Cabin Fever

It's December 6th and I've got cabin fever. I've been inside all day. No, not because it is cold out (al contraire, it is a balmy 60 degrees), but because anything I might possibly want to do today would be done downtown, which is where Greek anarchists are rioting. Rioting, you ask? Here's a little background info. Last year on December 6, a 15-year old boy was shot at by police after throwing rocks at a cop car. Supposedly the shots weren't aimed at the boy, but they ricocheted off of a wall and killed him. This incident gave anarchists just enough reason to start a riot which included looting stores, burning down an H&M, breaking the windows of a Starbucks, releasing tear gas in the streets and throwing rocks at riot police. Tonight on the news it looked like last year's events all over - except even messier due to the fact that the trash collectors are on strike this week and every street corner is overflowing with heaps of rotten garbage (perfect fodder for anarchist fires).

http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/europe/8396693.stm

Most Wanted

Classes were canceled because of the flu. The swine flu. Not because anyone at school had it, but because no one wanted to get it.

In order to escape this hypothetical virus, my friends and I boarded a boat to Santorini - that quaint little island you’ve already seen and fantasized about every time you think of Greece. It exists in reality as it does in every picture and in your imagination; elegantly sculptured whitewashed villages, blue domed churches and the sparkling Mediterranean all against a bright blue sky backdrop. Curiously, this enchanting place is the same island where historically (up until WWII) political prisoners and war criminals went into exile.

Upon disembarking an 8-hour ferry, my friends and I were bombarded by middle-aged Greek men pulling out laminated brochures of their respective hotels and rooms for rent. In order to escape the madness we sought refuge in a storefront labeled “Tourist Information” with a hand-painted tourist bureau emblem. (Congratulations to you if you already have thought that the description of this “tourist office” sounds questionable...)

I guess that I take non-partisanship for granted, coming from a country where there is a definitive separation between church and state and public and private sectors. Greece, however, does not have such clearly defined - or better yet defined- distinctions between public and private sectors. I saw what looked like something official and treated it as such.

“We would each like to pay 12 euro or less” I said to the (now in retrospect) sleazy man who came out of the storefront.

He told us (the group of teaching fellows) to hold on and he would look into options. Not more than a minute later he returned with the perfect answer: his hotel, Fira Blue Horizons.

At this juncture it should have been obvious that this was not a non-partisan tourist office. This was a storefront run by a sleazy (perhaps even a pimp) hotel-owner whose hotel he wanted to promote in a deceptively non-partisan manner. I have no excuse for my oblivion except to say that, well, I was overwhelmed and this guy seemed to simplify everything quite nicely.

Two rooms with three beds each for 70 euro total. Sold.

And we must pay now to get a free ride up to the hotel?

Okay.

Wait. You’re not taking us up to your hotel yourself?

Questionable. (This is the point at which my intuition started to overpower my poor negotiating skills).

But before we knew it the five of us were packing into a taxi and being shipped off to the main island town, Fira, where our pre-paid hotel rooms where waiting for us - bed bugs and all.


Keep in mind that this was not a hotel. This was a building with individual rooms. No hotel clerk, no one on staff. Our rooms were left unlocked with the keys hanging inside. We were told to put the keys in the mini-refrigerator the next day upon leaving. You get the picture.

Looks can be deceiving because upon closer examination these seemingly decent hotel rooms had beds covered in short curly hairs and very small bugs.

Fortunately, Romello (the "hotel" owner) had given me a business card with his number. I called him up to break the news; we didn’t want the free bedbugs. He told us to move to another room and I told him to just come in person to work this out...we wanted our money back.

Sara (a fellow teaching fellow) babysat the bedbugs to keep as proof. The other teaching fellows and I proceeded to call and insist that Romello come to his dirty hotel with our sanctimonious money. We waited for awhile.

When we called again we were dealing with an unidentifiable someone who did not speak much English. What a farce. This anonymous someone did not know what is a bug.

Another girl, Allyson, explained.

Insects!

They refused to come refund our money to us. The phone conversation ended with a threat of keeping the keys if we didn’t get our money back. Click. Dial tone.

We all left that place up in arms. We had been duped. But all is not fair in matters of accommodation and payment; we took the keys and tossed them outside the hotel - we had to feel like we’d paid for something. Then we called another hotel owner who agreed to pick us up at the bus station (transportation is so vital to this story because we are on a craggy cliff, unnavigable-without-a-car island). We stormed off to the bus stop to wait and while hovering like a school of fish we were accosted by yours truly, one Romello Fira Blue Horizons "hotel"owner. He was furious. That was an understatement.

