Well, since I don't have some of my own yet. You know I love my job but young people are pretty tiring, isn't it?"
"You're right. People underestimate what we do. Parents just think their kids are angels and a gift to care for. Or they realize they are a pain in the ass and just don't want to be told this by anyone, especially not a teacher."
This is so true. That's what colleagues are for at school. You badly need to talk, to complain about pupils, but also difficulties, even small humiliations. Like the other day when I let fall a pile of books in the corridor in front of some fifty pupils. You just feel bad in that case. Hopefully, there is always a nice and pitiful one to help you pick them up. But still, it's kind of awkward. And parents can really be harsh too. That just remembers me I've got that fucking parents meeting next week... Maybe I could be sick next week - flu or something -. Some parents would really need to be educated. And most of the time, I've got nothing to say. They just assume that because I'm French and have not been educated over here I can't understand their children.
"So what are your plans for the week-end? Are you still not seeing Steven?"
Right, Steven... He tried to call me several times, don't really remember how much. At some point I have been committed to our relationship. What happened? I just don't know what to say.
"Considering it's not been working last time, why would I try again."
"Just because you want to and you know it. Why do you think you're still not over him? Stop lying to yourself, you still have a crush on that guy."
Crap, I hate when people read me that well.
"Ok right, if he calls me again, I'm answering."
"Good for you. I got to go. See you on Monday."
I hang up the phone. I'm sitting at Claire's dining table. I’m in the typical Glaswegian young lady’s flat. The dining room is painted in white and purple. Very girly room: you got some fluffy pillows on the couch and nice pictures on the wall, flowers and there is this poster about the “little black dress”: a high-fashion picture representing a very nice black dress I would never dare to wear, so sexy. According to Glamour and Claire, this is the dress every woman has to own in her wardrobe, to be ready to be perfect on a big night. Well I don’t have it, but if I did, would I feel more confident wearing it? Like on a date… Fuck off, I am thinking about Steven again. Maybe my colleague Meg is right, I could give us another chance, and stamp on that girl who doesn’t believe in herself.
I realize I still have work to do. Thrown all over the table, I can see this depressing amount of pupils’ jotters, evaluations, and two cups, half full of cold tea… I fix myself another cup of hot tea and I am back to work. I start reading the nearest copy, and remember why I stopped and called Meg… Being French, reading things like “What je fais à la week-end c’est sortir avec les amis et aller clubbing” drives me crazy. Fourteen years old. Enable to realize she’s got to write a complete sentence in French, and more important, get a life, with real hobbies of her own age. I still have a lot to teach them obviously.
Maybe I should leave those for later… Go out, call Marc see if he wants to go to cinema or anything. Go and visit Claire at the bar, not been there since I’m back. Or maybe I could visit Claire with Marc?
I got a text. Let me guess… Steven. Let’s do this… “I really need to talk to you. Could you meet me tomorrow? 6pm at Starbuck’s, Buchanan Street.”