| That relaxation, however, lasted for a total of thirty three minutes and fifteen seconds. As Jess and I waited at our gate for our plane to arrive we kept busy with our usual game of "people-watching". For those who play, airports are a great place to see fashion disasters, clumsy good-byes and greetings, and experience the best in conversational eaves-dropping. Airports are like zoos for humans. The only thing missing is the coin machines for the food. During this round we both overheard a girl---a portly girl wearing a "wannabe" beret to be specific---speaking about what sounded like our program. So we excitedly and awkwardly entered the conversation by saying with fake enthusiasm something like "you're a language assistant too". At first it seemed like striking oil. She had done the same program the year before so we started pumping her for information. She talked about how she was from Seattle or Portland or something and how great the life was as an assistant and how much partying there was to be done in France and blah blah blah. Then I asked about the schools and she talked about how the teachers didn't care about the language assistants and that she was planning to bribe them this year with California wine ? Why anyone would bring California wine to the region that makes some of the best wine on this earth is one of those unanswerable questions like "what is the meaning of life?". Finally I asked the portly Portland girl the question that had been on my mind and that was about to send my stress level rocketing out of control. How much French will I be required to speak in class? As I awaited her response I could feel the sweat beading up on my now red face. And when she said she spoke nearly all French I almost fainted. It was a struggle to pull my head back as I bobbed my head and said something like "really?" "interesting?" or some other emergency catch phrase. Then it happened. All of the other people surrounding us busy with their own versions of the people-watching game revealed themselves as language assistance and also awkwardly entered our awkward conversation with fake enthusiasm. The girl was now in the spotlight answering a barrage of questions and loving every minute of it. Watching her animatedly respond I realized that finding her was not like striking oil at all. The only thing that could have drawn a comparison was her dumpy butt that kind of resembled the bottom of an oil derek and the need for someone to shove a cap in the hole in her face that would not stop spewing. Since there was no chance of that I decided to race to the bathroom to wash the sweat from my now soaked face. As I stared at myself in the dirty mirror I managed to calm myself remembering that the job was only twelve hours a week and I had a contract so the school could not fire me no matter how terrible my performance. I bet tenured teachers have a similar outlook. I returned to the gate wearing my refreshed outlook ready to continue with the adventure. |
