So Spring Break is over. "The good times is past and gone." Yes, that's right, it's back to work. To be fair, Spring Break ended over a week ago, but I just wasn't into writing anything down, partly because I was tired, and partly because I didn't think that anything would be served by repeating how gray it likes to stay outside. But it does. A lot.
The weather's nice today, though: the sun is out, the birds are doing their thing, chirping and crapping on every flat surface they can find, and it's a balmy 70 degrees. So I've decided to take advantage of the accompanying good mood and dazzle everyone once again with my writing skills.
Like I said before, there wasn't a lot about last week that needed telling, unless people are interested in my sleeping habits. Yes? No? Well, OK. But you're missing out, let me tell you. Seriously.
OK, enough of that. So, Friday. Ah, Friday. Now THAT was a day! It started out normal enough: after rolling around in bed for about four hours, I managed to fall asleep, only be to be awakened by a dream of a green rabbit creature chewing on my toe. I tried to wake up several times, couldn't, and when I finally did, I was thoroughly freaked out. I guess I should say here that waking up to find an animal chewing on me is one of my more neurotic fears, but one that manages to do it to me every time. Goodbye Sleep, hello Staring At The Ceiling.
Don't worry, I fell back to sleep....for about two hours. My phone rang at about 7.45, but of course I didn't KNOW it was my phone at the time: I was having trouble deciding between some kind explosive device or my alarm clock. I picked it up without my glasses, stared at it, and wondered why this thing was making all that noise and vibrating. Do I disconnect the blue or red wire? Hey, I know, just push a button! That always works!
As it turns out, my teacher, Andreas, had messed up his back the day before getting Louis out of the car, and he wanted to know if I could cover the 2nd and 4th periods for him. Ummmm. If you don't know already, moments like this have a tendency to throw me into a kind of moral crisis that eventually crystalizes into two options: be selfish and screw it, or help someone who generally needs it, which translated in this case to telling him "no" and going back to sleep (preferred selfish option), or saying "sure, no problem," and covering the classes (detestable yet ultimately more helpful option). Usually, I just agree and go, but this time I managed to tell him that I couldn't do the 8.45 class, but that I would gladly do the 10.20 hour with his fifth grade. So much for my day off.
The assignment I gave them was simple enough: they were to make up a worksheet themselves covering all the material from units 1 through 6, then switch with a partner and, you know, do it. Easy. Or at least that's what I thought. I came into class, explained the assignment in English, wrote it on the board for good measure, and waited for the magic of learning to happen.
Glassy stares.
The first fifth grade I had a couple of weeks ago before break could understand pretty much everything I said, or at least they were good at acting like they could; this one, not so much. I tried a few more times, but they kind of sqirmed in their seats, looked at the floor, or if they were really ambitious, opened their workbooks to a random page and stared at it. The dispair in the room was palpable. Hmmmm. I was a little torn now, becuase I've been told to say as much as possible in English, but they weren't really understanding the assignment, which does tend to affect a class, or so I've been told. Enter cute little girl in the first row.
"Könntest Du das auf Deutsch sagen (Could you say that in German)?"
Of course! German! I am in Germany, after all!
In German it is, then: "Ja, ihr solltet ein....Worksheet.... auf Englisch selber von Unit eins bis zum Unit sechs machen, und dann tun es mit Partnern.
(Yeah, you should make a worksheet yourselves in English from unit one to unit six, then do it with partners)
Funny thing is, I had no idea what the word "worksheet" was in German, and they had absolutely no idea either. We were all comrades in ignorance, you could say. I put a couple words together in my head, trying to make a word that might be able to function as "worksheet," but making artifical words can be kind of risky; instead of asking for a worksheet, I could stumble across a rare mega-noun and insult someone's grandparents.
So I just kept repeating the word over and over: "You know, a worksheet....like in your workbook. A worksheet. It's a sheet that you....work with." It was fun, let me tell you. A blast. In fact, I liked it so much, that I was content to let that be the rest of the class, but sadly, a boy in the back piped up and said: "Oh, ein Arbeitsbogen!" Uh, sure. Whatever you say. Do that.
And they did, like little beavers, little hyper rodents just beginning to feel the first stirrings of that wonderful time we call Puberty. During my several laps of walking around the room trying to look like I was checking out what they were writing down, a note changed hands. Yes, one of THOSE notes. Well, after a couple minutes of inspiring muted giggles, it was handed over to me (totally without my request, I should add) in what I can only call a distorted mockery of a court room scene. All eyes were on me as I unfolded the torn bit of paper. The air was electric. Holding my breath, I read:
"Do you want to make sex with M---?"
Ja: Nein:
Make sex! Boy howdy! All I need are two pieces of ply wood, four 3/8 inch washers, a claw hammer, and a plumber's friend! Oh, and ear plugs. Always use protection. Who's with me?!
The fact that the note was written in English was impressive, but I wasn't sure if I should correct the grammer or not, seeing as how he had obviously put some thought both into the note, and the accompanying images. Ultimately, I decided against it; someone else can open Pandora's Box if they want to, but I won't be the one doing it. I settled instead with a simple "that's not nice" and "please don't do that again." He wrote another note thirty seconds later, which I ignored. I like to think we understood each other.