“WHY YOU DO THAT TO MY HOTEL!?! WHERE ARE MY KEYS!?! YOU TRASH MY HOTEL!”

This man was rabid and directing all accusations at Allyson who effectively deflected his rabidity.

“GIVE ME THE KEYS! WHERE ARE THE KEYS!?!?!” he screamed in this public bus station venue.

“We don’t have the keys. They’re at the hotel” Allyson responded with the selective truth of a sassy teenager.

“COME WITH ME! COME WITH ME AND GET THE KEYS!” roared Romello who will, from this point on be referred to as Crazy Face Killer (C.F.K).

“No. I’m not going with you. You’re scaring me. I'm not going anywhere with you!” Allyson proclaimed as she stood her ground.

At this point the foam was pouring out of this Greek man’s mouth as he straddled his scooter and shook his fist.

"YOU GET YOUR MONEY WHEN YOU GIVE ME THE KEYS!" he yelled while pointing at a dirty little fanny pack containing god-knows-what.

While I found this all very engaging, it was also quite scary. We had only been on this island for an hour and had already created a vendetta greater than the Montagues vs. the Capulets. Plus, there was no escape from this angry man on a scooter on an island in the middle of a very large sea.

Realizing our limitations and predicament, I tried to set the situation straight and volunteered to go get the keys with another teaching fellow, Claire, while the rabid man stayed behind to wait.

Allyson ran off (rightfully so) and we called her to find out where she had tossed the keys. I had tossed my set over a gate which (thanks to goodness) happened to be unlocked. The keys that Allyson had tossed were a mere 3 feet from a Rotweiller's fenced-in home.

Claire and I retrieved the keys with a huge sigh of relief and excitedly walked back to the bus station where we were to receive our refund. Crazy Face Killer, however, met us halfway on his scooter. This big man on the little scooter was a throwback to the UW-Madison fraternity football players, except C.F.K even lacked that elegance.

“YOU HAVE THE KEYS?” he asked impatiently.

“Yes,” we replied as we held up the keys

He pulled out a 50 euro bill from his disgusting little fanny pack. Claire handed him one key. I kept the other.

“You said that you would give us a full refund if you got the keys back. We paid 70 euro, you’re 20 short,” I said, holding the other key hostage.

“LOOK, MADAME,” Romello said in the most aggressively polite way ever, “I pay for your taxi to my hotel. You trash my hotel and hide the keys. You get 50.”

“What constitutes "trashing" your hotel?" I asked using the Socratic method (I am in Greece after all). "Your hotel was already filthy upon entering. You've wasted our time and we want our money back. You can have the other key when you are ready to give us a full refund” I said in a less elegant manner. This is where my preschool teacher conflict resolution experience came in handy. But Crazy Face Killer did not appreciate being talked to so calmly in his rabid state.

“COME WITH ME!” he screamed, looking like the little teapot ready to blow. “WE ARE GOING TO THE TOURIST POLICE!” he yelled, seriously believing that we would follow and, even if we had, that he would have been right in this totally maniacal situation.

We refused to follow a crazy man on a moped. At this point I just wanted the whole fiasco to end so I could go back to, or rather, begin to enjoy the Meditteranean paradise surrounding me.

“Look. Why don’t we just cut the loss and you keep 10 and give us 10 and you’ll get your other key back,” I said in a reconciling manner.

With bulging eyes and clenched teeth, he gruffly took out another 10 euro from his fanny pack and begrudgingly handed it to me. I gave him the key. It was a quick and nervous exchange. Then he insisted that we give him our names (which we made up of course) and he asked if we were staying at the other hotel (where he knew the owner). We lied and said yes. What kind of question is that anyway? Did he really expect us to tell him the truth so that he could come strangle us in the night?

As quickly as he came to us on his scooter, so he left. It was over. We had lost 10 euro between 6 people; a mere 1.67 euro for an hellacious adventure that made us all the wiser for it.

High adrenaline and low-blood sugar put me into a state of post-traumatic shock upon seeing any other Greek men on scooters that day and for that matter, the rest of my vacation. I did, however, enjoy the rest of my time keeping a low-profile (sunglasses and all) and skipping town the next day to spend the remainder of my island time in exile in a magical, scooter-free town called Oia. Life in exile on Santorini wasn’t so bad after all.

