Thursday, 25 November 2010

Apparently it's National Skirt Day, but don't worry I won't subject you all to that


Another blog? So soon?

Yes.

Deal with it.

So, Tuesday I had work, with my favourite bastard 3èmes to start my day. When the teacher finally had them reasonably quiet after handing back some work (20 minutes into the lesson, might I add – nothing to do with her competence either, they really are just absolute wankers) she gave me a group of them to take into a separate room to tell me about their American Dream. One at a time, they told me they wanted “famous, have big house, have Ferrari, and beautiful wife and be happy!” until one boy had clearly done some research into the reality of the American Dream.

“I want to have lots of money, a casino, lots of beautiful cars, a big house with a pool, women for strip tease and I want cocaine.”

Honesty. You can’t beat it.

In this same lesson, a fight broke out, between two boys who are bigger than me. I don’t know why it happened, but after they’d been pulled apart by the entire class about three times I stood in between them for the remainder of the lesson, wondering if it was me who was about to receive a smack in the mouth.

Later that afternoon, I was taking a class of 6èmes under the supervision of the teacher, who had gone to photocopy a document for me to use during the lesson. I set them a small task with a diagram of the human body, and told them to underline the words they already knew. They didn’t quite understand this, and so I had to explain the task in French.

I had forgotten that this particular group still thought that I couldn’t speak French, so a few shocked gasps and some “ah, vous parlez bien français!” and I had to admit that I had been lying. At this point, a rather talkative young man in the corner decided it would be a good idea to say,

“Fuck you bitch.”

Not just once, either.

I’m not sure why he said this, I don’t know if he felt betrayed by my web of linguistic lies or what, but still – his class mates were quick to grass him up the second the teacher got back. A report was written to the principale and everything. Haha.

Wednesday, I had a class of 5èmes to take in the morning, and I was a bit stuck for ideas, seeing as I have literally had this class dumped on me with no indication of what they are studying or anything. I improvised with yet another week on presentations, this time incorporating the third person into it by making them work with a partner. During this lesson, it transpired that one boy is actually almost fluent in English, because his Mother is American. I’m not going to lie, I felt a bit intimidated by this bilingual thirteen year old. His English was at the level my French was at during A-Level – and his French was better than mine. How do I educate this kid? Make him read Hamlet? He must have found the session so boring. Well not that boring, as he asked to stay for the second half with the other group, but work on presenting himself instead – so I gave him much harder information to come up with. This could be a challenge. Bring it on.

I strolled back into my flat after that lesson, feeling a bit crap, so I decided to have a nap for a while before going to the consulate for my new passport.

No such luck – by the time I woke up, I didn’t have enough time to get to Paris, let alone make it to the consulate. Next week then? I decided to go to new fruits and try to feed myself, but I started to feel sick in the supermarket so I left, got the bus into Corbeil to buy a cold drink and to get some air and such like, by which point I was starting to feel better, so I got myself some dinner (and the best baguette ever) out of Leader Price.

My dinner sucked though. Made me feel ill again. I decided to try my hand at brewing some iced tea (which didn’t really go too well – although some more sugar and I think I’ll be good next time) and went to bed.

Thursday was a day with an okay start for me. I’d got myself a semi-decent night’s sleep for a change, so getting ready for work could be done at a leisurely pace. As I left the flat, I noticed that it had been raining. Fair enough, I thought, it’s stopped now; all is well in the world. Headphones in, open gate, make a move.

As I was crossing the bridge, I noticed that the ducks had all got out of the river, and were sitting in a puddle on the bank. Is that water better or something? Is this a duck thing to do? Can somebody please verify this for me?

Got into work, much smoother day than I had had at the same place on Tuesday. No fights, just a kid who didn’t understand “how old is your mum” or “elle a quel age, ta mere?” (well, spellchecker is changing my words so that French will have to remain inaccurate). I don’t know where this kid was from, but I’m sort of lost if I’m working in English lessons in French schools and the boy doesn’t understand anything I say to him.

Oh, and the kids who had decided to battle it out in my class on Tuesday apologised to me. Quite nice of them , actually. Certainly wasn’t expecting it.

On my way out of school, I crossed paths with one of the teachers who was on her way out for a cigarette break – “smoking to forget” - and a small bit of banter ensued about how it is worse for me as I don’t even have smoking as a comfort amidst all these horrendous children. As we reached the bottom of the stairs there was a bit of commotion in the corridor – the teacher broke all these kids up to find that a poor little kid had been getting slapped around the head by about 20 others. It was only when he escaped that I saw it was Mister “Fuck you bitch” from Tuesday afternoon. He pretended to be okay but as soon as the teacher caught up with him he burst into tears. Proper tears. I wanted to laugh at him like I had on Tuesday but he looked so devastated I just couldn’t bring myself to do it.

Damn you conscience.

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