a few of the things we want

Last week my friend Alanna and I went to see a singer-who-will-not-be-named. I was feeling like doing laundry and going to bed early, but we are party animals so we went. I brought an apple to eat while we waited for the concert to start. That sentence is both a fact AND a hint at who the concert was. I'm trying to eat five fruits and vegetables a day lately.

Fast-forward through the normal parts of a concert that involve singing and clapping to the part where someone in the audience yelled something not very nice, and everything immediately went off the rails. The guy doing lighting saw an opportunity and started shining spotlights on people yelling in the audience, and on the singer, who was yelling back. Pretty soon the only people who weren't yelling were me, Alanna, and the sweet older couple sitting next to us.

It was definitely the most uncomfortable I've been at a concert, and once at a concert in college the man next to me kept grabbing my butt because he thought it was his girlfriend's.

I wanted to leave and get started on my laundry and not have to deal with the spotlights and the fighting but we were worried someone would see us leaving and scream at us.

Finally the singer announced that she was too upset to sing anymore. It seemed like a weak excuse, the other day I did a conference call for two hours even though I had to go to the bathroom the entire time, which seems like a bigger deal than being upset. I guess that is one way I know I am not famous. That and the only people who recognize me consistently are a cashier at Whole Foods and the bus driver who saw me jaywalk once.

"So ___ all of you, this show is ___ing over I never wanted to do it anyway!" said the singer.

"Oh dear, now that's really a shame." said the sweet older lady next to me.

"You again." said the bus driver who saw me jaywalk once. I really need to start taking a different bus.

my mom's going to make blueberry pancakes

Here is the funny thing about teaching in France: I have no teaching experience. And I've never tried to hide that, from the program or my schools or teachers. I tell them all the time that my only experience with English is speaking it, and my only qualification for working with kids is that my favorite food is candy.

My actual job title is "assistant," to a real English teacher. But for me and all the other assistants I know, that's somehow been interpreted as teaching classes to 400 kids a week, and doing all the lessons completely on my own. So, I'm just making this teaching thing up as I go along. Sometimes it works, sometimes it doesn't. If it works half the time I consider that a success. The kids like it, the teachers never complain, and sometimes I'm excellent. (Especially in kindergarten. I'm a natural with five-year-olds.)

Until today, when one teacher stopped me as I walked into her class and told me she had some news.

"I've been talking with some of the other teachers," she said "and a lot of us don't want you to come to our classes anymore."

"Oh, ok." I said, somewhat taken aback by what sounded more like a 14-year-old not inviting me to her birthday party than a grown woman talking to a college student. "I see, English every week does take up a lot of time."


I was rarely invited to birthday parties as a child.

"No, it's not the time at all. The thing is, and it's nothing against you but, you're not a good teacher. In fact you're actually a really bad teacher."

"Alright, that's fair." I wondered why she had felt like she needed to add this, and why she hadn't said anything three months ago. "I've never taught before, and I'm only supposed to be an assistant, but if you're ok without my help that's no problem at all."

"Oh we're MORE than ok without your help." Oh my goodness why was she being so mean. "You just confuses the kids more - it's horrible."

I thanked her again, and didn't bother to remind her for the tenth time that I'm not a teacher. But if I had had more time to chat, say, two minutes and forty-eight seconds, I would have said this:



Then I got a crazy idea that no one wanted me anymore, and the principals would fire me and I would be sent back to the US with a frown-face stamp on my passport. But I went around and did a head count, and the rest of my teachers still definitely want me. Everyone else thought I did an awesome job today. And a boy with a bloody nose walked up to me right before I left and said, with excellent pronunciation: "Good morning, Brooke. I've got a bloody nose."

Granted, it was afternoon. But I don't think he has a horrible English teacher.

look for the girl shaking her fist in your direction

Tonight I was eating cheese and kinder in the hostel common room when the guy from the front desk came up to me and asked if my name was Brooke.

"Your friend just called the front desk looking for you," he explained. "She said I should look for the really skinny girl with her hair in a bun."

"Well," I said, "she's lucky I wore my hair in a bun today."

He said it hadn't been much of a gamble.

Curse you, friends and hostel employees, for thinking I'm so predictable. And a double curse on you, hostel employee, for memorizing my hairstyle preferences because I've been here so long. Tomorrow I'm spiking my hair, so best of luck to you.



I PROMISE this will be my last post labeled "Angry Threats." It's been a stressful week.

curse you

This is how I feel about whoever ate all my tomatoes from the community fridge.
They were just tomatoes, but they were such good tomatoes.