It’s October 3rd

“On October 3rd, he asked me what day it was,“

“It’s October 3rd“

Mean Girls, 2004

I had no idea 3rd October was “Mean Girls” Day.

For many years, I have worn pink on Fridays to show my support for inclusion and LGBTQ+ inclusion – not that anyone has ever asked me. So it was a surprise when two senior girls I am teaching this year, wearing pink, of course, skipped up to fist-pump me this morning while I was welcoming students and staff into school.

It’s October 3rd, they said.

Sure, I said. But what’s special about today?

It’s Mean Girls Day. Pink.

These days, any sort of connection at the front gate is a victory. A high-five or fist-pump is the big prize, but I will happily accept a nod, some eye contact, or any other form of tacit body language I can pass off as acknowledgement as they pass me.

I have no idea what Mean Girls Day is about, but I’m savvy enough to realise that our shared pink means I have inadvertently done something right in their eyes. I ride the moment, ignore their non-compliant uniform, and wish them a Happy Friday.

It’s a few minutes after 8am now and I’ve got a little gap to grab my first coffee before I get stuck into my morning meetings.

At 11am I come up for air and make my way to the kitchen to look for biscuits. I immediately regret it when I sit down with a couple of my well-read colleagues. In a fit of intellectual bravado earlier this week, I foolishly agreed to join them in completing the Booker Prize Challenge (reading all six short-listed books) before the 10th November. Whilst they were sharing their progress so far, I withdrew to ask ChatGPT to work out how what it would take for me to join them in finishing the books: I’ve optimistically decided I can do 1.5 hours a day over the next 38 days, and if I can read 50 pages/hour, I will apparently be able to make it. But I know it’s a forlorn hope and it’s not going to end well.

At 1125 I need to be in the classroom to teach my Grade 11s. However, by the time I reach the 4th floor, coffee number two in hand, I know something is afoot. Three girls are standing by the door.

It’s October 3rd, they say.

Yeah, Mean Girls, I say.

No, Taylor Swift is dropping her new album at 1200, they say.

Obviously, I didn’t know that either. Unperturbed by my ignorance, they want to know if we can pause the lesson at 12pm so that we can download and listen to her new album. I’m no Swiftie, and I don’t imagine the rest of the class are Swifties either. So I check. But in a (suspicious) show of solidarity, they are all (apparently) Swifties today. I deliver my first 35 minutes, flip open my Spotify and subject myself to The Fate of Ophelia. This is what high engagement looks like today and the price to pay when culture trumps pedagogy.

I’m peckish again. There is so much choice for lunch in the canteen. I settle on a tuna sandwich, and then immediately regret it when the swim coach joins me with his butter chicken and naan bread. I leave him to it as I have a couple of interviews to get on with.

It’s 2pm. I have an hour now to triage my emails. I first sweep through to check for any urgent (safeguardingish) messages, but we are all good. As it’s Friday, I now work through anything that needs a response today, or can wait for the weekend or early next week. I have all that done and still have a little bit of time left to work through my “less than a minute” emails. Volunteers are being sought for runners to help raise money for our scholarship programme. This is important to me, so I quickly tap a response to say that I’m happy to join the running team.

Moments later, as I’m about to go offline, a confirmation message comes back about the fundraising run. I’m locked in. And then my heart sinks when I read some more of the details I rushed through earlier. It’s not the 10-12km (ish) I thought it was, but 23km, which is well outside of my battery range. It sinks in that it’s too late to back out now. And so between Booker reading and Swiftie listening, I’ve somehow committed myself to a ludicrous training schedule, too.

At 3pm, still wallowing in my over-volunteerism, I get ready for the staff football match at 6pm. It’s a home derby this week, but my right boot has come apart at the seams. I find some gaffer tape to hold it together.

By 7pm, there are 30 minutes left in the match. We’re overrun. The boots have held; not much else has. The opposition has recruited well this year, including a relative of a certain Tony Cascarino and some rocket who was apparently once on the books at Preston North End. I’m too old for all this.

I’m at home. I need a shower and a drink.

I missed supper, but a few slices of cold pizza in the fridge have cheered me up.

October 3rd. What a day.

Sipping my Leffe, I find myself asking my kids what’s special about October 3rd?

Hey Dad, one says, it’s German Reunification Day.

Of course it is.

My life. Love it.