First of all, I've started compiling a list of things that are apparently "normal" in Spain but that I'm pretty sure are going to kill me.
1. Buses. Okay in Indianapolis the public transportation is shitty, to say the least. Hardly anybody takes it because it's unreliable and whatever. Here, I find above-ground transportation more comforting than underground transportation. If a bomb goes off and I'm in a bus, I can atleast tuck & roll out the window/door/etc. If a bomb goes off in the Metro, I figure I'm royally screwed. Where are you gonna tuck & roll in the Metro? Two choices: into the bomb, or away from the bomb into a dark, damp, shit-smelling black abyss. I think I'd rather take the sparkly bomb. These are things I think about, p.s., while I'm sitting on the Metro. That, and I also sing this song in my head:
Not the whole song, of course, just the chorus. Anyways, I digress. The buses have an easy escape route but what they lack is competent drivers. Spain drivers are crazy as hell. First of all, they know exactly how wide their car is in their minds so when there is a small gap between cars, or a parking spot, instead of advancing with caution, they jam the accelerator and head into the space at full force, Harry Potter style, as if the spot was going to magically gape open and accomodate their vehicle perfectly. That's all fine and dandy if you're in YOUR car. But when I'm on the bus, and the bus is tall, and the bus drivers pedal-to-the-metal at a 2 foot space between 2 teensy European cars...well...it's enough to test my bladder strength. They blast up to the two cars, then stop almost immediately slamming on the breaks. Then, they inch towards the space and use their mirrors to guide through. They will literally come within 3 centimeters of hitting a vehicle, and even use their hydrolics (intended for letting passengers off the bus with ease) to tip the bus back and forth to wedge between obstacles. If that doesn't work, they will sit there and lay on the horn until the owner of the double-parked car comes out and moves their vehicle. This is 23% effective. Luckily, when this makes me late to work, all of the teachers already know the bus sucks or just assumed I was sick. Ain't no thang.
This is just the tip of the iceburg though. 3 times now I have caught bus drivers reading the newspaper while driving. I mean.....okay. You're in the car, by yourself. You check a text message, maybe shoot one back while in traffic. Bad traffic. However while driving a public transportation bus, filled with 20 innocent passengers? Not in traffic? While driving at 35+ mph down the street?? Jesuscristo. The first time I was like, "well...he's at a stoplight. Maybe he'll put it awa...oh, it's green...he's moving....and...he's....still reading. Okay well, awesome..." Then I thought well not all drivers can be perfect. Then I saw 2 other ones (different ones) doing the same thing. I don't care if my bus driver is culturally up to date or relevant. I care about you not killing me in a firey crash involving a moped and 3 geriatric pedestrians. (ok ok that wouldn't make much of a fire, persay...) Whatever. The buses are going to lead to my demise, I'm certain.
2. If the buses don't kill me, the second hand smoke will. I'm cool with it in bars and during recess with the teachers...totally understandable. Here's where it starts interfereing in my life: at home and with the children. First of all, my tuberculosis-inclined neighbor downstairs (the old dude who has the nasty-ass cough) sounds like he is losing a decent percentage of his lungs everytime he coughs (which is approximately every 20 minutes, but every 10 minutes conveniently when the normal hours of sleeping approach. Murphy's law.) Anyways I've inadvertantly discovered why homeboy has his disease: he smokes. How do I know? Well, our clothes line is located directly above his window, and I've noticed that my clothes now smell like stale, nasty smoke. Not a fun bonfire smoke. An annoying, old man, coughing up a lung kind of smoke. Thanks, asshole. I don't have enough HANGERS to dry my crap inside. So now I can only wash like 10 articles of clothing at once.
I'm gonna stop popping Mucinex in his mailbox and just let him go. My clothes & sleep cycle with thank me.
Another surpring source of second hand smoke is 12 year old boys. I got lost going to class the other day (the building had changed last minute) and I turned the corner only to run into two little boys leaning against the brick wall smoking cigarettes. I literally stopped in my tracks and stared at them. Until I realized I was legitmately staring and just walked past them. Not before one of those little brats blew his smoke in my face, though. You know what makes you SUPER COOL? Burning tabacco stuffed paper, inhaling the byproduct, and blowing it at innocent people's faces as if you were breathing fire...just kidding. Hint: Your smoke won't hurt me. But my fist will bust your nose. I'm older, smarter, and ballsier than you are, little 12 year old. I'll be watchin out for you. Who the hell sold that kid cigs anyways??
Going back to my list of "normal" things that might kill me...