Once again, thanks kids.
The weather's nice today, though: the sun is out, the birds are doing their thing, chirping and crapping on every flat surface they can find, and it's a balmy 70 degrees. So I've decided to take advantage of the accompanying good mood and dazzle everyone once again with my writing skills.
Like I said before, there wasn't a lot about last week that needed telling, unless people are interested in my sleeping habits. Yes? No? Well, OK. But you're missing out, let me tell you. Seriously.
OK, enough of that. So, Friday. Ah, Friday. Now THAT was a day! It started out normal enough: after rolling around in bed for about four hours, I managed to fall asleep, only be to be awakened by a dream of a green rabbit creature chewing on my toe. I tried to wake up several times, couldn't, and when I finally did, I was thoroughly freaked out. I guess I should say here that waking up to find an animal chewing on me is one of my more neurotic fears, but one that manages to do it to me every time. Goodbye Sleep, hello Staring At The Ceiling.
Don't worry, I fell back to sleep....for about two hours. My phone rang at about 7.45, but of course I didn't KNOW it was my phone at the time: I was having trouble deciding between some kind explosive device or my alarm clock. I picked it up without my glasses, stared at it, and wondered why this thing was making all that noise and vibrating. Do I disconnect the blue or red wire? Hey, I know, just push a button! That always works!
As it turns out, my teacher, Andreas, had messed up his back the day before getting Louis out of the car, and he wanted to know if I could cover the 2nd and 4th periods for him. Ummmm. If you don't know already, moments like this have a tendency to throw me into a kind of moral crisis that eventually crystalizes into two options: be selfish and screw it, or help someone who generally needs it, which translated in this case to telling him "no" and going back to sleep (preferred selfish option), or saying "sure, no problem," and covering the classes (detestable yet ultimately more helpful option). Usually, I just agree and go, but this time I managed to tell him that I couldn't do the 8.45 class, but that I would gladly do the 10.20 hour with his fifth grade. So much for my day off.
The assignment I gave them was simple enough: they were to make up a worksheet themselves covering all the material from units 1 through 6, then switch with a partner and, you know, do it. Easy. Or at least that's what I thought. I came into class, explained the assignment in English, wrote it on the board for good measure, and waited for the magic of learning to happen.
Glassy stares.
The first fifth grade I had a couple of weeks ago before break could understand pretty much everything I said, or at least they were good at acting like they could; this one, not so much. I tried a few more times, but they kind of sqirmed in their seats, looked at the floor, or if they were really ambitious, opened their workbooks to a random page and stared at it. The dispair in the room was palpable. Hmmmm. I was a little torn now, becuase I've been told to say as much as possible in English, but they weren't really understanding the assignment, which does tend to affect a class, or so I've been told. Enter cute little girl in the first row.
"Könntest Du das auf Deutsch sagen (Could you say that in German)?"
Of course! German! I am in Germany, after all!
In German it is, then: "Ja, ihr solltet ein....Worksheet.... auf Englisch selber von Unit eins bis zum Unit sechs machen, und dann tun es mit Partnern.
(Yeah, you should make a worksheet yourselves in English from unit one to unit six, then do it with partners)
Funny thing is, I had no idea what the word "worksheet" was in German, and they had absolutely no idea either. We were all comrades in ignorance, you could say. I put a couple words together in my head, trying to make a word that might be able to function as "worksheet," but making artifical words can be kind of risky; instead of asking for a worksheet, I could stumble across a rare mega-noun and insult someone's grandparents.
So I just kept repeating the word over and over: "You know, a worksheet....like in your workbook. A worksheet. It's a sheet that you....work with." It was fun, let me tell you. A blast. In fact, I liked it so much, that I was content to let that be the rest of the class, but sadly, a boy in the back piped up and said: "Oh, ein Arbeitsbogen!" Uh, sure. Whatever you say. Do that.
And they did, like little beavers, little hyper rodents just beginning to feel the first stirrings of that wonderful time we call Puberty. During my several laps of walking around the room trying to look like I was checking out what they were writing down, a note changed hands. Yes, one of THOSE notes. Well, after a couple minutes of inspiring muted giggles, it was handed over to me (totally without my request, I should add) in what I can only call a distorted mockery of a court room scene. All eyes were on me as I unfolded the torn bit of paper. The air was electric. Holding my breath, I read:
"Do you want to make sex with M---?"
Ja: Nein:
Make sex! Boy howdy! All I need are two pieces of ply wood, four 3/8 inch washers, a claw hammer, and a plumber's friend! Oh, and ear plugs. Always use protection. Who's with me?!
The fact that the note was written in English was impressive, but I wasn't sure if I should correct the grammer or not, seeing as how he had obviously put some thought both into the note, and the accompanying images. Ultimately, I decided against it; someone else can open Pandora's Box if they want to, but I won't be the one doing it. I settled instead with a simple "that's not nice" and "please don't do that again." He wrote another note thirty seconds later, which I ignored. I like to think we understood each other.
Once again, thanks kids.
posted by Der verwirrte Ausländer at 1:00 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home