Thursday 21 February
Looming over me from the grammar shadow in the corner was my first lesson teaching tenses. I was thankful that it was relatively straightforward, explaining the difference between going to and I will. Give ‘em an activity, tell ‘em what they got wrong, draw a few timelines and other squiggles on the white board, kid on that I know what the hell I’m talking about and bish-bash-bosh; job done, knowledge imparted. This is where you feel I’m going to divulge you with some nightmare horror show of how it actually went, with howls of pain from the students, and my tutors eyes and ears bleeding from a grammar holocaust. Well get this; I aced it. Best work he’s seen from me, everyone should follow my plan and procedure work, I’m an all round great guy. For the first time in as long as I can remember, I was a good example.
So I’ve been bouncing along on a carpet of air for the past couple of days, surprising myself that I might actually pull this one off. Did my eyes betray me or did that cute waitress give me a double take in our chicken-and-tarragon soup stop every lunch? I must remember to put a shirt on tomorrow. I found a 1000 florint note in my washed jeans. I bought a new underarm and I smell good. It’s Old Spice. I swear the woman in the 24 hour place wants to sniff me. I ate langos for the first time and the greasy, deep-fried doughy goodness reminded me of home. I’ve been doing the best poos in months, and my innards are not clogged with the stench of dead animals from 72 hour benders. Life was peachy.
Returning from one such lunch break in high spirits, I’m handed an envelope with my name daubed across the top. Interesting. Now I’m not going to lie dear readers, but I actually had a slight inkling of what it might contain. I fumble it open, and sure enough I spy a scribbled note inside, with a kinder chocolate to keep it company. I am elated to report, that I had received my first teacher-student-after-class-note, with email address and the quite wonderful sentiment: “if you write to me, well that would make my day.” I had a beamer on for the rest of the afternoon.
Of course the jokers came out in force, with plenty of age/gender gags, but it’s not going to dampen my spirits. Actually not much did, until I shared my joy into the facebookasphere. At the risk of sounding like an arse, I experienced quite a remarkable phenomena. No sooner had I boasted of my apparent success with an attractive female student, than two girls who I ‘m actually very interested in (and who have shut me down previously for quite unrelated reasons), “liked” my comment. There their names were, burning into my eyes, slapping my face with the wet kipper of rejection, wiping it clean with the tissue of optimism. Signalling it’s OK for me to let go…
Now what the fuck is that all about? Wait a minute! THAT’S NOT THE REACTION I WANTED! YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO BE WEEPING FOR OUR LOST FUTURE TOGETHER! YOU SHOULD BE BOOKING THE NEXT TRAIN TO BUDAPEST TO THROW YOURSELF AT MY ANKLES AND LET ME DRAG YOU DOWN THE STREET BEGGING ME NOT TO MAKE A HORRIBLE MISTAKE! YOU’RE NOT MEANT TO ENCOURAGE ME TO FIND SOMEONE BETTER THAN YOU BECAUSE YOU THINK I DESERVE IT AND YOU’RE “NOT GOOD ENOUGH” FOR A NICE GUY LIKE ME…?!”
I use the term “nice guy” loosely for comic and poetic effect. Women eh? Oh well, beggars can’t be choosers. Right now if I fell into a barrel of nipples I’d come out sucking my thumb.
I’ll wait a day and I’ll send her a desperate email.