Everyone loves Obama. Its crazy. Even in Japan, the primary with Hilary Clinton was followed extremely closely, and even the people in my middle-of-nowhere town would talk to me about it and know a decent amount – about the primary.
Now that he’s been elected (and actually serving as president by the time you read this) people all over Europe are talking about him. In France, dinner conversation would almost always steer toward Obama, the election, and what a big change this was for America. From what I’ve seen, the French are totally into America again.
Just last night, some friends and I were in a little convenient store, and the little Vietnamese owner raised his arms above his head and yelled “Obama!” when he figured out we were American.
People dig the man…
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Saturday, January 17, 2009
Corporate Life
I recently signed up to teach for one of the language schools in Prague. To protect the innocent, I’m not going to mention which one. But I will say that it is very corporate…
Teaching for a language school in Prague is entirely different from what I was doing in Japan. The language schools’ clients are businesses. The businesses say that they need X amount of English classes or private lessons, and the language schools find teachers to teach those classes. I don’t work in a “school”. I go all over the city to teach my lessons. And I don’t get paid a salary. I get paid per lesson. The school gradually fills their new teachers’ schedules. So, since I haven’t even been there a week. I only have 7 hours of classes so far. I’m making no money. Hopefully, in the next couple weeks, they’ll have filled out my schedule to something closer to 20 hours a week.
On Friday, I went into the school for a new teachers workshop. I figured they’d tell us a few things about teaching, a few things about how things worked, and we’d get out of there. Oh boy… So, we started off by breaking into four teams, and in our teams, we had to “draw” the departmental structure of the company – complete with the four major departments, some of their subdivisions, and the names of some of the people who work in those departments… That activity was then followed up by an even better one: a quiz game. Each group takes turns answering questions. The questions go like this: “if you want to take an extended holiday, who do you talk to?” The teams get one point for the person’s name, and another point for their job title. Mind you, when they hire you, they give you a sheet with all this information. As useful as it might be, there’s no need to memorize it. It’s all on the sheet. Have a problem? See the sheet. Talk to the appropriate person. Why are we playing this horrible game?
And the “workshop” didn’t end there. Oh, no, no, no… It went on for another three hours… About all types of things that can be found in the information packet we all got – complete with asinine questions from the peanut gallery. Yes, tell the group every detail of the class that you are having a problem with. This is a good way to spend everyone’s time.
I got so antsy… The window started looking like a reasonable escape route. I can’t wait for next Friday’s workshop…
Teaching for a language school in Prague is entirely different from what I was doing in Japan. The language schools’ clients are businesses. The businesses say that they need X amount of English classes or private lessons, and the language schools find teachers to teach those classes. I don’t work in a “school”. I go all over the city to teach my lessons. And I don’t get paid a salary. I get paid per lesson. The school gradually fills their new teachers’ schedules. So, since I haven’t even been there a week. I only have 7 hours of classes so far. I’m making no money. Hopefully, in the next couple weeks, they’ll have filled out my schedule to something closer to 20 hours a week.
On Friday, I went into the school for a new teachers workshop. I figured they’d tell us a few things about teaching, a few things about how things worked, and we’d get out of there. Oh boy… So, we started off by breaking into four teams, and in our teams, we had to “draw” the departmental structure of the company – complete with the four major departments, some of their subdivisions, and the names of some of the people who work in those departments… That activity was then followed up by an even better one: a quiz game. Each group takes turns answering questions. The questions go like this: “if you want to take an extended holiday, who do you talk to?” The teams get one point for the person’s name, and another point for their job title. Mind you, when they hire you, they give you a sheet with all this information. As useful as it might be, there’s no need to memorize it. It’s all on the sheet. Have a problem? See the sheet. Talk to the appropriate person. Why are we playing this horrible game?
And the “workshop” didn’t end there. Oh, no, no, no… It went on for another three hours… About all types of things that can be found in the information packet we all got – complete with asinine questions from the peanut gallery. Yes, tell the group every detail of the class that you are having a problem with. This is a good way to spend everyone’s time.
