The training is going well. I'm learning some Arabic, French, and a bit of Italian as the other trainers practice our lesson plans on us. And, of course, some Swahili, but only enough to say "Hi. My name is Ryan. It is great to meet you!" and then stand awkwardly until a native Swahilian ? figures out I don't really speak the language.
I moved into my hotel, and it's nice to be able to lay my stuff out and get organized. I made my first supermarket purchase -- kilo of apples, small loaf of sunflower seed bread, and a jar of Nutella -- all for 4 Euro - something. It was my dinner last night and breakfast this morning. I also purchased an alarm clock yesterday because without a cell phone or watch, my only way of waking up was keeping the curtains open for the sun. That, and wake myself up every half our or so to see what time it was.
Tonight, I'll probably go out with my trainee friends who are not going home for the weekend -- Hamburg, mostly -- and somehow keep myself awake for the Michigan State game at 2.30...
That's all for now. Time to prepare my lesson plan demo. Bis bald! Ryan
Friday, March 27, 2009
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Eye Doc and Tackling the Partition
Today I took a trip to my eye doctor – one of a series of trips to doctors to make sure everything is in working order before I leave. During the small talk between the doctor and me, I revealed I was heading to Germany, trying to impress her. She was a very young, attractive doctor right out of school, with whom I realized it was easier to talk with my contacts out. When I first met her and when she led me back to her office, I stumbled over my words a lot, and I realized it was easier to talk to an extremely attractive optometrist when you had forgotten she was extremely attractive. Though she may have been impressed to hear of my sudden career change and the upcoming trip to Germany, she professionally decided to subject me to an annoying dilation of my eyes. Spellbound by her combination of blurry beauty and high level of education, I acquiesced and allowed her to drop several stinging drops of pupil-widener into my eyes.
About fifteen minutes of waiting room time later, and texts to my friend apologizing in advance for having to“see” her face by handling it when I would subsequently meet her for lunch, I was led back into the dim examination room. Once again trying to impress her (and perhaps lengthen the amount of time of my exam), I told her I didn't think I was very dilated. To which she answered, after a quick glance at my eyes and a “you're kind of retarded, aren't you” laugh, to look into the mirror. My irises had been entirely eclipsed by black. We went through the examination, during which I was a little less intimidated by her as she wore a ridiculous looking pair of binocular-type things on her face. (Still hot, but wearing also wearing binoculars on her face.) I debated for a few seconds whether or not I should tell her. The examination was over in less than five minutes, and on the way out she handed me her business card. Immediately I start fantasizing of a transatlantic correspondence which begins with a slight eye irritation and ends with her flying to Germany to christen our relationship. Then I noticed her email was not on the business card, and that fantasy fell to the wayside..
Despite being dissed by the no-email, I was in a good mood and convinced I was barely being affected by the dilation when I stepped outside and walked to the El. Off in my own world (probably thinking how a phone call about eye irritation would develop in a bubbling romance) , I boarded the plane, and as I was only going one stop down the line decided to lean against the partition rather than sit down. Only when I crossed my legs and leaned did I realized too late that I was about six inches further from the translucent plastic partition than I thought, and crashed into it with my shoulder at nearly a 45 degree angle. Brushing myself off , and glancing around to make sure no one saw me shoulder tackle the partition, I regained my composure.
About fifteen minutes of waiting room time later, and texts to my friend apologizing in advance for having to“see” her face by handling it when I would subsequently meet her for lunch, I was led back into the dim examination room. Once again trying to impress her (and perhaps lengthen the amount of time of my exam), I told her I didn't think I was very dilated. To which she answered, after a quick glance at my eyes and a “you're kind of retarded, aren't you” laugh, to look into the mirror. My irises had been entirely eclipsed by black. We went through the examination, during which I was a little less intimidated by her as she wore a ridiculous looking pair of binocular-type things on her face. (Still hot, but wearing also wearing binoculars on her face.) I debated for a few seconds whether or not I should tell her. The examination was over in less than five minutes, and on the way out she handed me her business card. Immediately I start fantasizing of a transatlantic correspondence which begins with a slight eye irritation and ends with her flying to Germany to christen our relationship. Then I noticed her email was not on the business card, and that fantasy fell to the wayside..
Despite being dissed by the no-email, I was in a good mood and convinced I was barely being affected by the dilation when I stepped outside and walked to the El. Off in my own world (probably thinking how a phone call about eye irritation would develop in a bubbling romance) , I boarded the plane, and as I was only going one stop down the line decided to lean against the partition rather than sit down. Only when I crossed my legs and leaned did I realized too late that I was about six inches further from the translucent plastic partition than I thought, and crashed into it with my shoulder at nearly a 45 degree angle. Brushing myself off , and glancing around to make sure no one saw me shoulder tackle the partition, I regained my composure.
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