Back in middle school - most people's worst nightmare, my ridiculous reality

When recollecting on childhood and adolescence, the time most people seem to want to forget is that utterly awkward time - somewhere between the ages of 12-15 - that most closely coincides with middle school. Ahhhhh. Middle school. Braces, puberty, pimples, rejection, dejection and all other topics that evoke discomfort and chuckles.

This is my to-be reality here in Athens, Greece.

Did I sign-up for this? Not exactly. But turns out, it might just be the funniest teaching fellow assignment possible - and not just because of the students, but rather the teachers.

School has not started yet, but the middle school teachers are already in what looks like full swing to me. Smartboards (an interactive digital "chalkboard" / educational tool) have been introduced to Athens College and the teachers have been asked to incorporate these futuristic boards into their curriculums. Now let's just take a moment to evaluate that request. The Athens College middle school teachers, some 20 women and 1 man between the ages of 28 - 70 (most on the senior citizen end of the spectrum), very much set in their pedagogical methods and madness, are being asked to use a chalkboard that functions like a computer monitor and then more. You can even write on the thing with a "virtual pen". Most of these women don't even use computers or email to communicate amongst themselves. In fact, I was told that these teachers use memos delivered by an internal mailman (or Greek messenger as I like to call him) to communicate outside of class.

Tuesday morning was my first meeting with my new colleagues. It was a Smartboard tutorial meeting.

Now add a lot estrogen, literary allusions and argumentative personalities to this Smartboard tutorial and you get the Greek version of a town hall health care reform debate. Or My Big, Fat Greek Meeting.

Woah.

My fellowship director was right about her assessment of this group of teachers- sparks were flying.

In short, I can only describe the meeting as extremely animated. Analogies of horse and buggy is to car as chalkboard is to Smartboard were being fervently thrown out.

Lots of gesticulating.

Escalating, emotional arguments.

The Smartboard sponsored teacher of these teachers even became impatient and told the teachers to shut-up in so many words. My jaw dropped.

I thought that the woman down the aisle from me was going into child labor.

Another older lady a few rows ahead just put her head down- too much information, why change everything she has ever known about teaching now for this silly machine? Some of the greatest cornerstones of Western thought have come from her country, should she trust or even bother with this Canadian-born machine?

Middle school, round two.

School starts on Monday, updates to follow.

The Summary (or resume, as the French would say)

Over the weekend I was asked to give a brief rundown of my resume. This was a challenging prompt because my resume is not brief. In fact, the number of jobs that I've had would seem to say that I haven't had any for very long (considering that I've been in the working world for 10 years now), but such is not the case for all the jobs. I've managed to have a wide variety of employers - in both their personalities and objectives - in a short amount of time. From the crazy Christian book publisher (only lasted two weeks) to the noodle sweatshop which required me to carry a "noodle passport", I have gained a lot of useless experience and, what I now realize in retrospect, useful people skills.

p.s. - It is a job in and of itself to read my entire resume. It is recommended to just scan over it.

Kristin Erhard

Athens, Greece

Experience

Sandwich Artist and Cashier, Delitalia; Madison, WI - 1999-2000

Made hot and cold subs. Washed dishes. Hid in freezer. Refused to clean bathroom. Ate unauthorized free food.

Reason for leaving: Sexual harassment from co-worker and manager.

Cashier and Cheese Labeler, Magic Mill Natural Foods Market, Madison, WI — 2001-2002

Memorized PLU codes for various fruits and vegetables. Put labels on cheese. Rung up self-congratulatory organic food consumers.

Reason for leaving: School

Front Desk Staff and Media Service Specialist; UNCA Library Media Center, Asheville, NC— 2003-2006

Checked media materials in and out. Got paid to do homework. Created spoof Media Mania videos with expensive equipment. Disappointed crowd of 200 people at a film festival because I couldn’t get an international DVD to play.

Reason for leaving: No longer in school

Noodle Serving Person and Bus Boy; Noodles and Company, Madison, WI— June 2003

Cleaned bottom of chairs. Bussed tables.

Reason for leaving: Lack of interest in carrying a mandatory noodle passport and generally insane company policies.