I got so antsy… The window started looking like a reasonable escape route. I can’t wait for next Friday’s workshop…
Thursday, January 15, 2009
Prague in Winter
It's really cold here. Highs consistently in the low twenties. Here are some pictures.
The view from our apartment
Old Town Square
Statues in Old Town Square
A building...
The view from our apartment
Old Town Square
Statues in Old Town Square
A building...
Worst Customer Service...
This place has the worst customer service… ever. Especially compared to the absurdly polite and thorough help in Japan.
There’s multiple incidents of this in the previous post… There’s the waitresses that ignore you forever until finally, begrudgingly coming over to take your order… And there’s the people at Tesco, who, granted, were doing something (seemingly unimportant) at the time, but when I went up to them to ask them a question, deliberately ignored me. Just pretended like I wasn’t there. Do I need to shove you against the vacuum cleaners and yell my question into your face? Pay attention to me! I wanna buy things from your store… damn…
There’s multiple incidents of this in the previous post… There’s the waitresses that ignore you forever until finally, begrudgingly coming over to take your order… And there’s the people at Tesco, who, granted, were doing something (seemingly unimportant) at the time, but when I went up to them to ask them a question, deliberately ignored me. Just pretended like I wasn’t there. Do I need to shove you against the vacuum cleaners and yell my question into your face? Pay attention to me! I wanna buy things from your store… damn…
Operation Package Retrieval
The other day, I ventured down to the international post office to pick up a package for a friend. Oh boy… Czech people are not nearly as helpful as Japanese people – or any other people, for that matter. In fact, they are decidedly unhelpful.
So, I actually find the post office (a good first step) – a disgusting commie-style building. Inside, its even worse – a labyrinth of neon-lit, uniform, tattered hallways that lead to abandoned offices, and… a cafeteria(?!).
I find an employee, show her my slip, give her a confused look that says, “where do I go to pick this up.” She has no idea. None at all. The guy standing next to her (another employee) also has no idea. Do you people even work here? Where did you get those badges?
So, I go to the main area, where there are several tellers behind thick glass. I stand there confused. See a guy pushing a button on a machine. A number pops out. I do the same... 573. This is going to be a long wait…
When I finally get to the teller, I hand her the slip. She tells me to go upstairs. “First floor,” she says (in English, by the way – she was very proud of herself).
I go to the first floor. There seems to be no package-pickup place. Just a dingy cooridor. I listen… Hear talking. Find the door. Knock. Open it. And find two guys in postal worker uniforms sitting at desks. They ignore me. I say “excuse me,” and give my patented “bewildered look” while extending the slip. The guys stare at me. Don’t say anything. I walk toward one with my slip. He takes a look at it for a second and then raises a finger into the air. Up.
I go up another floor. Which way to go? Right or left? I choose right. Walk through the doors. This could be the place… Tellers sit behind glass. People are picking up packages. Things look good. I approach the nearest teller. She ignores me. I say “excuse me” and give her my slip. She looks at it, staples something to it, and tells me to go to the next window. I go to the next window. The woman there knows I’m standing in front of her. Her coworker just told me, in Czech, to go to her. I say “excuse me” and extend my slip. She ignores me. She’s busy with something. She takes her time with it. Doesn’t look up. Only when she finishes does she acknowledge my presence. She takes the slip. Says, “passport.” Uh oh… I am not the person on the slip… Luckily, I, and my cohorts at the TEFL school, had the foresight to forge a letter saying that I have permission to handle all of my friend's business while she is away (complete with forged signature).
Mission: Retrieve Package
Agent: Sooky
Objective: Retrieve package from the clutches of Czech bureaucracy.
Status: Complete
Outcome: Success. Package in Agent’s care.
Notes: Appropriate documents forged. Agent willing to break laws. Justice is on his side.
So, I actually find the post office (a good first step) – a disgusting commie-style building. Inside, its even worse – a labyrinth of neon-lit, uniform, tattered hallways that lead to abandoned offices, and… a cafeteria(?!).
