Cranky Fibro Girl

Harnessing the healing power of snark

I’d Like What You’re Smoking, Please

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Dear Anyone Who Wants To Hire Me As A Spanish Tutor,

If you call me at 8:00 PM on Saturday night to ask me to tutor your child, and then mention that their exam is on Wednesday, and that they’ve been having a really hard time all semester, and that they “had a bad teacher” last year, and so are basically asking me to catch your child up on a year and a half of Spanish in THREE DAYS, then don’t get pissy when I tell you that it’s impossible and that there’s nothing I can do.

BECAUSE THERE’S NOTHING I CAN DO.

Oh and also-the fact that I specifically told you that I wouldn’t lie to you and take your money for something I couldn’t do?

Yeah-you’re welcome.

And Then Suddenly, Your Entire Day Can Just Turn Right Around

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So this day kind of started off badly at about 5:30 am when I had to get up and take some medicine because my migraine had come roaring back.

Unfortunately it was still in full swing when my tutoring client arrived for her session.

We were working on an exercise which required her to translate a conversation between Sara and José discussing what kind of movie they wanted to go and see, when she got to the following line:

“¿Adónde quiere ir Sara?”

which means, “Where does Sara want to go?”

So my student began translating the words aloud, and I heard her say,

“Where do…you want…to DO…Sara?”, with absolutely no realization of what she had just said.

And I, rising to the occasion as the mature, responsible adult I am, burst into peals of laughter and almost fell off my chair with glee.

And suddenly, my whole entire day just turned right around.

Sometimes, Math Hurts

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Yesterday I tutored one of the eleventy-thousand high school students who have a Spanish exam coming up this week. After we had finished and I was walking him to the door he said, “Man, I can’t wait until next semester when I get to start fresh with a brand new 100 in Spanish!”

“Um, not to burst your bubble or anything,” (Liar, liar pants on fire! Anytime anyone says that, that is of course exactly what they want to do!) I said, “but that’s not actually true. You don’t start each semester with a 100, and then your teacher takes points away from you. You start each semester with a zero, and then everything you do earns points towards your grade.”

Imagine a baby, sitting in a field of golden sunshine, surrounded by tiny butterflies, happily playing with a ball while puppies and kittens look benevolently on. Then imagine that you stride up to that baby, smack that ball right out of its hands, and start yelling at it, for no reason. Imagine the expression on that baby’s face when, smack in the middle of all of that goodness, it discovers that such wretchedness and misery exists in this world.

That’s pretty much what this student’s face looked like after I’d finished breaking this news to him. So if you heard any cosmic shrieking yesterday, or sensed any rending in the fabric of the universe, don’t worry. It was only me, shattering the illusions of the young and the innocent.

And incidentally, this is exactly why I majored in words.

School Daze

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I have no idea how this happened, but apparently it is almost time for school to start again.

This will be my fifth year working as a Spanish tutor, and so a lot of the students who started with me as freshman graduated last year. And as I think about them as they get ready to start college I have been wondering what, if anything, I managed to impress upon them as they begin to make their way out in the world.

As their tutor I covered a lot of areas with them-organization, study skills, how to get along with their teacher, etc., plus all the Spanish-specific topics.

But as I reflect back upon my time spent with them, I think the only thing I can in all honesty guarantee that stuck with them is this:

“By God, don’t you dare steal my pens!”

See, I am really weird about my pens. I only like this one kind called “Bic Crystal”. And I can only find them at the grocery store because, despite the fact that they are The. Best. Pens. Ever, they are apparently not “highfalutin” enough to be sold at actual office supply stores. So that means that if anyone else ever uses one of these pens, or thinks about using one, or even looks in the general direction of where I keep them in my office, I become terrified that all of my pens will disappear and I will never be able to find any more ever again. Because they are just that awesome.

So not only do my students NEVER steal my pens, but if they ever see any Bic Crystal pens anywhere else, like in their car or lying around their house, they IMMEDIATELY gather them all up and bring them to me. Because I have scared them that much.

I have apparently convinced them that I am the rightful owner of all Bic Crystal pens in the entire Universe. And woe be unto those who are discovered with any of my pens in their possession.

And lo, The Teacher looked out at everything she had made, and how she had successfully transferred her craziness to others, and she saw that it was very good.

Thank You For Sharing-Not!

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Yesterday I saw one of my students for their final Spanish tutoring session ever. It’s good for both of us; for him, because he HATES Spanish; for me, because I am no longer responsible for shepherding him through academia now that he has discovered the magical sugary-caffeinated elixir that is a Tall Vanilla Latte.

As he was pacing around my office and working off his coffee high he began closely inspecting everything on my shelves, including my collection of cat figurines.

“Oh, don’t look at those,” I said. “I don’t want you to think that I’m a crazy cat lady.”
“Oh I already KNOW you are!” he replied. “Three’s the magic number!”

He is very lucky that I am not the person in charge of grading his final Spanish exam.

He Who Laughs Last…

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Image courtesy of FreeDigitalPhotos.net.

…gives me a headache.

Usually I am pretty good at getting in the last word. Words are what I was trained in, and now words are my business. But yesterday I met my match.

I was working with a tutoring client and trying to elicit some information from him in a process which, incidentally, has given me entirely new insights into the phrase, “squeezing blood from a stone.”

I asked him if he was this difficult in all of his conversations with others, and he said that he liked to present people with a challenge.

Me: “Well, that’s just like waving a red flag in front of a bull. I love a good challenge.”
Him: “Yes, but then it’s just like in the cartoons when I pull the flag away, and there’s an anvil there instead.”

He won.