A Day in the Life

7:45AM

Just crawled out of bed. I had very ambitiously set my alarm for the crack of dawn this morning hoping to prepare my lessons and get a head start on the day. Maybe even do some yoga or something. Instead, I pressed the snooze button nine times and got out of bed an hour and a half later than I had originally planned to. Let me tell you, falling in and out of a light sleep that many times will make you have some pretty funky dreams. The last one that I remember having had something to do with a magical guava that whispered the future into my ears if I held it a certain way. Hmmm.

Ok, I should go drink some coffee or something. Will continue this when I get to school.


10:15 AM

I just reached to school. There was, as usual, a slight probleme technique with one of the trains. I had planned to review the day's activities on my way to work but instead spent the whole time jammed up against a rather large French lady whose waves of BO alternately smelt like that of a vaguely familiar cologne, and feet. I am going to run to the staff room now and quickly try to come up with some BS to fill an hour of class time. I also need to drink some more coffee. Will check back later.


1:20 PM

Lunchtime is almost over and I am currently hiding in the computer room, a.k.a. the one room that the kids aren't allowed to be in, a.k.a the temple of peace and tranquility.

My last class made me come to a startling realization - the children are not scared of me. Not one bit.

I try to be intimidating with them, I really, really do. I make them stand up and say good morning when I enter the classroom. I threaten them with mind numbingly boring punishments if they don't do what I say. I've even tried to grow a beard to make myself look older. But no matter how much I scowl, and shout, and scream, I realize that they are as scared of me as they are of Winnie the Pooh.

It has also come to my attention that they are beginning to take great delight in purposely distorting my name. A game which, I must say, I find to be quite annoying.

When I first started working here I had every intention of making them call me 'Mr. Hadden'. However, after giving it some thought I decided that I would stick to 'Mr. Paul'. It was casual, but not too casual, easy to pronounce, and would teach them how to politely address an adult male in English. I am now, however, more commonly referred to as 'Poool' or 'Poooly'. There is also a growing trend amongst the eleven year olds to call me 'Poulet', and even more disturbingly, 'Poulette'. I am trying very hard to nip this in the bud.

I just thank Jah almighty that my mother had enough sense not to name me Peter which in French translates, quite literally, as the verb 'to fart'. Could you imagine? Being named Paul gives them enough ammo as is.

Crap. The bell is ringing. Will continue after class.

3:10PM

Stoopid kids. All they had to do was write Merry Christmas and Happy New Year in their stoopid little English notebooks. Not exactly rocket science. But nooo. They would much rather fight over who gets to sit in the front row, and whose turn it is to erase the backboard, and who hit who with a ruler, and who stole whose favorite pencil case and blah blah blah blah blah whine whine whine whine whine.

The teacher, who has lived in the States for six years, finally lost it when 'Amaury' launched his pencil case into 'Charlottes' back, who in turn threw her pencil case at 'Frederic' thinking that he was the one who started it. I will, for stylistic purposes and dramatic effect, translate what she screamed at them from French into Trinidadian English.

"Hear nah, if allyuh dotish children doh want to learn English dat is allyuh business! I done speak English already so I really doh business for allyuh! When allyuh leave France and cyah find nobody to understand yuh, allyuh go see! Yuh hear meh, allyuh go see!"

8:25 PM

I just got home. I had to give extra lessons to one of the teacher's children after school. I am exhausted. I can not think of anything else to write. Good night world.