My Classes Part I

What will follow are summaries of my classes, to give you a taste of my leisurely week.

Mondays and Wednesdays for me are the equivalent of the TEFL marathon. I head out the door at half past six, dolled up in slacks, shirt, tie, and an increasing number of layers to keep out the cold, and take the metro to Hradcanska. From there I have a ten-minute walk to the picturesque "station" for the "distinguished" bus line of Anexia. The station is merely a few signs posted beside the road spaced about fifteen yards apart. This would not be a problem, except my bus pulls up to a different "terminal" every day, which means I have to spend a few minutes checking bus numbers, and occasionally asking drivers where they are driving to, something I've learned to say in Czech without too much of an accent.

I take the bus to a village called Rakovnik, a small village about an hour outside of Prague. Unfortunately, there are several such villages on the way, and the bus makes stops at ALL of them. This turns an hour drive into almost a two hour drive marked by clinging to my armrest as the driver, who usually looks like a failed taxi driver (too much hash maybe?) whips this mammoth coach bus through alleys nearly wide enough for a wheelbarrow.

Rakovnik is a quiet and charming little village that happens to be home to main Czech contingent of Procter and Gamble. My first day, I got lost on the way from the bus stop, and decided to follow the billowing clouds of smoke. Sure enough I found the factory. But it's hard to badmouth the company that gives me so much business, so I'll leave it at that.

I teach five ninety-minute classes back to back (to back, etc.) on Mondays and Wednesdays there. I do get my own classroom, although the heat is strangely nonfunctional. I've asked repeatedly, and the common response seemed to be the equivalent of, "Bah! Humbug. Back to work, Cratchet!"

My first class of the day features the HR Director of Education (the man in charge of hiring and firing me). He and his colleagues are more interested in conversation, so I have been working on unscrambling my brains from the bus ride to highlight some grammatical points for them to tweak their English.

The rest of the day is made up of classes designated as "Intermediate". This is a disgusting exaggeration. They are great learners, and have a decent grasp of some important words (to be, to work, death to capitalism) however their listening and speaking is certainly not at the same level as their reading skills, due mostly to the fact that they often have to read emails from their American counterparts. Thus most of my Mondays are spent with me speaking monosyllabically, gesturing like a chimp with ADHD, and smiling like hell.

Just a few days ago my flatmate, Alex, and I got into a discussion about this. Days and classes like this make you feel like you're playing an elaborate game of Pictionary, and either your a terrible drawer, or your partners can't guess for beans. Probably both. Only there's no booze or fondue involved.

My last class of the day is a one-to-one with a budding manager, Jaromir, who has been encouraged to take English so that he could one day become plant manager. His English is wonderful, although he is such a commanding presence, I have to work to find the courage to tell him, "No, Jaromir, you don't cover up your children, you tuck them in." Maybe he has it right, though. Then I'd feel stupid, and shocked.

My day ends the same way it begins, with a Thunder Mountainesque ride back to Prague, and the produce-market-gone-bad smells of the metro. I know I sound callused to the whole thing, but really, it feels like I can't stop laughing about it.