The Silver Lining

When I got home from the miserable Elena experience, I sent a well-worded email to my program staff who had arranged the interview.  The next day between classes I met with one of the staff members.  She explained to me that Elena was new and was filling in for someone on maternity leave and my program has never worked with this newbie before.  She too was shocked that she insulted my Spanish, considering I am in level 5 here (which is where they stick us people who understand Spanish grammar but don’t quite speak like natives).  She offered to speak to Elena on my behalf, but I told her I wasn’t interested in such a hostile environment.  Volunteering isn’t supposed to be such a stressful task.  Said staff member went on to tell me that my interview wasn’t at the school I had wanted.  This is the confusing part.

I had signed up to volunteer to teach English to little kids.  By signing up for this, I was also saying “Oh yeah, I want to volunteer anywhere, give me lots of awesome interviews!”  Did I know this?  Absolutely not.  Was I the only one that this happened to and was sent to hell with Elena?  Again, absolutely not.

Phew, okay, I was feeling better already.  I was sitting in my least favorite class (Politics) waiting for it to start, when another staff member came in the room to talk to me.  Second great (not sarcastic) staff member tells me I have another interview (at the school where I had wanted to work) and I’d be excused from class.  That, my friend, is a kick-ass situation.  No boring politics class with a professor who write in hieroglyphics, and an interview at the right place.

Let me just tell you, the second day of interviews was the polar opposite of previous day.  I met with three amazingly warm and welcoming staff members.  They were all really excited for us (there were three students and a staff member from my program at this interview) come work with the kids.  They even commented on our Spanish skills.  It was like I was dreaming. 

Needless to say, I started volunteering there as soon as I could (I'm a Teaching Assistant!).  I’m really behind in my writing; I’ve been there five times already.  On Mondays I work with 11-year-olds and on Thursdays I work with 10-year-olds.  At first I was disappointed because I really wanted to work with the youngest kids (4-6 year olds).  However, I adore my classes (and they love me back!).  As soon as the kids see me walking in the hallway they always run up and all say hi, give hugs, ask a million questions, etc.  They are so funny and I love working with them. 

Mostly it’s been a lot of reading to them and correcting their pronunciation, and explaining the differences between American English and British English (because I do not speak brilliantly and I have got an American accent).  I’ve been able to practice my Spanish and learn from them too.  I got to help correct written work and explain in Spanish different verb conjugations (yeah, really boring to all of you readers, I know), teach them tongue twisters, and teach them about Halloween (once again, I’m not British.  I do not play Bob-Apple and eat the apples, and I do not make Halloween lanterns.).  A taste of their cuteness:

Acting out a scene from a story.

I’ve even considered a career path including some teaching here and there.  I was about 62% sure I wanted to do TEFL upon graduating, now I’m hanging out around 89-94% sure.  Oh helloooo, potential future plans...?

PS - Want to hear some irony?  After all that "Elena" put me through, I received an email this week requesting me to volunteer.  I politely declined.

The Interview from Hell

[Quick back story  - I had an interview to do volunteer work for the semester.]

If I were to believe in hell, I’d imagine it more or less as a giant red lava pit with rivers of lava and fire and horned devils with pitchforks running around or steering the fire-proof gondolas (or as my flamboyantly gay literature professor would describe it, a fire-filled place with tons of men chasing each other wearing only banana hammocks).  However, my hell came in the form of a cluttered office with a patronizing [roughly] 28-year-old Spanish woman.

Why was it hell?  Here’s the short version:

The building itself was semi-hidden in what appeared to be not the safest or well-maintained area of town.  Locals had never heard of the foundation or the street it was on.  The street signs list local names, not the actual names (and only half of the streets have signs).  It was 95+ degrees and I was wearing professional clothing.

The woman I interviewed with (let’s call her… Elena) was not expecting me (bad sign already).  When I tried explaining why I was there and who sent me, she remained clueless and cold.  I showed her the emails I received about the interview, and continue attempting to explain myself, but it all proved fruitless. 

Elena went on to tell me that my Spanish sucked (in only slightly nicer words) and I was the one who was mistaken.  (Seriously).  She told me I couldn’t VOLUNTEER with her.  Elena continued to insult me in Spanish, because she was either a huge bitch (pardon me), or honestly thought I couldn’t understand her.  By this point it was taking every ounce of energy I had to not cry and/or yell at her.  I haven’t learned to be tremendously witty or snide in Spanish yet, so I stuck with the “kill ‘em with kindness approach.”

I felt my face burning with embarrassment and anger.  The combination of the heat and the situation made me feel like this really was hell.  I was expecting that any second Ashton Kutcher would come barging the door because I genuinely thought I was getting “punked.”

I got out of there as fast as I could, sulking my way home on the hour-long metro ride.  I had never felt so embarrassed or small in my life.  Elena was taking pleasure in talking down to me.

Like you always tell me, Mom, everything happens for a reason.  And luckily, it took less than 24-hours to find this reason.

PS – another huge shout out to those of you who spent the rest of the night cheering me up <3