Article written

Something exotic for dinner 0

Dear Bradshaw,

            I realized something was wrong at the very beginning of the lesson. Seconds after pulling up a stool and seating myself at the desk, I sniffed a foul odor, and yet it was also a semi-sweet stink, and I found myself thinking for the better part of an hour that nine-year-old new student Alessia needed a bath, or else that her mother was preparing something exotic for dinner.

            Fifty-five minutes into the hour-long lesson, little Alessia suddenly said, “Uh oh! Guess what? Look at your shoe.”

            There it was, incriminating evidence, and now with the tables turned, all I could think to say was, “Maybe it’s mud.”

            She screwed up her eyes, twisted her mouth and then shook her head, and said, “I don’t think so.”

            “Why’d you wait so long to tell me?” I asked.

            “I only just now noticed,” she said.

            Having gone from teaching English to saving face, I had five more minutes to get through and, after that, to leave without tracking (more?) feces through the house. Should I admit to her mom that yes, there was shit on my shoe, and more than likely, also on her floor?

            Things went from bad to worse when, a minute later, Alessia said, “Uh oh.”

            “What now?” I asked.

            She pointed to the edge of the chair she was sitting on. Apparently, while crossing my leg, my shoe had grazed the seat and left a glob of crap. Having put her hand there, she had felt something sticky between her fingers. Excusing herself to the bathroom, she left.

            Meanwhile, in my mind, I was pleading innocence. The ground outside was wet from the rain and it was dark. There was mud, minimum illumination, and I had raced across town to arrive on time. I had pens, paper, a textbook, dictionary, verb charts… What now? I also have to check my shoes for shit?

            Alessia returned, hands smelling of soap. We finished the last minute and while I was leaving, the mom asked how the lesson had gone, and I said, “Great. Though there was a bit of an issue at the end.”

            Obviously, from now on, they’ll be sniffing the air whenever I arrive. I can see it now, me ringing the doorbell, entering the apartment, and them searching the floor for footprints.

            Oh well, whatever, right? I get paid regardless.

2 people like this post.

subscribe to comments RSS

There are no comments for this post

Please, feel free to post your own comment

* these are required fields

Scott Sussman is powered by WordPress and FREEmium Theme.