Bienvenue...to yet another vocational twist

Well, I now live in Paris. This is a fact that I am still having trouble wrapping my head around, despite some very strong evidence that it is, indeed an actuality. For example, fashionable people have been regularly and inexplicably glaring at me as they shove by me with nary a “pardon”, I see the Eiffel Tower on my walk to work, I observe dogs prancing around like they own the world, and I smell delicious bread products emanating from bakeries on virtually every street. Life is tres Parisien, indeed, and yet it still feels like a dream of sorts.

However, I am admittedly having an easier time grasping my move to Paris than I am with the fact that I am now a college professor. I am not specifically trained to be a college professor, in case you were wondering. As in, I have no degree, or certificate, or “Dr.” before my name that would indicate my capabilities as a professor for the university level.

But if I have learned any professional secrets from my long and questionably distinguished list of past vocational pursuits, it is that very company, conglomeration, and country (in my current case) obviously abides by different sets of protocols and standards when it comes to filling positions. And, since I was hired as a teacher here in Paris, I have to believe that those who have hired me, at least, believe my qualifications to be adequate for the position.

Frankly, there is something even more bizarre for me than either the fact that I now live in Paris, or the fact that I am a university professor: it is the fact that my students are all science students. We are talking chemistry, biology, math, and something called “infotique,” for which I was really having trouble nailing down a definition, until I was finally told that it is the equivalent of data-processing.

“Data-processing” is truly a subject which I have never, and undoubtedly never will, actually grasp on any level. No matter what language in which it might be explained.

Just to give you a sense of my level of comfortability with the other aforementioned science subjects: my grade in “Chem for Citizens” in college is still a thorn in my side with regards to how detrimental it was to my overall undergraduate GPA. The results of the class would indicate that I am fit to be neither a chemist, nor a citizen—the latter revelation being a touch disheartening.

As for biology: I experienced that special embarrassment that is crying in class in front of your peers in 4th grade when we had to dissect frogs. My second foray into biology was in high school, and I remember nothing of that experience except that the class met around lunchtime and it was an excruciating exercise in not having my stomach audibly growl each and every class. My final biologic experience was a course in college where we made sauerkraut and the professor inexplicably brought his guitar to class and strummed “Love the One Your With” to the entire class.

In terms of math, I have no idea how or why anyone could or would major in “Math.” I honestly do not fathom how one could pass an entire day doing equations, and I am basically a Flinstone whose alacrity with technological advancements is deplorable and would make any self-respecting 5th -grader roll his or her eyes in disbelief at my general ineptness in modern day technological pursuits. In fact, I only very recently purchased an IPOD, and I do not have any idea of what my IPOD is capable of actually doing, save playing music. Essentially, I use it in the exact same manner that I used my walkman in 8th grade—minus the cassette tapes.

So there you have it. Not only do I not speak the same language as my students, but I do not speak the same LANGUAGE as my students. They speak French-Science. I speak English-Literature. I specialize in emoting, feelings, and over-analyzing. They are concentrating in numbers, calculations, and experiments. My not speaking French very well actually pales in comparison to the fact that I could never hope to learn even the basics of the language of science.

Yet, thus far, things are actually going quite well. My classes are sort of a strange monologue where I make jokes and bluther about trying to explain the nuances of the English language, and they look at me with boredom, confusion, and/or shock.

These are looks I am accustomed to garnering from each and every audience I have ever addressed, so things are quite par for the course when you think about it.

But sometimes they smile, they laugh, or their faces light up with recognition or triumph. I find that I really care that they care; I want to make them smile, to make them loosen up, or just to make them show a sign of life, which in some cases seems to require a Herculean effort.

As I fumble through everyday life in Paris, I am all too aware of the embarrassment, confusion, and fear involved with trying to negotiate even the simplest interactions when a language barrier sits between me and my end-goal. It is sort of like being a dog with one of those electric fence collars. I see where I want to get to, but the journey itself will either jolt me back to my starting point, or require a rather painful passageway to the other side. Either way, the electric shock treatment is inevitable.

My point is that I get that it is hard to learn another language. Even if I will never understand science (or maybe even French in a complete sense), I want to be able to communicate on some level with my students. As such, I am really happy to be teaching them English (or “teaching” them English. Or providing comic relief. Or contributing to further apprehensions about Americans in general—whatever it may be at any given time). At the risk of being unbearably cheesy, communication is so vital to life; how exciting to be adding to individuals’ arsenals to do so.

At the very least, and as it seems with much of my life, the whole enterprise of me as a teacher to science students is somewhat hilarious from afar. I would pay money to watch someone navigate/flounder through the position.

Well, voila people. Since I cannot sit around with a tub of buttered Jiffy Pop and watch my professional life take yet another perplexing turn, you will have the ability to do so—or at least read about it. Enjoy.