Class Clown

I have been reminded by several friends that I need to write a blog while here in Spain. I'm not sure anything I have to say is really worth blogging about. I always felt like blogs should be reserved only for the most perceptive individuals; those with worthwile life lessons that reveal insights about the human condition. Like the balloon boy. He should have a blog. So, it begins...

One obvious nececssity of living in a foreign country is to learn the native language. I studied Spanish for a couple years in high school, but cleared it from my brain to make space for lyrics to a Notorious B.I.G. song and the pin number to my bank account. I found a language school near the "puerta del sol" called C.E.E. Idiomas. Idiomas made me think "Idiots". You would think this would be a turnoff, but actually it sealed the deal. I already felt at home.

After taking a placement exam, I somehow ended up in the level 2 classes. There are level 1, and 1.5 classes and it goes all the way up to level 8. I suspect most people realize they're fluent well before the level 8 class, which is probably in reality the secret time and place for the professors to shoot the breeze and have a smoke over a game of Scategories. Anyway, I liked the late starting time of 12:30, so I figured I would give it a shot.

There are only 2 other students in the class, an American from Chicago named Hannah and a girl named Anna from the Ukraine. The professor is a young chap by the name of Sergio. The class began with Sergio asking each of the other students how their Holidays were. I was only able to piece this together by recognizing the word "Navidad", the Spanish word for Christmas. Hannah and Anna responded to his inquiry in Spanish with little trouble. It was at this moment that I realized I was in the wrong place. It should be noted that I spent my entire student career avoiding class participation. I'm just not very good at thinking on my feet, to be quite honest. It's perfectly fine by me for a teacher to ask me a question. Just be sure to give me the weekend to think it over. Clearly in a class of three I was not going to be able to simply fade into the background.

The class moved on to the first topic, the present subjunctive. Which to my knowledge is one of the trickier lessons in Spanish. I am at this point staring down at my shoe laces, praying that Doc Brown and Marty McFly bust into the class and offer me a ride to 1955. Sergio starts by writing examples and notes on the chalk board, and explaining about how, when, and why to use the subjunctive. It's just unfortunate that I wasn't able to understand anything that he was saying. After each point he would look around at us, and say "entiendes"? To which I would instinctively nod and mutter "Si, si", as if I was hypnotized by my own stupidity. After 15 or so minutes of lecture time, he began going through an exercise in the book and calling on the other students to answer. This is when a bit of moisture began to collect in my palms.

I suddenly heard my name called out, followed by a question in Spanish that I did not decipher. It seemed that we were supposed to come up with a phrase in Spanish on the spot, using the subjunctive according to his lesson that I did not understand one word of. Desperate, I began just saying words that I knew in Spanish, unable to even think about the sentence that I was concocting out of each mispronounced word that I stuttered. My sentence probably translated to something to the effect of, "Friend car my want excited have dog happy you". Sergio cracked a slight grin and shook his head, "no". I was called on again and again, each time producing nothing even close to resembling a right answer. By the last time Sergio called on me, I was simply flipping through my notepad, digging for nonexistent answers and stalling, hoping that time would expire. I looked up to find Sergio lightly massaging his temples in a way that suggested he would probably be having his lunch with a side of Aspirin.