:: Monday, October 14, 2002 ::

"And it's days like this that burn me..." (Bob Schneider)

She's French, speaks fluent Italian, is married to a German, and is apparently still learning English. She can't tell the difference between Querida and Catrina. She talks in class about lovers, incest, "sexy music," and all other things not approved by We The Administration. She is Isabel Seeger, our Spanish teacher.
After she flounces in the door 3 minutes late and makes us say, "¡Ooo, la profesora es muy tarde! ¡Es terrible!" and tells us that she forgot our quizzes again and asks where Braulio went to, that naughty boy, she faces us in her 5'1" idiosyncrasy and declares, "Aright crass, let's practrice our vocrabrary."
There is no way to describe the full dynamics of Elementary Spanish I with her. Even I, who had 4 years of high school Spanish, cannot comprendo.

Mrs. S: "Aright clase, ask me 'Do you wear miniskirts?'"
Class: "¿Lleva usted las minifaldas?"
Mrs. S: *Gasp of death* "Ohh, no, no, no! ::rattle of unintelligble Spanish with an unmistakably French accent:: Why do you ask me this? Tsk, tsk. Now correct your homework one thousand times. One million for you, Braulio. Everyone say, 'The professor is horrible.'"
Class: "La profesora es horrible."

Mrs. S: "You are so much more brillante than the other class. They did not even know what 'casanova' means! Now Cecilia, comó se dice, 'I have 100 men in my life?'"
Cecilia: "Tengo..."
Mrs. S: "Ooooh, Timoteo, now you must say, 'I do not have 100 women in my life?' ::laughs wickedly:: Timoteo, we must pick on you some more. Come here to the blackboard."

Mrs. S: "Oh, girls, here is a word you have to know. 'Beso' means 'kiss.' See? :: raises eyebrows provocatively:: Ach, why did you get me on this subject? Ayiyi."

Anyway, this was just to set the stage for a very bad experience on this very bad Monday. I was already in the shadowlands between crying and laughing when I got to español this afternoon. La profesora walked in today shrieking at a pitch higher than any operatic mortal should be able to hold, "Quieroquieroquieroquieroquieroquiero! Ayiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyiyi!" If I had been thinking rationally, I would have left immediately. I wasn't thinking rationally.
It was bad from the start. Catrina made the mistake of asking, "Why do you say 'a la semana' instead of 'de la semana'?" Mrs. S. responded in usual form, "Because, of course, we don't. No, of course, do we class?" before lapsing into unintellible Spanish muy rapido. Querida sat next to me with her tongue sticking out, reciting, "Tengo ganas de trabajaphmshkldhrsk," as most of the class channelled bufuddlement. As usual. Catrina started coughing very loudly (Mrs. Seeger probably called her "Querida" again), and I started to laugh. Catrina started to laugh. Timoteo started to laugh. Querida put her head down on the desk, shoulders heaving (I think she was laughing). The rest of the class started to laugh.
I looked up when Mrs. S. put a quiz down on my desk (the wrong one, incidentally). She was bristling. "You and Timoteo are imposible! Now go write the word for 'ice cream' on the board." I wrote "helado" in large letters and sat down, more inclined to cry, but wanting to laugh at the wonder of it all.
At this point, Mrs. S. was rattling off more Spanish, oblivious to the mute confusion on most people's faces and Querida's frequent, "¿Comó?" The chaos once again resulted in laughter, and a minute later, I heard, "You need to shape up, Betania. You are not behaving as you should today."
Argh. Why me? Why today? ¿Por qué, Dios?
I came home, threw a few objects, jumped until my calves hurt, and am now doing better. Marginally.
Mondays should be abolished.

Labels: Yore

:: Bethany Bassett - 5:13 PM :: + ::