There is a lot in acclimating Oleg's family to the U.S. Everyone has jumped on the wagon train. SueG handles the medical aspect. I research whatever Oleg needs, including schooling information and finding English classes for his grandmother. Oleg runs around doing everything else, including teaching his mother to drive in our large city, etc. Unfortunately, it hasn't been so helpful outside our friend/family circle.
His brother will attend high school in a couple of weeks, so I called the school and discussed the enrollment process with a woman who was not very welcoming. I brushed that off--everyone has a bad day. Then I gathered the necessary papers and signatures, including taking my MIL to a notary to sign a residency affidavit stating the family lived in her house.
Armed with this paperwork and necessary documents, Oleg, his mother, and his brother went to the school and met with Ms. Jay (name changed). Her disposition hadn't gotten any sunnier. She wasn't pleasant and then sent them away. Despite having an affidavit and a utility bill, the school system needs more proof of my MIL's ownership of her property. Please explain how having a copy of the cable bill helps here?
But that is what I took to Ms. Jay later that morning after she dismissed Oleg and the crew. First, I took his mother to my bank to have the other side of the affidavit notarized. Something I was told the school would do as they have a notary on property.
The bank notary took the paper and documents.
Him: "Do you have an account with us?"
Me: "I do, yes, several."
Him: "But she doesn't?"
Me: "She's from Ukraine."
Him: "I understand that, but our policy is you must have an account--"
Me: "Who's to say she won't open one at this bank depending..."
To his credit, he shut his mouth and notarized the paper. But he talked around Oleg's mother as if she weren't there, which annoyed me. But we were in and out in less than five minutes, so I let that roll off my back.
Who knew the shit storm that was about to blow me over at the school.
First, we entered the building and stopped at the glass partition. There was a small hole for talking and a bell on a ledge. Behind the glass, a woman stood facing me directly. We made eye contact. I smiled. She didn't. I said hello. She stared.
I rang the damn bell.
She asked if she could help. I explained our previous morning visit and that we had the papers Ms. Jay required. She unlocked the door, let us enter, and sat us at a table with three chairs. I attempted idle chit-chat.
Me: "The school colors are red and gold?"
Her: "Maroon."
We waited.
When Ms. Jay appeared, she wore a ponytail to the side of her head and hatred on her face.
I've never seen anything like it.
She acted like I was trying to pull one over on her, although I haven't a clue what that would've been, seeing as I was only enrolling a student. She was nasty. She was rude. She refused to look at Oleg's mother and his brother.
Ms. Jay: "Does mother speak English?"
Me: "She does, as does her son."
When I told her I had done what the website suggested and downloaded and filled out the paperwork given to students on the first day of school--
Her: "You'll have to fill them out again. Those are color-coded. How is Mrs. Blah supposed to know I have them? And was this the county website or the school's website? We have over 100,000 students. I can't be expected to remember to get her those papers."
When I asked her about classes--
Ms. Jay: "We will put him in standard ninth-grade classes."
Me: "And if he took some of those classes already?"
Ms. Jay: "We would need proof of that. Not a report card. We would need official documentation from the school. We can't just take your word for it."
Me: "Ukraine is in the middle of a war."
Ms. Jay: "I understand, but we need it."
When I asked her about speaking with a counselor--
Ms. Jay: "Maybe, but I don't know if they are working right now. This is vacation time for them."
Me: "Can you tell me who the ninth-grade counselor is?"
Ms. Jay: "Ma'am, that goes by the first initial of the student's last name!"
I waited. She stared at me.
Me: "So, you want me to find that on my own? Is that on the website?"
Nothing.
She tried to act as though Oleg hadn't been there earlier, asking for all the paperwork again. I shut that down, reminding her she had made copies of all that documentation. Oleg's mother opened her huge file, one of many she carried in her backpack for hours as she crossed into Poland. When she pulled them out one by one, Ms. Jay rose to "check."
She returned with the file. By the time we finished, I was livid.
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