Recently I did the first of the tests the school district requires periodically to make sure I am still disabled. They are a bit stressful, as if I do too badly people whose names I do not know may decide I need a more restrictive environment, and if I do too well people might try to eat my accommodations.
(As I understand it. I don’t have much information. I’ve asked a couple of people what they do with the tests and most have answered along the lines of, “Well, we read the results.”)
The test people told us the tests would be on a different day than they actually were. I still have the tendinitis, and can’t do almost any physical writing, so I ended up doing long division with multiple decimal points in my head while the test administrator got upset that I couldn’t do it faster. He thought maybe it was the kind of tendinitis that doesn’t allow someone to write numbers but allows them to write spelling words, and if not numbers or spelling words, maybe I could write stories?
He told me to make up a story. When I told him a story about mammoths and fireflies he looked at me blankly and said, “So what you’re saying is, in your story, there is a conflict, and then it gets resolved.” I nodded and smiled. He wrote a check mark on his sheet.
He told me to read a list of words as fast as possible and then said, “Not that fast, I can’t keep up.”
He thought my name was Elphaba.
I guess it was a win-win: the school district people got test results and I got quality writing material.
This is the Secret Special-ed System Spy, signing out.
People Are Strange When You’re a Stranger (the song I got the title from):