phenoneme tecktonik

So a few posts ago I mentioned how the first class I talked to, a full class, three boys jumped up and demonstrated a very popular French club dance for me. Click on the youtube link to fully enjoy it. Plus, you get lots of views of Paris landmarks.

Carmelo comes to France

Warning: This is long. Very long. Entertaining, but you might want a snack for intermission. Also, I am aware of the run on sentences I have created.

My school has nine English teachers, and no one can decide when I should be helping them. Today I went back to school after a week off thanks to the French greve (that, ps, is still affecting some trains – since last Thursday!) I had classes (as far as I knew, because my schedule seems to change by the minute) at 1030, 1130, 2, and 3. So I had made the hour and fifteen minute commute to Taverny this morning armed with silly Halloween-themed activities for the day. It was the most prepared I’ve been for anything since I arrived in France.

As soon as I entered the school, I ran into M. Herpin (the teacher with who I’d emailed before leaving Colorado and whose first name is Dominique and who I, up until the day I met him, had assumed falsely was a woman). M. Herpin told me that he will not be here Friday and thus I won’t have to work those hours. So far so good – I am prepared for today and informed for the future.

Then at approximately 10:28, Mme Burnside (whose class is at 10:30) tells me that her students are finishing a film and thus will not need me. Fine by me. I slapped through some emails and then waited for the teacher of the 11:30 class (Mme. Pallin) to tell me what was going on for today. No sign of her at 11:35, I made my way to the assistant’s room anyhow to learn that students were there waiting for me, having been told their teacher was gone today but they were to still meet with me. So fine, I don’t need a teacher to hold my hand obviously but since my schedule changes so much I do like to confirm the hours I’m supposed to be working.

Anyhow, that hour went fine and then I broke to the teacher’s lounge to rest for lunch. I still haven’t figured out how or where to buy meal tickets so I don’t eat unless invited by colleagues – which usually happens but not today. I was to wait from 12:30 til 2 for my next class. D called at 1 to frantically tell me that he was locked inside my apartment. I had locked it from the outside while he was still inside and apparently France is so safe because it allows for the criminals to be locked INSIDE the apt – yeah I don’t know either. In horribly broken French (il est ferme dans l’appartement!) I called the landlord who said I have the only keys and maybe if D has a key he can throw it to someone outside on the ground. I was just about to get my courage up to ask my teachers if I could leave early to help him out, when he called me and said that he had found some English tourists who were willing to help a strange guy locked inside an apartment leaning out a third floor window and open the door for him. Problem solved. Humorously.

At 1:45 I ran downstairs at school to make some more copies for my class and on my way back was stopped by a Spanish teacher (who speaks better English than most of the English teachers do but apparently doesn’t “feel qualified” to teach the language) and she tells me she sent her Spanish assistant home because the language teachers all have an orientation of sorts in the afternoon. I corner M. Herpin, whose class I was to have at 3 (and who, I may remind you, had ample opportunity in the morning when he told me I wasn’t needed Friday for his class that I also wasn’t needed for this afternoon) who informed me that, why no, I wasn’t needed for the afternoon. I was “free to go!” He was sitting with about six other English teachers (4 of whom I knew, 2 of whom I still hadn’t met) and this exchange led them to all shout at the same time the days and hours in which they would need me, and also to lecture me about the importance of speaking French so I can learn. I might add here that many times I do pass English teachers in the hallways and I always say “bonjour” and nine of ten times they respond with “hi” and then continue in English. So then there’s some halfhearted joking about how disorganized the English teachers are, and a new acquaintance by the name of Mme. Northram (who reeks horribly of cigarette smoke, and thus was also very difficult to talk with for the sake of my own respiratory system) says “Oh, let’s give you our email addresses so if there’s a problem you can let us know. Because, you know, we do count on you to be here and we plan your days into our lessons and so if you’re not here….”

I kind of stopped listening because I was thinking, ‘Is this some sort of passive aggressive attack on my absences during the greve?’

I responded with “Yeah I wanted to ask you all for them because of what happened last week with the greve – I called the secretary and she said she’d tell you I’d be out – Did she tell you?”

Mme. Northram shook her head, so, yes, it was some sort of passive aggressive attack on my absences during the greve.

So whatever, all that is cleared up, and another English teacher I can’t seem to remember asks me where my housing is. I tell her, everybody breathes in deeply, one says “oh that’s an expensive area,” and suddenly I have 7 French faces staring at me judging me and 7 French accents asking “how much? How much?” repeating it over and over like those dodos in Ice Age.

