Thursday, September 25, 2014

And that's why . . .

Let me start by saying that I knew instantly that one or more of my students had accidentally eaten the pastries meant for the "important" people in the sala/classroom next to ours just by a quick glance at their guilty faces. They didn't do it on purpose. There was no sign over the pastries ,and the classroom next to ours appeared to be empty and dark at the time. The delicious looking little pastries were placed on a silver tray on the little corner table in the hallway outside the two rooms. My usually sweet coworker must have gotten her ass handed to her for letting my students eat the goodies. That is the only way I can explain her personality transplant. She came down to my classroom and started giving the students a completely humorless lesson about how it could never happen again. I had been trying to make these folks feel comfortable and like they belonged for the past four hours in a row and here she comes erasing all the work I just did. So I defended them. I said that it was a misunderstanding and that next time there should be a sign. And I would do it again. Okay?

If I didn't say it before let me say it now: I love my class.
 A few people didn't come today because they had medical appointments. I got a new student so I had to review yesterday's four hour lesson using a flow chart that sums up everything that we did in just fifteen minutes; and I had to do it in a way that my Romanian student who still struggles with Italian could understand. Afterwards, my boss came to tell me that I looked "exhuasted but exhilarated," whatever that means.
Two students are friends from Florence who have to make a train at one o'clock sharp to get back to Florence in time. Otherwise, they are really screwed. We decided that instead of taking ten minute breaks every fifty minutes we would take a longer break at 11:00 and then everyone could leave fifteen minutes early. My usually sweet coworker heard about this and she came down to insist that we didn't let anyone leave early because, theoretically, the employment agency that sent us the English students could send an inspector by to make sure that they are getting their full four hours of class time. At a quarter to one -- ironically, I taught the students how to tell time today -- I turned to the friends and asked them if they wanted to go smoke an imaginary cigarette or go to the bathroom - wink, wink. They were too scared to go. Really? Are you sure you don't want to go to the bathroom, I asked. Then out of the corner of my I eye, I caught that same female coworker from the English school office sending another coworker, an official looking man in a suit, to count heads and make sure that no one had left early.

And That's Why I taught a dozen Italian people the word BULLSH*T today.

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