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-Andy
Showing posts with label bureaucracy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bureaucracy. Show all posts
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Thursday, November 17, 2011
Close Enough For Government Work
Some of the kids call me "Teacher."
I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.
I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.
Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.
Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.
"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"
"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"
And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:
"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."
Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.
Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.
It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.
...
So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:
The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.
Let's see... other good moments recently...
Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."
Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":
I would say that I don't know why, but that would mean I haven't noticed the very structured (this coming from me) and adult-revering educational system in which these children find themselves. Let me say it more sensationally.
I have discovered the source of French bureaucracy.
Until a week or two ago, my classes consisted almost entirely of oral exercises. We'd sing songs, drill words and structures, or play games. The procedure was clear and simple, they followed it, and nothing struck me as out-of-the-ordinary.
Then I added more written work. A sentence or two on the board for them to copy down in their notebooks. A direction to copy today's date and the days of the week on printer paper because that was the paper I found.
"Teacher? Teacher? What color pen should we use?"
"Teacher? Teacher? What page of the notebook do we write it on?"
And one from a kid in the class that got printer paper. This one's my favorite:
"Teacher? There are no lines on this paper."
Starting from a wee little age, French kids are taught to take notes and follow instructions just so. One color of pen(cil) for one sort of exercise/notes, another for the next, and a particular format to follow and style of cursive to be upheld. I can't tell you the number of times my 10-year-olds painstakingly write on the board in perfect cursive (boys included), only to even more painstakingly erase one or two letters to rewrite them the proper way, even though said letters were already perfectly legible (key word being "perfectly"). You should see how eager these kids are to hold up their copying and show me as I'm walking around just to make sure everyone's on task.
Erika corroborated this with her own observations from her high school exchange experience. When these kids grow up, their class notes are works of art. Paragraph form, color-coded by subject matter, impeccably formatted and indented. I take good notes, but even I use a little shorthand, and I know full well that a lone mechanical pencil is unsurpassed in utility: quick, eraseable, and fit for almost any handwritten task. But the trade-off is that my notes don't look professional. They're "close enough for government work," as my folks always say. Just, perhaps not close enough for this government's work.
It is little wonder, then, that an adult paperwork system with so many precise procedures thrives here... in a country where even 8-year-olds take notes just so, constantly checking with the teacher that they've got it exactly right.
...
So, what have I been doing with these kids, anyway? Most of them are still on basic stuff, but I've moved on to feelings ("I am happy," "I am thirsty," "I am angry," etc.) and days of the week. For my oldest class, I made up a worksheet to teach them directions (north, south, etc.), which doubled as a geography lesson about the United States. I've got a sheet about American money all ready to go for next week. That will be somewhat of a review: we've played "store" already with the American cash I had on me when I arrived and the various electronic devices I keep on me every day. Just to give you a better idea of what I'm up to, here's a peek inside my oldest class:
The kids are mostly getting it and they seem pretty enthusiastic still. I have the impression that my novelty is wearing off, as they're getting more comfortable (that's French for "rowdy") around me these days. I'm focusing now on varying the sorts of activities I do, so they don't write off English class as the place where they just do drills all the time. But even my most challenging class had a relatively good day on Tuesday. I'm content.
Let's see... other good moments recently...
Andy (the example question): "How old are you?"
Andy (the example answer): "I am 7 years old."
Student (to herself): "Uh... no."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 1: "I am happy!"
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 2: "I am sleepy."
Andy: "How are you?"
Student 3: "I am slappy."
Let's end with a game of "Caption This Photo":
Monday, September 19, 2011
Burn Notice
Theatrics aside, I'm okay. From what I've gathered following that Friday morning conversation, I've still got my job, and I'll be teaching at three schools instead of the one I was first assigned. I'm sorry if I freaked anybody out, but - me being me - I saw an opportunity for some nonlinear storytelling and a cliffhanger ending and I couldn't help myself.
Basically, I'm in the process of following every lead I've got to get in touch with local administrators and, through them, to my assigned schools. I've got one very nice regional administrator helping me out, and she keeps giving me numbers to call and names to ask for. Trouble is, bureaucracy that I'm dealing with, each name ends up being a lead to the next name. I'm secondarily hunting for apartments, but until I make sure I am actually working for those three schools, I hesitate to commit to anything. Basically, I feel like ex-spy Michael Westen running leads to the ground and tyring to resolve his burn notice.*
From what I understand at the moment, one of my schools is in Grasse, where I am, and the other two are in St-Valier-de-Thiey. Here's the map. St-Vallier-de-Thiey is very small, reachable either by car, or by a 20-minute bus ride from Grasse. So, when I signed up for this region and the Azure Coast, you can imagine that this isn't exactly what I had in mind.
But that's not to say I haven't made it to the coast anyway. I met up with two wonderful fellow assistants in the region and strolled around Cannes and Nice for several hours each. And now, my first recommendation. This one's in Nice: ice cream at Fennochio on the Place Rosetti, inside the charming winding streets of the old town. Everything you need to know to find it: right here.
