Saturday, January 28, 2012

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So Italian was a bust.

Here's what went down.

I went to class early Thursday morning, sitting pretty close to the front so I wouldn't miss anything, and waited patiently for the professor.

After a few minutes of thumb-twiddling, she finally arrived, shutting the door firmly behind her. And without a moment's hesitation she turned to us, a wide grin taped to her face, and said:

(Italian people talk with their hands.)

It was all in Italian. Now, I could follow a few buzz words scattered here and there, but when you take away verb tense and a 1st grade vocabulary, language loses its luster and, frankly, its meaning.

But I decided to stick it out, so as not to make a scene by leaving 5 minutes into class (since my brilliant idea of sitting up front had thus placed me very far from the door).

My plan was going swimmingly until about 38 minutes in when I noticed she had started going down the rows of students asking them very specific questions about very specific things. Things that I can't repeat here because I don't know what they were. So I decided my initial efforts to thwart confrontation were futile. I would have to make a break for it. But when?


In my life, more often than not, I prefer to live cautiously.

To assess risk and consequences before taking immediate action.

Sometimes it's boring, yes.

But I find that things usually work out for me.


This was not one of those times.

There would be no "waiting for the opportune moment."

Once I had decided that "No, you know what? No, this is not for me. I have no idea what's happening, and everyone in here is gonna figure that out real soon and then they might throw stuff at me like pencils or rocks or croissants," I knew I had to leave.

So I drew my things together, stood up with confidence, avoided eye contact with slightly less confidence, and marched out of the room.

(Marched is strong. Crept maybe?)

Yes. Crept.

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