I find an employee, show her my slip, give her a confused look that says, “where do I go to pick this up.” She has no idea. None at all. The guy standing next to her (another employee) also has no idea. Do you people even work here? Where did you get those badges?
So, I go to the main area, where there are several tellers behind thick glass. I stand there confused. See a guy pushing a button on a machine. A number pops out. I do the same... 573. This is going to be a long wait…
When I finally get to the teller, I hand her the slip. She tells me to go upstairs. “First floor,” she says (in English, by the way – she was very proud of herself).
I go to the first floor. There seems to be no package-pickup place. Just a dingy cooridor. I listen… Hear talking. Find the door. Knock. Open it. And find two guys in postal worker uniforms sitting at desks. They ignore me. I say “excuse me,” and give my patented “bewildered look” while extending the slip. The guys stare at me. Don’t say anything. I walk toward one with my slip. He takes a look at it for a second and then raises a finger into the air. Up.
I go up another floor. Which way to go? Right or left? I choose right. Walk through the doors. This could be the place… Tellers sit behind glass. People are picking up packages. Things look good. I approach the nearest teller. She ignores me. I say “excuse me” and give her my slip. She looks at it, staples something to it, and tells me to go to the next window. I go to the next window. The woman there knows I’m standing in front of her. Her coworker just told me, in Czech, to go to her. I say “excuse me” and extend my slip. She ignores me. She’s busy with something. She takes her time with it. Doesn’t look up. Only when she finishes does she acknowledge my presence. She takes the slip. Says, “passport.” Uh oh… I am not the person on the slip… Luckily, I, and my cohorts at the TEFL school, had the foresight to forge a letter saying that I have permission to handle all of my friend's business while she is away (complete with forged signature).
Mission: Retrieve Package
Agent: Sooky
Objective: Retrieve package from the clutches of Czech bureaucracy.
Status: Complete
Outcome: Success. Package in Agent’s care.
Notes: Appropriate documents forged. Agent willing to break laws. Justice is on his side.
Dublin
I went to Dublin last weekend to visit Dave and Charlotte! Fun was had. Here are some pictures:
Trinity College
The Spire above the shops off O'Connell Street.
St Stephen's Green.
Howth - it was really windy and rainy.
Us on the cliffs of Howth. Note the rainbow in the background. *wink, wink* (insert your favorite leprechaun/pot of gold joke here)
Trinity College
The Spire above the shops off O'Connell Street.
St Stephen's Green.
Howth - it was really windy and rainy.
Us on the cliffs of Howth. Note the rainbow in the background. *wink, wink* (insert your favorite leprechaun/pot of gold joke here)
Thursday, January 8, 2009
No, I'm Not From Here
People say I don’t “look American” (I’m not sure what that means, what do Americans look like?). It’s weird, but I blend in in Europe. I’m not used to passing unnoticed in a foreign country… The funny thing is, both in Prague and in France, the natives try to talk to me.
Yesterday, a goofy, disheveled looking Czech guy came up to me and asked me for directions – I shrugged and walked away. It’s not even the first time that’s happened…
In France, the same thing would happen. My friend, who speaks fluently (but, I guess, looks “American”), would initiate conversation with someone, and then the person she was speaking to would turn to me, as if I was the French one.
I must look European or something.
During the TEFL class, we had a conversation about what nationality people resembled. Someone said, “I think you look Jewish.”
“You might be on to something…”
Yesterday, a goofy, disheveled looking Czech guy came up to me and asked me for directions – I shrugged and walked away. It’s not even the first time that’s happened…
In France, the same thing would happen. My friend, who speaks fluently (but, I guess, looks “American”), would initiate conversation with someone, and then the person she was speaking to would turn to me, as if I was the French one.
I must look European or something.
During the TEFL class, we had a conversation about what nationality people resembled. Someone said, “I think you look Jewish.”
“You might be on to something…”
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