Waitress, Hostess, Bus Boy, Cashier, Egg roll Fryer, Mung bean Plate Setter, Underage Bartender; Nam’s Noodle Vietnamese Restaurant and Karaoke Bar, Madison, WI — Summer 2003

General job duties included memorizing a menu with 60 items, bussing, cashiering, waitressing, frying egg rolls and underage bar tending all at once.

Reason for leaving: School

Pottery Instructor; Rockbrook Camp for Girls, Brevard, NC—Summer 2004

Taught pottery to overly-privileged-yet-neglected girls ages 7 to 15.

Reason for leaving: The obnoxiously sung camp songs at meal time caused indigestion.

Waitress; Boston’s Pizza, Middelton, WI—2 weeks, Summer 2005

This franchise required me to purchase their t-shirt and apron for $60 from my first paycheck. I was a terrible waitress and cried after being yelled at for messing up an order.

Reason for leaving: Disgust

Hostess; Otto’s Restaurant, Madison, WI — Summer 2005

Catered to ridiculously wealthy country-clubbers. Showed them to their seats. Eavesdropped on their extremely boring dinner conversations from my hostess podium. Made coffee and caused it to explode all over the waiter prep area.

Reason for leaving: School

Bus Boy; Flying Frog Cafe and Bar, Asheville, NC — Summer 2006

Collected people’s dirty plates, put them on a cart and went to the basement. Befriended dishwasher, drank coffee, avoided the regulars who harassed me.

Reason for leaving: Decided not to go through with the sex change (to bus boy) /bigger and better things in life.

Production Assistant / Opinion Giver; Daily Planet Newspaper — Summer 2006

Started as an advertising sales associate, sold one ad to a crying woman and traded ad space for pizza. Was promoted (or rather, changed) to production assitant and graphic designer. Took photos of boring events around Asheville, gave opinion to editor who then published my opinion as his own, re-wrote feel-good column to clearly express ideas of new age woman.

Reason for leaving: school

Publishing Intern; Crazy Christian Lady Publisher, Asheville. NC— 2 weeks, January 2007

Spent 2 hours processing a $4 rebate coupon. Read a book called “Getting Things Done”. Gritted teeth.

Reason for leaving: Insanity and mutual dislike.

Transportation Planning Intern; UNC-Asheville Transporation Department, Asheville. NC— Fall 2006 and Spring 2007

Organized an event to promote public transit use in which I mistakenly put 50 freshmen on 2 public buses that ended up in different locations. They thought that they were going to an ice rink.

Reason for leaving: Penland

Waitress; Guzmo’s Mojo Cafe, Asheville, NC—2 hours, February 2007

Avoided stalker who happened to work there. Kept down gag reflex at the unsanitary conditions.

Reason for leaving: The name of the place says it all.

Tutor; Asheville Middle and High School, Asheville, NC—September 2006 - March 2007

Encouraged students to think critically and re-examine everything they believed.

Reason for leaving: Penland

Bilingual Program Leader; Madison School and Community Recreation, Madison, WI— Summer 2007

Supervised kids with behavioral issues. Played drip, drip, drop. Painted pet rocks.

Reason for leaving: Seasonal

Spanish and Remedial Language Arts Teacher; Orton Academy School from Hell, Asheville, NC - September 2007 - May 2008

Worked closely with a megalomanic and her pedophiliac husband. Taught emotionally challenged children with learning difficulties how to say a few things in Spanish. Cried in the bathroom after being terrorized by middle school boys and school director.

Reason for leaving: Self-preservation

Reading and Math Tutor/Volunteer; Granada, Nicaragua and San Cristobal, Mexico—July - December 2008

Taught 1st graders - ages 6 to 12 - how to read, add and subtract. Felt like a really good person.

Reason for leaving: The job didn’t pay the bills.

Prechool Teacher; Casa dei Bambini Bilingual Village School, Asheville, NC—March- August 2009

Changed a few diapers. Taught a few life lessons via children’s books and positive behavior management. Made puppets. Sang Raffi songs and skidamirinky-dinky-dink. Spoke in Spanish to bewildered-looking children.

Reason for leaving: To pursue earthly pleasures in the birthplace of democracy.

Middle School English Teacher; Athens College, Athens, Greece—September 2009 -present

To be revealed...

Skills

• Frying egg rolls
• Dealing with crazy superiors
• Speaking Spanish to 2 year olds
• Writing other people’s opinion columns