A Guide to Creatures of the Exam Room One is sauntering down the gravel trail when a cobweb clasps onto ones face, and ones foot sashays into a mud-bottomed puddle, and pesky sand-flies storm ones bare limbs by the throngs: Would not a spring field day be better spent with a veteran guide? Just so is invigilating exams so much the better with some seasoned knowledge of the colourful species that sojourn in the exam room; otherwise it is horrifically and dauntingly soporific. After handing out the papers, one should take the preeminent seat in the room provided to single out the ludicrous Marilinus irritatur, commonly known as the Flustered Sparrow. They are instantly recognisable by the deep frown plastered on their faces as they fling their rucksacks wherever the still air takes them and let their buttocks fall from their heights to the contemptible seats. Feelings of misery at the impending failure and insecurity caused by inadequate preparation and fear of the exam coalesce into a sickening, sour concoction that has forever writhed their countenances into a beacon of sour wretchedness. They sigh out with a grumble or a belly-groan upon handing their paper in, and repeat their initiation (coming-in) routine with the same vile lilt but in the reverse. Should the Flustered Sparrows debacle cease to be amusing, one need only spot the Grey-haired Finch (Janellus turbatus). Sir Isaac first (in 1848) described it as having ruddy ears and cheeks, with unkempt hair and perhaps attire, and a calculating, almost twitching, gaze. It makes tacit breathless sounds as it scuttles in and lays its knapsack on the left of the chair, positions its utensils on the right of the desk, and folds its hands in a sort of peak. It does not move unless by some other body. It sits the paper with raised eyebrows and scouring eyeballs that actually jut out a bit to see better. It quips some formality as it hands in its paper and swings on its bag and picks up its pens in swift, deft movements. Yet some proctors are prone to sonorous guffaws after observing Flustered Sparrows or Grey-haired Finches. For invigilators with the funny bone, there is always the interesting Optatus neglegenter, or Jaded Lark. The O. neglegenter always strolls into the open room with a posse and a high-spirited, blithe, breathy laugh. It chitters its way to a desk at the posterior and chatters about last nights adventure. It makes suave movements to set down its backpack and furnish pencils. It never signals distress nor control, but rather maintains an aloof, cool, carefree expression and hand movements. At the end, it hands its paper without looking and before one knows it, the breeze has carried it away. Securus confidimus is the grandfather bird, the Clawed Raven, which trumps neighbouring birds by sheer peculiarity. The rare bird enters in a mid-stride and, knowing exam regulations beforehand, places the bag at the front and, once seated, pulls out utensils from the pockets. It will sit through the examination with indifference, and sometimes curiosity. It is the only species known to show signs of having Eureka! moments during the test. Once done it is beaming. It glides to the front and follows propriety while returning the paper, and coolly swings its backpack to its shoulder and walks out upright, often before all others or completely after all others, but seldom with all others. Soon enough teachers from Antigua to Newfoundland shall be desirous of strolling in the exam room, just to observe the Flustered Sparrow of the Grey-haired Finch from up close, or the Jaded Lark or the Clawed Raven from one’s flanks. By being able to appreciate the peculiarities of these creatures, invigilators can keep from dozing off, and, more importantly, develop the burgeoning study of exam room beings. herehere ^^quite humorous Angel Jean Jacques, Khaila Gentle (recognise someone?)
Posted on: Fri, 21 Mar 2014 12:51:20 +0000
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