Orientation

Yes, people, I’ve been oriented. As of this past Thursday, as a matter of fact. Now, I realize it defies logic that the French government would schedule an orientation for language assistants after we’ve already begun classes. But there you have it.

I awoke bright and early on Thursday morning (I’m averaging a 7 am rise and shine on most days here) and met Corinne and Matt downstairs to take the tram together. Corinne and Matt are two other American English assistants living at the Facotel. We actually met two Mondays ago, all of us happening on the Facotel at the same time to beg for housing. There’s quite a few of us language assistants here: a mix of Chinese, Germans, Italians, Scots, Aussies, and Americans.

Arriving at the lycée where our orientation was to take place, we took our seats among the other assistants in the school’s grande salle. There are twenty-three English language assistants in the Loire department which includes the great city of Saint-Etienne as well as smaller towns like Firminy, Saint Chamond, and Rive de Gier (to name just a few). As I sat in my seat, not particularly enjoying the flashbacks to high school assemblies, I took in the other faces, trying to determine whose were American, English, Scottish, Australian.

And then we began the introductions. Monsieur Guillin led the meeting, a tall and well-built French man with a roguish grin and a palpable sense of humor – one of those people you find yourself nodding and smiling with for no special reason. After presenting ourselves to the group, we absorbed Monsieur Guillin’s detailed Powerpoint presentation, chock full of important information like how to best keep the French bureaucracy happy and ensure that we get paid. Or how to get our “Green Card.” It’s not what you think.

Here, the “Green Card” is what you receive when you’re enrolled in Social Security, which provides you with health insurance. In an amusing anecdote, Monsieur Guillin recalled how assistants in Lyon usually never get their card. “Sometimes, you never get it, and we send it to your home country as a souvenir,” he chuckled as we shot distressed looks at each other. He went on to explain that the card is not actually needed as proof of coverage during our time here, but that upon arriving at our schools, we would be required to sign a packet of forms that would register us for our Social Security (regardless of whether we ever managed to lay our hands on the physical card).

At this point all of us have signed forms at our schools, one girl asked, but how do we know we’ve signed the correct forms? “You have,” Monsieur Guillin answered without hesitation. When pressed by the girl, who was clearly unsatisfied by his terse answer, he sputtered on. “It is not only the problem of health. Anything can happen inside the class. Your school would not let you into the classroom without social security.” This is no joke. Anything can happen in the classroom. At College Terrenoire, where I spend six hours a week, one student spat on a teacher last year. The student is still enrolled at Terrenoire.

Monsieur Guillin’s Powerpoint also lingered on the impressive range of language assistants hired by France’s Department of Education each year: English, German, Russian, Hebrew, Spanish, Chinese, Italian, Portuguese, and Arabic, all are present in the French school system. I would probably have been more impressed if it weren’t for the mediocre reputation that precedes language learning in France. (In addition to my responsibilities to the French government as what Monsieur Guillin called an assimilated fonctionnaire, I’ve taken on private English and Spanish lessons with Alex, a stéphanois high school student. Alex is the very precocious 15-year old daughter of Jean Luc Garcia, my supervisor at the College Portail Rouge. It is she who has already briefed me on the many shortcomings of language learning in French schools which, I suppose, I am about to observe for myself.)

And then, in walked the VIPs. The VIPs were all high-level French representatives from the European Union, which happens to be residing in France until the end of December. They surveyed us in gray suits and glasses while we waited with bated breath, not quite sure what was expected of us.

It was weird. My French, pretty decent in most situations, had ostensibly failed me during Monsieur Guillin’s presentation. I tend to zone out when people lay administrative verborrhea at me in English, so you can imagine what was going on in my head during the less dazzling parts of his discourse. I felt better when, looking around, I encountered the same blank stares on the other assistants’ faces.

I understood later that the VIPs were at the school for a EU-related inspection. Or something like that. It was a great honor, them taking the time to meet with us language assistants. Only I’m convinced that they had even less of an idea of what they were doing meeting us then we did.

Eventually, they said a few words. Sounded like the usual diplomatic drivel to me. One suit, with pencil thin lips that seemed permanently turned down at the sides, broke his frown to congratulate us on our contribution to French education and emphasize France’s commitment to foreign language learning. Another with a bulbous, fleshy nose and a bristly goatee, simply grinned the entire time. One woman, her face framed by that short and severe haircut so many French women favor, stepped forward and, in pitch perfect British English, thanked us for our service. Her colleagues all broke into wide smiles after her words, obviously proud of this perfect French example of foreign language mastery.

We applauded heartily and were then invited to join the VIPs for an aperitif buffet. I can’t say that I knew what to expect, but I followed the other assistants into a classroom a separate building where I encountered something of a dream come true.

A spread of appetizers, or small plates, grouped by European nationality, covered every table in the room. French, Swedish, Portuguese, Irish, German, Spanish, Italian, most of the major European cuisines was represented in this banquet of national delicacies. I struggled to reign in my excitement. And my appetite.

The buffet had been prepared in anticipation of the VIPs visit to the school. Each dish, according to the principal, was painstakingly researched before being prepared in honor of the European Union. We were generally encouraged to try every single one.

I needed no additional encouragement.

It’s too bad that the only non-French dish that truly impressed me was the Portuguese fish ball. The Spanish paella and gazpacho left much to be desired, as did many of the other dishes: the Tiramisu from Italy was a tad too sweet and lacking in mascarpone richness, the meat and gravy from Sweden proved on the rubbery side, and so on.

The French delicacies, in addition to being spot on, also happened to be local. Fruits of the Loire: an assortment of wines, breads, cheeses, and charcuterie that delivered with every bite. I always say I’m not the best cook, but I’m an excellent eater. “Tete de cochon?” one of the chefs offered. Pig’s head? A specialty of the Loire. Absolutely!

In the heady atmosphere of unlimited wine and food, I took up a conversation with Corinne about her co-teacher, a sweet Scotsman named Chris. We’ve both admitted to being surprised by a Scottish English teacher, given that, as native English speakers ourselves, even we have difficulty understanding him when he speaks. The accent is totally sexy and totally incomprehensible. It is easier to understand him when he speaks French.

We also admitted that we find him attractive, although he brings out the Mary Kay Letourneau in all of us (i.e. he looks much younger than he is. Like, much, much younger.) Corinne, who has a boyfriend, seemed bent on setting him up with one of us. “One night!” were the words she repeated with pleading eyes over our unanimous objections.

Corinne was then paired up with Chris for our post-lunch activities.

We spent the afternoon discussing teaching strategies. This turned out to be the meaty part of orientation, the practical portion that would guide us as we struggle this year to deliver quality language teaching to students of all levels and backgrounds. Monsieur Guillin imparted a memorable tip before excusing himself for the day and leaving us in the hands of a seasoned English teacher. “All the world’s a stage,” he proclaimed. In class, it’s constant theater, and as a teacher, you are constantly acting. “On passe le message avec le théâtre,” he added, "You pass the message along through theater," before winking goodbye and stepping out.

My favorite morsel of advice for the day, by far.

Well, that, and the following ad I found for “the female condom” in one of the classrooms: