(Occasionally) Working Girl

Okay, this is my schedule. Right. Unlike American school schedules, which you can process at a glance, this one requires study. Even by veterans. As soon as these came out, you saw the entire faculty sit down, in silence, and stare at them for a few minutes. Then the squawking began.

To explain what's going on here: the color-coordination is mine. Each color is the same "classe" (which in this case means "group of students") which meet at different times throughout the week. Secondary school in France has three levels; the youngest ones are seconde, followed by première, and finally the ominous-sounding terminale. I have two classes from each level. Some meet two hours a week, some meet three.

At the outset, I dread the seconde, because they're fresh out of middle school and are universally understood to be sub-human fartknockers who require lots of conditioning to be tolerable. At least, that's the vibe I've picked up on. I'm most nervous about the terminales, on the other hand, because they have to take their big exam at the end of the year, and if they don't pass it, they have to repeat the entire grade. But no pressure! And I'm most excited about one group of première who have opted to take my class in addition to their regular English class for extra practice. This means (allegedly) that they're more motivated and want to work hard at improving their English; it also means I have complete liberty in terms of what we study, when we study it, and how we study it. I can do whatever I want. Bring it!

You can see clearly that there are gaps in this schedule; this is all free time. I have 15 hours of classes a week. Normally teachers have 18, but Miss Cake was kind enough to pass an exam that gave her the highest teaching qualification just before she left. In an utterly French move that defies comprehension, the best-educated, most effective teachers spend less time in the classroom. Not that I'm complaining.

I have to whine for a moment and say I'm pretty disappointed that I have an eight o'clock class every day. I was really hoping to have at least one full day off (it's pretty commonplace for French teachers to work four days a week), or, at the very least, have one day that I could sleep in. Not gonna happen. Still, I can't really complain because a) my weekend starts at nine o'clock on Friday and b) one of the exchange teachers in Paris has three hours of classes on Saturday morning. Ouch!

Today I met with Anne-Marie at school and she helped me prepare the first few lessons for the seconde, which I can do in modified form for my other classes tomorrow. Another teacher, Karine, joined us, and we agreed to plan the secondes together, doing roughly the same lessons at the same time. There's no real need to do this, it's just easier for me to rely heavily on an experienced teacher and steal all her ideas. :)

So tomorrow morning I catch the bus at 7:30 and get to school about three minutes before class starts. Unfortunately, the bus I need to get to school only runs once or twice an hour, so my other option is to catch the earlier bus and get to school 15 minutes before the buildings open. Right. Looks like I'll be jogging up the stairs every day. That's cool, my legs will be ripped the next time you see me. (Which reminds me, I bought a new pair of Teaching Shoes, as mine had too high a heel. Those who are familiar with my shoe habits should rest assured that the new shoes also have a heel, but it's far more modest.)

Gotta run now. "Don't Forget the Lyrics" and it is highly educational. Did you know there's a French version of "That's How I Got to Memphis"? Exactly.