PHHHHHTTTT

I feel a KVETCH coming on.

I've been back on French soil for just over 24 hours and already my blood is simmering. It does, after all, take a lot to boil.

I didn't mind the full hour it took for my luggage to get to me at Charles de Gaulle; I didn't mind the hour long €16.50 rip-off a bus from CDG to Montparnasse, and I didn't even mind the moronic hold up of the train because someone "forgot" their suitcase and needed their husband to grab it. How do you forget your suitcase? Honestly, people. Nay. Mild annoyance and great amusement are first cousins.

And I am friends with both.

But that bastard step-brother, genuine frustration, I don't care for.

Some back story: in the French education system - not unreasonably - teachers and other staff I imagine, have to fill out a form and request time off if they'll be missing work of any kind. An hour, a day, a week etc. This request has to be approved by the Proviseur, the Principal. A photocopy is made. Mountains don't move. Worlds don't shatter. I filled out such a document, had a little chat with Mr. Le Proviseur himself, and found my photocopy of the accepted request in my box the very next day. Awesome. I bought my plane ticket. I told my teachers and asked whether I could make up that missing time before or after the holidays. They all chuckled and said "t'inquiète pas." Don't worry about it. Wow. Easy.

So I was genuinely surprised (well, mildly, to be honest) when I spoke with my roommate Erin yesterday and she told me she had a very "interesting" conversation about me with two teachers in the teachers' lounge. Oh? I said. We both work with one of them, Prof A, on Wednesday afternoons, and the second teacher, Prof B, I don't work with at all. Prof A asked whether I'd be here for class the following day (i.e. today) and Erin said she didn't honestly know - she hadn't seen me yet and wasn't sure if I were returning that day or the next, or had had some kind of delay, etc. Prof A and Prof B remarked on how school started on Monday and I really should've been back for that - despite the fact that I have Mondays off, and don't work at an entirely different school on Tuesdays. Prof A flew into a tizzy and told Erin that in the case of my absence, she wouldn't have Erin come at all. Insert familiar French female adult cattiness. Prof A and Prof B probably remarked upon my lack-luster character, my gaudy clothing, my reserved friendliness, my height, my weight, my curly hair... Ok. Maybe not.

Anyway. I got back to Bordeaux yesterday morning and spent the afternoon and evening swimming in the oblivion of much needed sleep. I unpacked my gauche puppy calendars, ate my hummus sandwich, made some mint tea, watched the latest episode of Jersey Shore, prepared a KICK ASS lesson plan, and went back to bed.

That kick ass lesson plan (Postsecret themed, for those curious) was FOR Prof A. I have a class with her in the morning sans Erin, and though I realize it's a futile occupation, I do wish her to think I'm an able and thoughtful "educator." I went to that class, and as she saw me appear through the door, her eyes popped. I'm used to the students staring at me every week, but she looked at me like I were a ghost and after a good thirty seconds of me standing there like a pug in a poodle skirt, she said "Oh. I thought you were... in the air, right now. In the clouds above us." I smiled and said "No." She measured her words and told me to sit down and "join" them. She told me she didn't know what I'd prepared since she hadn't "seen me." I described the lesson, and she sniffed and asked me if I had a copy of the documents for her. I handed over her stack. She read the first few secrets and laughed. She started, "wouldn't it be advisable..." and then stopped, "no." HA. TAKE THAT. GOOD LESSON PLAN.

The lack of imagination in most French high school students isn't the subject of this post. I'll get to that another day.

So Erin and I headed over to Prof A's class half an hour ago, wondering what would happen and betting on whether we would or would not be walking back to our apartment five minutes later. I opened the door and 40 students in personal fun-sized desks turned their heads to gawk at me, clearly in the throes of test taking, or somewhere near it. Prof A made that French airy "PHHTTT" sound of disbelief/flabbergast and said "But didn't Erin tell you??? They're taking a test! I told her yesterday. We didn't think you'd be here so I had to plan a lesson and rearrange everything -- and PHHTTT!!!" Silence as we stare at each other. Erin was on the side of the door, which I was still holding ajar. Prof A then said "well, I guess you should come in." At which one of my livelier students in the class, G (a 15 year old boy who most definitely tried to look down my shirt once...), said "WELCOME!" The kids laughed. Prof A did not. Prof A said "well, I told Erin. This is such a mess. Well is Erin here???" I said yes, and opened the door further, and Erin walked in. Prof A descended upon us and repeated her PHHHTTTs and "But I told you's" until I finally said "would it be better if we left?" Kids staring. This going nowhere. Prof A: "well, yes. I think it would." Great. Fine. We leave. Prof A, weakly behind us "sorry about that..."

WHAT THE HELL, LADY ?

What annoys me most about this unfortunately COMMON situation is that this whole thing started (and ended) because Prof A (and Prof B and I can only guess who else) assumed that like the French, I am so unprofessional that I wouldn't inform her of my absence. I don't respect her enough to tell her in advance. I wouldn't attempt to contact her in any way were I to miss class. I wouldn't notify the school if my flight were delayed. She assumed that I'm an asshole; that I don't care about my job; that I'm irresponsible.

It's one thing to be flaky and uncommunicative. Those are qualities I've come to accept in almost all of the French teachers I know - in and out of the classroom. It's a national endemic; something in the water carries the disease of social and professional inconsideration. I understand that; it pisses me off beyond belief and makes me want to rip my hair out, but I understand it. And I usually don't take it personally anymore.

But to assume that I am that same breed of jerk is offensive. So Prof A, instead of asking my roommate whether I will or will not be in class, why don't you call me? Or email me? Or consult the many powers who've noted my approved absence? Or, at least, at very fucking least, why not NOT assume that I won't show?

JERKFACE. Why don't you get to know me? Why don't you acquaint yourself with my personality, which isn't one of a FLAKE?

PPPHHHTTTT!