There’s an English teacher, Mme Pausz, who I originally thought was the nicest little thing. She met me and immediately began introducing me to people, offering me her phone number, saying she’d invite me over for dinner and showing me around Taverny. But the more I get to know her the less I believe she’s genuine. There was the other day, when she argued with me because I said I didn’t like a cartoon they had given me to discuss with the students. This cartoon is a teacher who says “What does the USA stand for?” and the students who respond “Unlimited semi automatics.” Of any American stereotype, this one bothers me the most. I’m not sure why. Maybe it’s because I can fit most of the American stereotypes – only fluent in one language, lazy, like to eat big greasy meals, can be demanding. But I don’t fit this one, and I don’t like that, to foreigners (or at least the French) guns seem to be an integral part of understanding American culture. I know a lot of Americans have guns, and yes I know we’re one of the, if not the, most heavily armed countries in the world. So anyhow I’m trying to explain this to Mme Pausz, who exclaims “But it’s true!” (Which by the way is why I hate stereotypes – people don’t seem to see the difference between a stereotype and a truth). She went on to say, “Have you been to Virginia? No? I’ve been to Virginia. We stayed with people who had guns and they said they had them in case those n*ggers came around.”

Um ok a. France is probably 3 times more racist than the US and b. yes there are pockets of Americans who are racist and who do arm themselves in case a race of the wrong color shows up on their doorstep. Still, I just do not like the stereotype, I do not like guns, and I don’t own, nor do I know of anyone who owns, a gun. (Although since this post, my crusader for the truth -D- has listed a number of people I know who do in fact have guns - but the point is, I don.) I think another reason I’m aggravated by this stereotype is people seem to love Bowling for Columbine here, and referencing to it as one of the reasons why they think it’s *true* that all Americans have guns. (Case in point: Mme Pausz, in middle of our argument, said “Did you see what Michael Moore did? Did you see that movie?”) Yes, I did see that movie, and I saw that it made my hometown look like a place where a n*gger-hating redneck would live, toting rifles around to shoot up the next high school.

Anyway off that subject. Pausz was also the one who corrected me in front of her class, saying I should enunciate the two t’s in “better.”

SO, back to the original story, which was the English teachers hounding me to know my financial situation. Pausz had already hounded me last week, and I had already quaked under the pressure, and therefore she already knew what I was paying and apparently had already judged me because she remembered this conversation and therefore she answered their question for me.

Okay, now here’s where most of my rage in this post stems from. Here’s why:

A. These teachers don’t know anything about me. They don’t know my financial situation. Do they know that I saved up quite a bit of money the last year and a half by working full time and before that by working 60 hours a week the summer after college graduation? Do they realize I’m only here seven months and even 100€ a month makes a world of a difference of living standards here in Paris and really if it’s only for seven months why not? Do they know I have budgeted ways for me to handle the rent and still return home with a good chunk of change? Do they know I have parents who are incredibly supportive and are willing to help out when needed to assure I’m not living under le pont alexandre III? (Although there are worse bridges than alexandre to live under. Alexandre’s very nice, and actually I’d probably even have to pay rent there.)

B. Don’t they know I spent almost a full month searching, responding, visiting apartments in Paris? (Not to mention the few weeks before leaving Colorado I spent responding to ads.) Don’t they realize I felt lucky to even receive a simple response? I felt lucky even to hear the apartment had been rented! Don’t they know they each apartment (even the ones in the 300€/month range and basically are the size of my closet) elicited a list of 20, average, wannabe renters, many of whom are French and therefore are much more likely to be desired as a tenant?

C. Most importantly, why on earth is it any of their business? Are they paying me out of their own pocket? Am I stealing from them and giving to my housing fund?

Frankly I was very unhappy in my living situation in Strasbourg and this time around if I’m already spending several thousand on a 8 month exchange to France I might as well spend just a bit more and enjoy it, dammit. I have the money, I have the support, so why can’t I do what I’d like and why do I feel like I have to justify it to the teachers with whom my housing shouldn’t even be a concern in the first place. Now before you go thinking I have a mansion, I don’t. I have a nice apartment for a decent price. It’s expensive for my budget yes, but is doable. I love it, I love the neighborhood, and really, considering the endless search I was on just a matter of days ago, I feel incredibly lucky just to have found something.

That’s it for justifying my apartment. Maybe I should print out this post and hang it in the teacher’s room. Jerks.

