PEGANDO
I’ve been neglecting the Blog for a bit while voraciously working on a PowerPoint in hopes of capturing the students’ attention and heighten their level of interest. Today was the unveiling and I excitedly asked students to line up inside the classroom so that when everyone arrived we could leave for the audiovisual room. Bad idea.
I should have known better than to change a routine that has only recently been established. First, I saw one boy punching a girl. Luckily, right then the “prefecta” walked by and took on the case. Just as I was satisfied that we might make it out of the classroom, students at the front of the line said a girl was crying in the back. The student made her way to the door, stumbling and bouncing between the two lines of classmates as if she was moving through a car wash. Apparently another girl had been hitting her. The “prefecta,” still in the hallway dealing with the boy, now also took on the two girls. My new motto, “God Bless the Prefectos.”
It appeared that a revolt might be brewing among the masses, so I asked them to take their seats – OK, I yelled at them to take their seats. I proceeded to punish them with the most painful method I know how: The often-used parenting style, “punishment by guilt.” I explained the time and effort that I had spent creating the PowerPoint and how I had been excited to share it with them. The room became silent, the students’ guilt hovering, and with that, the mood was set for the students to walk in miraculous silence all the way to the audiovisual room.
PIZZA
After school I met Andi in Polanco and we made our way to Bellaria, an Italian Restaurant/Pizzeria I read about in the magazine Chilango. This month’s issue featured 43 of Mexico City’s best restaurants, including the Best Pizza Restaurants. I enjoyed the Cuatro Quesos (4 cheeses) with a smooth Negra Modelo and then a Coke, with lots of ice. Andi had the Margarita pizza accompanied with a glass of red wine. We had arrived at rush hour, around 3:30, and enjoyed a relaxing meal, leaving hours later.
PULLED TO SAFETY
After walking to the Polanco metro in a light drizzle, I headed south on the orange line towards Barranca del Muerto. When I transferred to the brown line towards Pantitlan, I molded into a bit of open space I spotted on a car. There wasn’t an extra inch of space in between passengers and even if I wanted to move towards the door to prepare to disembark, it would have been a nearly impossible feat. So, once the metro screamed to a stop and the passengers swayed back and lurched forward in unison, I said, “Con permiso” (excuse me) a number of times and made it to the doorway just as the high pitch sound began, signaling the closing of the doors. I quietly and desperately squeaked out, “¿Puedo salir?” (Can I get out?) I eyed a short, bulky, older white man standing on the platform across from me, wanting to board. He reached his arm out to me, I grabbed his hand and he yanked until I was expelled from the car. My backpack wasn’t so lucky; I didn’t let go, my left arm was still in the loop, but the bag hung behind me, trapped in the doors that closed like the “jaws of life”. I looked back and saw the passengers gripping the door, struggling to pry it open. The doors snapped open; I lurched forward and pitifully tried to play off the whole situation. I’m almost positive I could hear each onlooker mutter, “Foreigners.”
