On Sunday, I got to live out all my dictatorship fantasies. I was the Chief Marshal (ie. Head Mother Hen) at our dance school concerts. This was not a trivial exercise. For ten hours, my job was to manage backstage, make sure each act was ready to be onstage as soon as the previous act had finished. There were about 120 acts all together. I coordinated costume changes, kept the hallways clear and quiet, dealt with a battle of the sexes in the change rooms and catfighting between students from rival campuses.

I marshalled teenagers, pensioners, teachers and kids. The most difficult group to organise, by far, were the pre-schoolers. Such tiny cute little girls in pink tutus, so chubby and wide-eyed but GRRRR drove me up the wall. They kept talking and crying and moving around.

“Sssh… Stay still, I have to tuck in your shoelaces,” I’d say. “Ssssshhh, please be quiet!” I would come down to their level and look them in the eye (hey, I’ve seen Super Nanny, I know the score). The little pre-schooler would bite her little lip and nod and I’d think, “Thank God, she’s being quiet!” and ten seconds later, they’d all start crawling around and crying for mummy.

On Sunday, for the first time in my life, I wanted to be violent. I was furious at a certain teacher, younger than myself.

“Please keep behind this line,” I told her, while she was waiting in the wings. “The audience can see you there.” She stepped back a little then a minute later, she’s past the line again. At first, I thought it was an accident. “Step back please!” I reminded her. And it happened again. This went on about three times before I finally twigged. She was doing it deliberately. She looked at me, seeing if I was going to say anything. The next group of students waiting to go onstage watched the challenge. ARGH. I couldn’t believe it. What could I do? She was undermining my authority. I couldn’t tell her off in front of the students without undermining her authority.

I clenched my fist. I imagined punching her in the face and pushing her down the stairs. It would feel so good. I’ve never had violent thoughts about anyone before. It felt weird. I can feel the anger now, actually.

So I did nothing. I looked past her and said nothing. I couldn’t tell the other students to step back or be quiet while she was there, blatantly flouting the rules. I wanted her to go away. Eventually she did and I was able to get back to my job.