Today in my one class I actually did teach, I had the kids read a story about Halloween, went over some of the vocab, and had them create an ending of their own. (Though I forgot how limited you can get in a different language, so the endings weren’t all that creative. Except one did make everyone laugh – “We saw a light walking down the hallway, so we left, because we had fear.”)

The kids enjoyed it all right, but really came alive at the end of the class when we had five minutes to spare. (Aside: these kids are amazing. A couple of times I’ve finished just a few minutes before the bell and I tell them they can go ahead and leave because all the teachers have said that’s okay to do, several times, in several down phrases so I’m sure they understand, but they still won’t leave until they hear the bell ring.) They barraged me as usual, with questions about TV shows. And by questions, I mean they just constantly yell out names of TV shows to see if I know any of them. Among them were Prison Break (of course), 24, Lost, Malcolm (which after a long discussion of them trying to explain what it is, they finally explained to me that it’s Malcolm in the middle), and Desperate Housewives. They all suffered from the usual shock they display when I say I don’t watch any of them. Then (this exact situation happened the other day too) the girl in the class spoke up and squeaked “Friends?!?!” and when I said “oh yeah, I love Friends!” she leaned back in her seat, completely validated, as if I had just confirmed my status as an American because I like “Friends.”

Anyway this one kid whose name I can’t remember was quiet most of the class, mostly I think because he was years behind the other kids’ English and couldn’t really understand everything, looked at me and asked, “Do you know the Denver Nuggets?” I might add here that I had not told them where I am from - only that I'm American.

I don’t think I can explain in words the level of astonishment I had for being asked this question. A kid in the back explained he loves the Denver Nuggets because of Carmelo Anthony. It made my day. So instead of leaving you on the indignant note of dealing with judgmental teachers, I’ll leave you with the discussion of the one Denverite who has an international footprint.

Greve'd

I've been here almost a month. In response, the French are holding a greve. A strike. Busses, metros, trains, trams, oh and schools (yeah I don't know the correlation either) - no one wants to work. So I don't want to work either. Rather, I can't. I have to take, au minimum, three forms of transport to my school. I called the secretary today who speaks no English and the conversation went something like this:

"Bonjour, Lycee Jacques Prevert."
"Bonjour Madame. Je suis l'assistante d'angalis, et je ne peut pas venir au lycee aujourd'hui a cause du greve."
"Ah oui. Je vais vous marquer absente."
"Ok, merci."
Silence.
Secretary: "Allo?"
Phone cuts out. So just to be sure she knows I'm out and she'll tell my teachers, I call her back:

She says: "Ah oui j'ai compris!" And then follows that with a bunch of French gibberish. I had no idea what she was saying, so I asked to repeat herself. She says, "Oh, non, c'est bon, c'est bon, a demain."

Whatever. The point of the story is the greve-ing here in France is like a national pastime, leading to numerous French versions of snow days. A newspaper yesterday spent two full pages talking about what the French think about the greves, and then published a little blurb about what one can do to avoid the greve problems. They include:
1. Telecommute to work
2. Bicycle
3. Carpool
4. Sleep at a coworker's house that is closer to work
and 5. Enjoy the day! Do the things you've always meant to do!

So I'm doing the latter. I found a very quaint little square a few minutes from my apartment with free wireless. My neighborhood is profoundly quiet, due to the large numbers of tourists who can't get up here via the metro.

Speaking of my apartment, I have one! I love it. I will post pics as soon as I know how to post pics. The area I live in is great, exactly what I think of when I think of Paris. Except that I can't find a supermarche. Only little marches, that charge 5€ for a box of cereal. So, it's a pricey area.

The other day in one of my classes, a kid raised his hand and said *imagine thick French accent* "My favorite actor is Matt Damon. And Wesley Snipes. And Denzel Washington. And Arnold Schwarzenegger." I loved that.

The first day I "taught," a few teachers took me to their classes and put me on display like an American monkey. One literally said, "This is Sara, she's American, ask her questions." Three different classes asked me about "Prison Break" and before I could even say anything, the kids all broke into numerous giddy side conversations about how much they love Prison Break. Another class exclaimed over the differences in the accents between the Simpsons and the French-dubbed "Les Simpsons." At the end of this conversation, they erupted into the "spiderpig" song from the movie - in French. And in another class, three boys demonstrated for me the phenomenon tectonique, which is apparently very popular here in France and seems to be a mix of krumping and the dances the crazy people do with lights at raves. I also was lectured about saying the word "better" without enunciating the 't' sound - because that's how the British do it.

