(no subject)
An extract from A Year in the Merde:
"What did you have for dinner last night, Sylvie?"
"I made some crap."
"You mean crêpes? Pancakes."
"Yes, pan-cack."
The hardest thing was to keep a straight face.
"Ok, Phillipe, what would you say to the waiter if you had no cutlery?"
"Er, excuse me, I want a knife and a fuck."
It was cruel, and my French wasn't any better than their English, but sometimes you couldn't help but giggle.
"At five PM, I was working."
"Good."
"At seven PM, I was sitting on ze train."
"OK"
"At nine, I was listening ze radio."
"Was that AM or PM?"
"No, FM."
And occasionally, especially during role-plays, you just wondered, what the hell am I doing here?
"If you do not pay our invoice, sir, we will contact our lawg."
"Your log?"
"Yes, our lawg."
"Your lump of wood?"
"Oh? OK, we will contact our lumpawoo."
"No, you mean lawyer."
"Sorry?"
"Look - I'll write it. L-A-W-Y-E-R."
"Yes, lawg."
"OK, you go ahead and contact your log."
But overall Jake was right. For a few weeks at least, English-teaching was fun, a bit like visiting a load of houses that you don't particularly want to buy. You can be nosy. It gives you a really good close-up of other people's lives without any emotional commitment.
Jake's school was happy to take me on, happy in fact to give me classes the very day I knocked on their door, especially because I'd had a "real" job, unlike so many of the no-hopers who put on a tie and become English teachers in Paris.
"What did you have for dinner last night, Sylvie?"
"I made some crap."
"You mean crêpes? Pancakes."
"Yes, pan-cack."
The hardest thing was to keep a straight face.
"Ok, Phillipe, what would you say to the waiter if you had no cutlery?"
"Er, excuse me, I want a knife and a fuck."
It was cruel, and my French wasn't any better than their English, but sometimes you couldn't help but giggle.
"At five PM, I was working."
"Good."
"At seven PM, I was sitting on ze train."
"OK"
"At nine, I was listening ze radio."
"Was that AM or PM?"
"No, FM."
And occasionally, especially during role-plays, you just wondered, what the hell am I doing here?
"If you do not pay our invoice, sir, we will contact our lawg."
"Your log?"
"Yes, our lawg."
"Your lump of wood?"
"Oh? OK, we will contact our lumpawoo."
"No, you mean lawyer."
"Sorry?"
"Look - I'll write it. L-A-W-Y-E-R."
"Yes, lawg."
"OK, you go ahead and contact your log."
But overall Jake was right. For a few weeks at least, English-teaching was fun, a bit like visiting a load of houses that you don't particularly want to buy. You can be nosy. It gives you a really good close-up of other people's lives without any emotional commitment.
Jake's school was happy to take me on, happy in fact to give me classes the very day I knocked on their door, especially because I'd had a "real" job, unlike so many of the no-hopers who put on a tie and become English teachers in Paris.