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A day in Spanish

I sit in on a Spanish class. I never had a Spanish class before this, and this is  Spanish 3.  I understand most of what goes on because its so much like Latin.  The first couple of tests I scored pretty high. It makes the kid in front of me crazy.

“Its because I cheat off you.”

He brightened up.

“Really?”

“No.”

The kids in the class don’t understand why I come.  Why would I sit in a classroom when I am obviously not compelled to be there? The presumed objective, learning stuff, is not immediately apparent to them. There is a commentary on education here.

The teacher is a young guy, (well, compared to me I guess) a surfer with a ponytail.  He checks to make sure the door is locked, a school rule in case we have a Columbine type incident, which makes sense if the potential killer student decides to flip out while he is alone out in the hallway and everyone else is in class. Well, I guess he could kill everyone in his own class first and then venture out, but be foiled in his attempt to exterminate us. He would probably be out of ammunition at that point anyway.

The teacher checks the door. It is unlocked.

“O gosh, it’s unlocked.  Someone could sneak in and steal me.  (Pause.)  And take me to that place.

The kids don’t think this is nearly as funny as I do.

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