Awkward

There are two things in the French language that repeatedly leave me tongue-tied.

-The question: Tu viens d'ou? (Where are you from?) When they say it quickly, it always throws me off, and my general response is a blank look. No matter how many times I've heard that question (which is quite a few), I cannot register it quick enough without looking pretty dumb.

-The response: Merci. Of all things in a language, I should be able to respond to a simple "thank you." But I can't. I have responses in the back of my head (je vous emprui, pas de probleme, di rien) but I can never act quick enough to say them. In English, if someone thanks me for saying, I usually say "sure" or "yep." So I suppose I could respond with oui here but I just don't. Instead, it comes out more like a gutteral grunt, or even a "meh."

Pas d'appartement

So I almost had an apartment today. I saw it Saturday. It was through an agency (bad) but very close to everything and it was cute enough. The guy told me how much I would have to pay and said come back Monday. I asked him if I needed money, he said not yet. I came back Monday. Suddenly, I was thrown a one year lease, 300€ extra he didn't tell me about, a move in date a week later than what was agreed on, and I had to put 4500€ in the bank and not touch it for the next year. I told them I was not informed of the 300€ and I was worried about what other charges they'd tack on, one lady argued for me, the rest argued against, and then I stared straight into four French faces, all with that stupid French expression, you know the one, the I'm-trying-to-look-like-I-care-but-I-really-don't-and-what-I-really-want-is-
another-vacation-and-frankly-I-don't-care-if-I-help-you-
or-not-because-our-country-unlike-your-stupid-country-
does-not-base-itself-on-customer-service look. They said I had to put down 930€ today (remember this part of the story: "I asked him if I needed money, he said not yet.") to hold the apartment until I could get enough money transferred over and if I changed my mind, they would keep the cash. To which I said, "Fine I'll go withdraw the money and come back," left the office, and didn't go back. I researched two other agency options, then heard that another apartment I looked at on Saturday was still available. Thus, provided everything this time goes smoothly, I will sharing an apartment down by Jardin de Luxembourg in the 6th. Far away from everything, but at this point I don't care. It's not through an agency, and it has a washer/dryer. (This is very exciting to me.) It's technically a one bedroom so we'll have to be creative building a second bedroom, but there's more than enough room to accomplish this. What I've learned though from my few weeks in France is that you should never count on anything. So I will wait til I get concrete evidence that I have an apartment (which in France still doesn't mean much.)

In other news, I washed my carte d'orange (metro pass). In the washing machine. So that's fun. I went around Saturday asking if anyone would replace it. I was repeatedly told it was impossible, though I really fail to understand how it's impossible to give me another coupon when I have the coupon and the receipt to prove I'm not making it up. They told me that I have to go to the ticket counter everytime I go through the metro and ask them to let me through. Til November. Um....no, thank you.

In other other news, I was supposed to start teaching tomorrow but the academie scheduled my medical exam for my carte de sejour at 1:30. So I called the school and said I'm supposed to teach 10:30 til 4 tomorrow but my medical exam is at 1:30, and the lady responded, "Ok so you cannot work tomorrow, I will tell the English teachers." Simple as pie here, calling in sick. (Though, yes, it wasn't really 'calling in sick' b/c I have to go to this exam.)

Anyway I don't know. France stands for frustrating. But in my numerous confrontations with French people I can already feel myself picking up the language faster than I did the whole time in Strasbourg. And apparently I carry myself so well that people think I know everything. Just during this last week I was asked:
1. if I knew where the sugar was at the market
2. if I knew anything about white wine and if I could help pick a good kind out
3. if I knew the neighborhood very well
4. which direction is Barbes Rochechouart...or however you spell it.

And with the exception of the last question, when I responded "non je ne sais pas, desolee," I was met with equally sour looks of disappointment slash anger.

This post is probably not making people jump off their couches to come to France, I realize. But maybe in a few months I will have more posts that will.

Les choses amusants

Two funny things I've seen in Paris and its surroundings:

1. A full grown businessman in suit and tie with briefcase riding a bicycle from the velib program - a rented bike with a basket and a little rented helmet complete with flashing lights atop the head.

2. One side of a building with a sign that read: "association regarde." The other side of the building, being too small, had the same sign, only couldn't fit the whole phrase, so read: "ass. regarde."

