Night School Is Infiltrated By Paparazzi Math Teacher Wielding Apparatus Of Annoyance

Four o’clock rolls around but I stay put at my desk. It’s one of those rare days where I have volunteered to stay late out of the goodness of my dead, shriveled, black heart. About 14 students will show up for a night English class. They will sit there, looking petrified, unconscious and as quiet as the dead.

I am accosted at my desk by the photo-man teacher. He is overjoyed that I have taken the onus of teaching English off of him, a math teacher. He hopes that I will agree to come back next school year as well. But now, he wants me to go over to the night school teachers’ lounge so that I might explain an American business card to one of the other teachers.

A business card?

A business card.

A tiny bit of paper complete with name and contact numbers that the Japanese are incredibly familiar with. They keep files and files of these cards – a little Rolodex of possibly human contacts; people they can call up later with a quick “dozo yoroshiku”- Please, oh please, for the love of God be kind to me, and oh hey, do you still live in that swell penthouse on the upper east side?” Given the fact that my Japanese is that of about a two month old baby now despite my six month residence, I don’t see how I’m possibly going to help in this matter but I shrug my shoulders and follow him over.

“Well. This is his name.” Yes. The card that I’m looking at actually belongs to the fifty year-old nephew of this teacher. There’s a possibility that he’s well aware of his nephew’s name.

“And… this is his telephone number.” The little TEL: and icon of a telephone probably have already clued him in on that fact.

“And… this is his fax number.”
“Yes, yes fax!” he agrees heartily with me.

Super. I’m so glad I could be of service. I beam at him with the prowess of a native English speaker.

What we both realize but fail to say is that the business card is not just an ordinary business card. Oh no, it goes beyond that. The business card is actually several things – a symbol of friendship, an opportunity and a complete and total ruse. The strategy here was clearly to get the foreigner in the vicinity –so that they might poke and prod me and see if I’m for real. The business card was just a ploy, a conversation piece.

The one thing that remains unclear on the little document–full-of-meaning was the man’s title: “Global Head,” a phrase that I have difficulty translating besides parroting the phrase “important person, important person” over and over. It would also be difficult to explain to the man, that chances are this really means absolutely nothing. It’s similar to when I had to draft up my curriculum vitae and was searching for the appropriate title to give myself at the health insurance company I once did some part-time work at. I was called nothing more than “Nicole” and was left to conjure up an appellation that magnificently boosted my power, authority and oomph in general – “Global Head” should just about cover it.

With the business card shenanigans done with I finally made my way up to the classroom with the photo-man-teacher happily carting along his massive camera in tow. The lesson, which I had meticulously prepared and imagined in my head to go along swimmingly, did no such thing. The kids, with the exception of two, sat, their eyes trained steadily on their sweaty, tightly folded palms on the desk in front of them. Silent. Silent. Unblinkingly, they would not break their pacts of silence. Let wild horses try to drag English from their lips; the determination was apparent in their creased brows.

Meanwhile the photo-man teacher zipped around the classroom, a full-fledged, card-carrying member of the paparazzi snapping photos at every possible angle, blinding us all with his flash. I cringe to think of them: me smiling bleakly in an attempt to brighten up the classroom and them, the students, the victims, gaping at me in wide-eyed fear.

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Published:
2.9.07 / 6pm
Category:
classroom antics, what i call life