Wednesday, January 25, 2006
Jiro jiro minaide kudasai, or: the day Dan dropped the F-bomb
I dislike working in room 6. First of all, it's very cramped. Secondly, the window behind the students opens up onto the top floor of Vivre, where all the scumbag schoolkids hang out when they're done rendering their teacher's lives futile for the day. The only concession to privacy room 6 affords is that the lower half of the window is frosted, meaning that should someone want to peer into a class, they would have to come right up to the window in order to do so.
And what should happen the other day but exactly this? I was facing the window, my two students across the desk from me glowering at their textbooks, attempting to break down the communication barrier by a sheer effort of will. Suddenly, a loathsome, Bon Jovi-esque hairstyle appeared over the frosted portion of the glass, followed by the vacuous face of some wannabe-gangster schoolboy. He scanned the goings-on on the desk with an expression of childlike wonder, then his eyes rose and met mine. I retrieved the situation as only Dan can:
"Yeah, mate-- fuck off."
His eyes widened in alarm and he disappeared. My joy at having vanquished this hair-dye serpent from my linguistic Garden of Eden was tempered only by the ashen-faced horror with which my two students were now regarding me across the desk, oblivious to the presence of the erstwhile voyeur.
It could only have been more perfect had my manager been sitting in room 7.
And what should happen the other day but exactly this? I was facing the window, my two students across the desk from me glowering at their textbooks, attempting to break down the communication barrier by a sheer effort of will. Suddenly, a loathsome, Bon Jovi-esque hairstyle appeared over the frosted portion of the glass, followed by the vacuous face of some wannabe-gangster schoolboy. He scanned the goings-on on the desk with an expression of childlike wonder, then his eyes rose and met mine. I retrieved the situation as only Dan can:
"Yeah, mate-- fuck off."
His eyes widened in alarm and he disappeared. My joy at having vanquished this hair-dye serpent from my linguistic Garden of Eden was tempered only by the ashen-faced horror with which my two students were now regarding me across the desk, oblivious to the presence of the erstwhile voyeur.
It could only have been more perfect had my manager been sitting in room 7.
