36 Hours in Mexico City

I was scrolling through my cell-phone contacts last Monday, and I came across a "MoniMichelle". Who? Oh yes, that's right. A nice French girl gave me this number in a drunken conversation we had at a party over the weekend. The French girl (whose name escapes me) teaches French language at a nearby college, and MoniMichelle is her boss. She told me that they're always looking for new teachers...

So, I dialed the number before I could over-think.
"Hello, may I please speak to MoniMichelle?" (Is that even a real name?)
"This is MoniMichelle. Who is speaking?"
"Hi, I'm Felipe or Philip, really. A French girl gave me your number. She teaches French at your school..."
"What's her name?"
Oh shit, "Um, I forget. I met her at a party... Do you need any English teachers?"
"Actually yes, please send in your CV..." She rattled off all this stuff I couldn't understand, and I was running out of things to say in Spanish, so I cut her off-
"Can we meet in person?"
We made an appointment for Tuesday at one o'clock. A real job interview!

The next morning, I left the house with plenty of time to spare wearing a polo shirt and khaki pants (a step up from the usual tie-dyed rags hanging off my body). It only took five minutes to walk there, so I had about twenty-five minutes to pace outside and get nervous. The reception desk looked more like airport security, and I actually had to give them my passport in exchange for a visitor pass.

I sat down with MoniMichelle's secretary, Irma, and explained to her that I've been teaching private English classes for the past few months and would love to work in a school. She glanced over my thin CV and then laid it out for me,
"We might need you to start tomorrow morning. Come back at 6 o'clock and give a sample class to members of the faculty. You can teach the idiomatic future or the simple past."
The idiomatic future? What? I told her I'd do the simple one. We said our goodbyes, and after looking me up and down, she added,
"You see those guys over there? You should dress more like them. We have a dress code."
OK, OK!

With an optimistic adrenaline blast, I charged home and hit the internet. I had three hours to produce a grammar lesson complete with handouts, activities, and exercises. And more importantly, I had to feel confident in the material and over-all terminology. How do you start teaching the past tense? When do you use it, Why?
Did you call Maria?
I didn't call Maria.
I called Maria.
I managed to put together a cohesive lesson plan and had it printed out at the shop downstairs. But before heading back to the school, I picked out a new ensemble from our wedding reception tool-kit (dress shirt, dress pants, and loafers).

Thankfully, I taught my sample class to only one faculty member, Oscar. And after I got over the initial nervousness, I felt like I belonged at the front of a classroom. The hardest part was fumbling at the whiteboard. My hand-writing is huge and ugly, and I'm totally dyslexic! Oscar gave me a rosy review and said that he would call in the morning with my next step. Based on his enthusiasm, I sensed that it was a done deal.

Tomorrow morning never came, no phone call. I waited a couple of days and eventually dragged my feet back over there just to confirm my darkest worry. And that's the sad story of how I almost became a university professor in 36 hours. The whole whirlwind experience felt like a reality TV competition dream. I didn't win and then I woke up.

-PJ