And I shouldn't come down too hard on Grasse, because the center of town is fairly charming and has just about everything you could reasonably need. One such thing is a wonderful restaurant called La Grignote, on the Place Aux Aires, located here. I had a terrific dinner there Saturday night: Foie Gras Ravioli in a cream sauce, followed by a tarte-aux-pommes that they simply knocked out of the park. Service was very good, and the outdoor seating is on a nice little plaza with a fountain and old French buildings whose paint and stucco are crumbling in just the right-looking way. I will post pictures of these various places soon.
So, this afternoon brought some decent news. After some more bureaucratic run-around, I finally got in touch with one Mme. Leblanc, an administrator trying to get in touch with my three schools to make sure I'm still wanted. She's also investigating whether the schools have housing set aside for me, and she's working out my schedule (even keeping in mind the bus schedule from Grasse to St-Vallier). None of it's set yet, but I'm meeting with her at her office in Grasse on Friday morning.
"That's not much, Mikey."
"It's not much, Sam. But it's more than we had."
-----------
*Theatrics not aside, I considered starting the post like this:
My name is Andy Weiner. I used to be a teaching assistant. Until...
WOMAN ON PHONE [V.O.]: We don't need any teaching assistants this year.
When you're burned, you've got nothing. No work, no salary, nobody to validate your visa. You're stuck in whatever city they decided to assign you to.
Email from Dad onscreen: "Where are u???"
Andy types: "In Grasse"
You take whatever work comes your way.
Andy scrolls through Facebook, bored.
You rely on anybody who's still talking to you... A few fellow teaching assistants who happen to be in the same time zone.
Andy walks around promenades with Katie Hardy and Soraya. He Skypes with his friend Lauren.
A friendly French woman who's part of the system that changed your placement.
Andy reads email from Mme. Laboz.
Family, too...
RENEE (ON SKYPE): We miss you, kiddo!
...If you're desperate.
RENEE (CONTD.): At least they're not gonna' have a war over there, like when cousin Paul was in the Peace Corps in South America!
Bottom line, until you figure out who can un-burn you... you're not going anywhere.
...If you have no idea what I'm talking about, click here.
Basically, I'm in the process of following every lead I've got to get in touch with local administrators and, through them, to my assigned schools. I've got one very nice regional administrator helping me out, and she keeps giving me numbers to call and names to ask for. Trouble is, bureaucracy that I'm dealing with, each name ends up being a lead to the next name. I'm secondarily hunting for apartments, but until I make sure I am actually working for those three schools, I hesitate to commit to anything. Basically, I feel like ex-spy Michael Westen running leads to the ground and tyring to resolve his burn notice.*
From what I understand at the moment, one of my schools is in Grasse, where I am, and the other two are in St-Valier-de-Thiey. Here's the map. St-Vallier-de-Thiey is very small, reachable either by car, or by a 20-minute bus ride from Grasse. So, when I signed up for this region and the Azure Coast, you can imagine that this isn't exactly what I had in mind.
But that's not to say I haven't made it to the coast anyway. I met up with two wonderful fellow assistants in the region and strolled around Cannes and Nice for several hours each. And now, my first recommendation. This one's in Nice: ice cream at Fennochio on the Place Rosetti, inside the charming winding streets of the old town. Everything you need to know to find it: right here.
And I shouldn't come down too hard on Grasse, because the center of town is fairly charming and has just about everything you could reasonably need. One such thing is a wonderful restaurant called La Grignote, on the Place Aux Aires, located here. I had a terrific dinner there Saturday night: Foie Gras Ravioli in a cream sauce, followed by a tarte-aux-pommes that they simply knocked out of the park. Service was very good, and the outdoor seating is on a nice little plaza with a fountain and old French buildings whose paint and stucco are crumbling in just the right-looking way. I will post pictures of these various places soon.
So, this afternoon brought some decent news. After some more bureaucratic run-around, I finally got in touch with one Mme. Leblanc, an administrator trying to get in touch with my three schools to make sure I'm still wanted. She's also investigating whether the schools have housing set aside for me, and she's working out my schedule (even keeping in mind the bus schedule from Grasse to St-Vallier). None of it's set yet, but I'm meeting with her at her office in Grasse on Friday morning.
"That's not much, Mikey."
"It's not much, Sam. But it's more than we had."
-----------
*Theatrics not aside, I considered starting the post like this:
My name is Andy Weiner. I used to be a teaching assistant. Until...
WOMAN ON PHONE [V.O.]: We don't need any teaching assistants this year.
When you're burned, you've got nothing. No work, no salary, nobody to validate your visa. You're stuck in whatever city they decided to assign you to.
Email from Dad onscreen: "Where are u???"
Andy types: "In Grasse"
You take whatever work comes your way.
Andy scrolls through Facebook, bored.
You rely on anybody who's still talking to you... A few fellow teaching assistants who happen to be in the same time zone.
Andy walks around promenades with Katie Hardy and Soraya. He Skypes with his friend Lauren.
A friendly French woman who's part of the system that changed your placement.
Andy reads email from Mme. Laboz.
Family, too...
RENEE (ON SKYPE): We miss you, kiddo!
...If you're desperate.
RENEE (CONTD.): At least they're not gonna' have a war over there, like when cousin Paul was in the Peace Corps in South America!
Bottom line, until you figure out who can un-burn you... you're not going anywhere.
...If you have no idea what I'm talking about, click here.
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