A school in Manchester recently faced scrutiny after a teacher confiscated a pupil’s phone, which wouldn’t be newsworthy if the evil genius who owned said device hadn’t activated the voice recorder before it was taken away.
The righteous educator marched directly to the staffroom – that hallowed space where no spotty, hormonal teenager would dare to tread – where some of the staff did precisely the thing I imagine all teachers do when they get there: they proceeded to vent about the kids they teach.
When the would-be MI5 candidate had the phone returned, they had almost four hours worth of covert recordings in which their tutors used many an expletive to describe each student that day who caused them to regret choosing their vocation.
Rather than chastise the voice voyeur, parents came out in force to demand disciplinary action against the faculty, stating: “They need sacking.”
I understand that their concerns are based around the professional conduct of the staff but haven’t they heard that ‘eavesdroppers hear no good of themselves’?
They are only human, after all, and being the owner of a few kids myself, I must confess to defaming them to all and sundry while they are safely ensconced in school or their beds – although it’s easier to be fond of them when they are sleeping.
Whether it’s the water cooler or the pub, employees are going to converse about work and this lot just happen to have been spied upon and reported to the boss.
Perhaps the school should enforce a strict ban on phones in the building, such as the school in Boston which has reported a great improvement on student sociability and mental health since taking this stance.
That’ll show ‘em – “Wee Petey has lost everyone their phones by creeping on the teachers and as punishment we’re going to make you happier”.
It is no news that mobile phones have become an extension of ourselves in many ways.
Years ago, a phone was viewed as a stationary, utilitarian device – a luxury even, that allowed us to converse with friends while standing in a drafty front hall, or, if you were a bit lush, sitting on a tiny uncomfortable seat at a ‘telephone table’.
Now we go everywhere with micro-computers in our pockets and almost feel naked if we leave the house without it.
We can access information in a heartbeat, have face-to-face conversations with people on the other side of the world, and even use a built-in GPS to direct us wherever we want to go. A modern-day miracle.
Or we can play Candy Crush and use social media to check if our ex is as miserable as we are, then console ourselves with a bucket of chicken delivered straight to the door with an app.
God forbid we need to use the toilet when we’ve run out of battery, lest we resort to reading the back of bottles as if it’s the 1990s again.
Anyone who knows what sodium laureate sulphate is the main ingredient of has had this experience and I would like to tell you that I once thought that’s why they called it sham-poo.
The internet is an agoraphobic’s best friend, in that a person can now get everything they need to survive without leaving the house – though I fear that the technology which gives us the ability to be omnipotent, omnipresent and orientated has made us malevolent, misanthropic and malingering.
After all, simply ‘surviving’ isn’t actually ‘living’ and lockdown taught us all that regardless of how tedious certain company can be, human interaction is crucial to our mental wellbeing.
Although I’m aware that this may not be the best time of year to make that argument, given that some of you may still be recuperating from Christmas-induced family gatherings with the in-laws and outlaws.
Pre-smartphone days may seem like the dark ages to the younger generations, but at least we were free to make mistakes without being filmed – well, apart from that time the IRA let an Israeli film ‘The Secret Army’, but that’s not the point.
Instead of a vino and a video call to the friend round the corner, why not go for a wine and a whinge at the local and put the world to rights the old-fashioned way?
If anyone touts, then state the argument those teachers could use: ‘It isn’t slander if it’s true!’