3. Victor. Who's victor? Well...first I'd like to admit that I hate all of my 2nd grade classes. Literally, all of them are headaches. There are, collectively, about 10 students that I love because they hug me at recess and are super cute...I mean they're all decently cute...but in general they are rotten as shit and refuse to shut their mouths for 5 consecutive minutes for anybody, including their legitimate teachers. And it's not just me. Their teachers hate them too. They've told me so. I believe it's something about the age. "Terrible 2's"...kinda.
Example of why I hate them: (actually this isn't their fault, it's just funny as hell)
Last Friday, in 2nd grade, I was supposed to teach each class the sound "i"...the short 'i' as found in the words 'sick', 'fish', 'bit', 'stick'...etc. This sound does not exist in Spanish. The 'i' in Spanish sounds like a long 'e'...like 'beat', 'meet', 'ski'...this is why, when you hear a Spanish speaker trying to say the word "fish", they say "feesh" instead. So I did my best to help them learn this sound. In their book, they were supposed to say "Ingrid insect" and "six big pink fish sitting in the kitchen". We started practicing with just Ingrid insect. It went like this:
Me: Repeat! "Ingrid insect!"
Them: Ingrid insex!!
Me: ..........not quite. Inse-c-t. In-sec-t. T. Okay let's try again! Insect!
Them: insex!!
Me: ...........uhh, yeah. Good. Insect. Let's move on to the next sentence.
Now, before starting this sentence I figured one of two things would happen. First, they would probably just mumble the rhythm of the sentence without pronouncing anything. Or, if they were determined, they would try their best to pronounce some words but at best would probably still say one or two of the words with the "ee" sound. No harm, no foul. So we started practicing 4 words at a time, at first, so they didn't get overwhelmed. Here we go:
Me: six big pink fish....
Them : seex big pink feesh...
Me: no no!! remember, there is no feesh. Siiiiiiiiiix. Fiiiiiiiiiiiiiiish.
Them : six. fish.
Me: Great!!! Okay, ready? Sitting in the kit-chen.
Them: sitting in the keet-chen.
Me: Close! Kiiiiiitchen.
Them: kitchen!
Me: great!! SO GOOD! Think you can do it all at once?
Them: Yes!! yes!!!
Me: okaaaaaay....let's repeat after the CD. Here we go!
CD: Six big pink fish sitting in the kit-chen!
Them: sex big pink fish shitting in the chick-en!!
Here's an amateur sketch of what I looked like:
Yup. The worst part is they were all looking up at me with those innocent eyes waiting for positive feedback and amazement at their epic English skills. What the hell was I supposed to say?? In the end, after thinking and biting my tongue, I decided that really the textbook set them up for complete failure and just wanted a cheap laugh because it was dumb to have them pronounce fish and sitting together and...just....total failure. I had them try it 3 more times with the exact same outcome. Sex big pink fish, shitting in the chick-en. Sigh. I officially don't care if they pronounce 'i' wrong anymore. At all.
Anyways, sidetracked again. These 2nd graders, though, are clearly a handful. However, in one of the classes is this little boy named Victor. He's borderline albino, with bright bright blonde hair, and I have been told he is a "special boy"...although I have yet to figure out if special means slow, troublesome, or something different. Spain's vague. Anyways Victor is one of those kids in class who usually chews on his crayons, has random outbursts trying to get attention, and somehow always manages to have snot coming out of his nose of awkward and nauseating colors. Because I don't speak Spanish, Victor stays clear of me. Usually. Sometimes he comes up and says hello, stares at me, and then sits down. Sweet kid, really, haha. You won't catch him yelling about taking a crap in poultry like his classmates.
Anyways, at lunch one day, he started talking to me! I was so excited. I said, "hello Victor! How are you?" and he started talking to me in Spanish and then randomly saying "Chelsea! hello!" So we talked back and forth in our odd language combination, and then eventually I told him to eat his soup and tried to walk away. He then said "Chelsea!!" so I turned around and said what? with my hands in the air acting confused so he'd know what I meant. He looks me dead in the eye, holds up his hands in the shape of a gun, pretends to cock his thumb, AIMS, and then "shoots" me. With his hand gun. (See above for an amateur sketch of my reaction.) I said very firmly "Victor, NO. Guns are BAD." He started laughing and said "no, no, no..." so I said "good, no guns. NO." He repeated "no, no, no.................................yes, yes, yes!!" And then held up his hand gun to shoot me again. Twice this time.
I get that kids don't understand the severity of playing with guns, but there's a fine line between a simple, one-handed L-shaped thumb and forefinger gun, and a two-handed bazuka-esque gun that includes cocking a barrel, AIMING, and a strong recoil. Seriously. I hope Victor's parents are pacifists. And I'm glad we're not in Texas.
Phew. I was hoping to blog about all the crazy in my school but it looks like I'll have to wait until next time. And blog more often. Guess this is ta-ta for now!
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