I woke up today knowing it was gonna be a longie.
When I got on my train at 7.45 (I got to sleep in an extra hour), I was not prepared for the group of 40 Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland that came rushing into the car as the doors closed.
Know what? Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland do not care that those minutes on the train are my final, precious minutes of peace before four consecutive hours of teaching French High School Students on the cusp of Winter Break. I am not sure which group is louder, the IHSSotwtD or the FHSSotCofWB, but they both need to just stop the clapping. Why so much clapping? Is it really necessary?
Know what else? That whole stereotype about Italians being loud and gesturing a lot? Kinda has a bit of truth to it. Kinda lots and lots of truth to it. Kinda almost burst my eardrum as you almost hit my face with your wildly gesturing hands truth to it. At least when it comes to 40 Italian High School Students on their way to Disneyland.
Then I taught my classes, after such a relaxing ride. My classes were equally as relaxing. I had to yell at some kids, which I hate, but at least I'm better at it than I was last year. I had to seperate three students. I had to do the whole you're-more-mature-than-this lecture, which makes me feel like I should be wearing an apron and heels with a vacuum in my left hand and a feather duster in my right. I'm too young to be telling these kids that they should be capable of behaving like adults. Honestly, though, I was getting upset more because the troublemakers were making it difficult for the interested kids to hear. And that's uncool to me. Some of the kids were obviously really, really into the lesson, and I didn't want some little shitheads to ruin it for them.
In my next class, the student that I ran into at the nightclub however many weeks ago was an absolute asshole to me. Today was our first day having class since the run-in. "Going dancing this weekend?" he asked, sorta goofily.
"Nah..." I said, and laughed.
"Small world, huh?" he responded with a friendly smile.
And then? For some reason he turned into the devil. I think he was pissed because he was put in the middle-level group (of three). He asked me what level his group was, and I answered honestly that I didn't know.
"I'm in the wrong one," he said cooly. "I'm the best in the class."
Modest, too. But then when he started insulting my knitting and my taste in hobbies, I got a little annoyed. And when he started bitching about the activities, I got really annoyed. Then when he just went to sleep instead, I just gave up. I didn't want to listen to his bullshit anyway. Argh.
And then my last class. Oh Lordy, my last class.
Let me tell you all a little story.
My last class is with a bunch of 20-year-olds. Due to a little scheduling conflict, we didn't meet last week. It was my fault, as I had misunderstood that what I had thought was a temporary schedule change was in fact a permanent one. Their head English teacher (whom I had never met) came to "discuss" the matter with me by telling me I was wrong, so WRONG! So I ended up having to teach an hour later than I thought I would, and therefore be an hour late to a 14.00 appointment.
But really, what does a poor little language assistant's schedule matter to them?
Anyway.
So I went to this class with these 20-year-old-ish boys (and one girl). They're nice kids but they have NO concentration. And although they have been taking English for ten years, they can't understand a word I say. As one student put it, "Can anybody get some subtitles for the teacher, maybe?"
But here's the issue. One of my students is partially deaf. This is ok, but in the confines of the classroom, I don't want to talk to him about it. He mentioned it in passing ("I have problem at my ::pointing to ear:::" was the phrase he used) and I had already noticed that he had some pretty severe phonetic problems.
After the hellish class in which the boys went from angels to wild monkeys in the span of 55 minutes, I went back to the teacher's lounge to ask their oh-so-friendly head teacher a little about this student's special needs.
I walked up to her while she was in a conversation and waited while she ignored me. So I walked away, went to the bathroom, gathered my stuff, put on my coat, and attempted again. Still ignored me. So finally I said, "I'm sorry, could I interrupt you for just a second before I go?"
With no real acknowledgement on her part, I had no real choice but to just sorta continue anyway.
"I ended up seeing the kids anyway, even though I had the appointment. I'm just going to be an hour late, so it was no problem in the end."
No response, just a cold stare. Not even a grunt!
"...and... um, I also wanted to ask you about S."
"S? Who's S?" she asked. Remember, she's been their teacher since September. There are only 19 of them.
"Um... he usually sits in the front. He's [physical description here]" Remember that this is only the second time I have seen them.
"Oh, yeah. S. Ok. I know who you mean..."
"Ok. I was just wondering how severe his hearing problem is, and if you knew any details about it."
"He has a hearing problem?" she asked, as if it were totally inappropriate to ask the question.
"Yes," I answered, sorta sharply, I admit it. I was just so shocked that she wouldn't have noticed.
"Oh. I know nothing about that," she retorted, and looked back down at her work as if to say, "and this conversation is through."
Pleasant woman. Really.
Then I went to the Stock Market Library for a research project I have to do. There are lots of fun stories about how much I hate this library, but they really tipped me towards the bitch-die-in-hell end of the scales when they changed their library hours and made consultations be available BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. This is, mind you, the only library in France that has the kind of information I need. And oh, I forgot: it's now only open from 14-16.30 on Tuesdays and Thursdays. That means it's only open FIVE HOURS per week. Do you hear the outrage?
So I show up and give the really nice guy the information for what I need. He does his usual nice stuff and brings me over the information and nicely explains to me the situation. But guess what? The situation is not-so-nice.
All of the information I need is on microfiche. Do you remember microfiches from the 1980's? That's what we used to use before people knew about digitally storing things and making life easier on everyone involved.
Yeah, well, we're in France now, people. So it's back to the microfiche and trying to align things up with the borders and adjusting the focus. I have to print up 40-50 pages at a time from these damn microfiches, and you have no idea how time-consuming this process can be. It's incredible.
So I spent several hours with a machine that must date from 1973, and printing up and aligning and feeling like a jackass because this shit should SO be scanned into a computer by now.
Then it was 16.30, which is the most logical hour for a library to close, so I had to go. I forgot my mittens inside the library and my two euros of change from the nice guy. Now I feel like a dumbass.
From there I went to catch an express train to go to the Champs-Elysees in time for my Spanish class. Of course, the train had stopped working and we sat in the station for a good fifteen minutes, but I didn't mind too much. It was reasonably warm in there and I was early anyway.
And then I went to Spanish and all was right with the world. You know that you really love a class when you find yourself saying, "I wish this class weren't only two hours long. I think three or four would be a lot better." I also found myself thinking, "I wish I could just have a class or two over the Christmas break... two weeks is a long time to go without Spanish."
So hey. One good thing today.
Tomorrow I get to go hang out with French administration officials who are going to bitch at me for not getting my work permit earlier. Stay tuned.
Good GOD woman, that sounds like a bone crushing kind of day.