Triste

I'm feeling very not happy right now. Not angry though. I guess I would call it, disappointed. This apartment hunt has been much more than I anticipated, and really the thing that's most pushing my buttons is how unresponsive even the agencies are. On top of that, building friendships in this city is hard. It seems that assistants in smaller towns/academies bond quickly - but in Paris, it's so massive that it's hard to get yourself thrown into a situation where we can easily be together. If that makes sense. So I guess why I'm feeling this way is one big mixture of disappointment with having no home, confusion with what's to come, loneliness from not having a little group of friends to swap stories with, and most of all hunger yet boredom with eating the same meals over and over again b/c D's kitchen is basically a sink and a burner. There's no oven or microwave with which to cook anything. We have discovered some meals we're capable of with only a burner, but frankly it doesn't seem like much fun to be simultaneously cooking and stepping over all my crap that has yet to be taken out of a suitcase......

Sigh. All of this just makes me want to crawl into bed and watch bad TV.

The Colorado Rockies made it into the playoffs. First time since 1995. And the Avs missed the playoffs earlier this year - first time since they came to Colorado in 1996. Strange things are a-happenin'.

Lycee Jacques Prevert

Come with me and imagine, if you will, walking down a street in suburban France, thirty minutes north of Paris. As you approach what looks to be a school, you notice a large basketball court to your left and a few kids leaning against the fences. Past them is a wall completely covered in various forms of graffiti. A sign ahead notes that a visitor's entrance is the second gate so you past the first one, a very solid white gate seemingly preventing anyone from ever leaving. Next is the visitor's gate, surrounded by several loitering French high schoolers, all dressed in thug-type clothing a la 1995, smoking cigarettes, and chatting furiously before classes resume. Oh and imagine being in inner city Philadelphia b/c that's what it felt like. Now quit imagining yourself and imagine me and my infinite American suburban wisdom trying to weasel past ethnicities of all types and voluntarily past the gigantic gate closing all from humanity, simultaneously attempting unsuccessfully to ignore the graffiti to my left and the probable dozens of eyes staring curiously at the back of my head. I present to you, my very own "Dangerous Minds" experience.

Ok this might be an exaggeration (but really, only a very slight one). I went to my school today to see what in the heck I was to be doing. I was completely out of my element. As soon as I said I was an assistante, I was thrown to the no-English-speaking-not-even-hello secretary. Which was fine except that even as I repeatedly reminded her my French was very bad, she kept speaking at the speed of sound. Though most of it was her constantly berating me for having no apartment yet, it was overwhelming. And the hardest part to swallow was that I spent a good 20 minutes in her office, staring at her running at the mouth in the last ditch effort to understand what she was saying and formulating sentences and then spitting them out in horrible American fashion - but we got by. Papers were signed, the lack of apartment was discussed (to no end), and I was informed of what else I need to bring her before I can get paid. And yet, when she took me to who I like to call 'god', she proceeded to berate me even more.

God said: "Elle a bien compris le francais?" (She understood French?)
Angry secretary: "Pas du tout! Je repete et je repete..." (Not at all! I repeat and I repeat...)

Sigh. Luckily I did prove to god that I do speak a few words of French (frankly, much better than god herself speaks English) to which god replied "Ah, tu comprends francais." Validated.

On to god. Before meeting her, angry secretary took me up to the teacher's lounge to find an English speaker. English speakers be many at this school. But most of them expressed shock at the lack of apartment and relayed this to angry secretary who then reititerated that she too was shocked I have no apartment. I mean, really. Happily, the English teachers all seem very nice, which makes it seem alright to overlook they're blatant lack of organization skills.

Anyhow, like I said, on to god. Why do I call her this? In the midst of these English teachers, one after the other kept saying "Oh you need to see Madame Autefeuil" (or something like that.) Then when angry secretary lady asked if I had any questions, I asked, hey do I have some kind of schedule? To which she replied "ah oui, on va visiter Mme Autefeuil." God did not provide with me said schedule and instead asked if I could stay til 4 to meet some more English professeurs, and then in horribly punctuated English, declared, "Ok. We wait. In room...with....teachers? We wait. Upstair. Right. We wait." I said ok I'll wait, and she ushered me upstairs, never to be seen again. God works in mysterious ways. I still have no idea what she does. And she doesn't always have all the answers. Quite thematic, aren't I?

So, basically, not much at all has been accomplished. One teacher gave me a pseudo-schedule, but then kept shrugging everytime I asked her questions about it, which makes me think she just drew it up because she was bored. But it looks like they're keen to put most of my hours in to only a few days so that's good.

And now back to my housing search.