Profesora o Prostituta??

Let me first begin by saying I am not a prostitute in Buenos Aires, and if were, I definitely wouldn’t be charging a measly 35 pesos an hour; however there are many parallels between being an ESL teacher and a high class call girl (think less Bunny Ranch more Heidi Fleiss).

My students are predominantly men; a high-powered lawyer who made partner at the age of 30, a president of a multinational company, others are directors at one of the most lucrative petrol company in Argentina. They’re essentially the crème de la crème; they play polo and are members at swanky country clubs, they dine at all the hot restaurants, they have houses in other countries... Their lives are filled with champagne, caviar, and luxurious vacations around the world.

One reoccurring theme among all of these men is that they each requested a female teacher; my boss told me that most of her male customers only feel comfortable with women. One possible explanation for this could be because they are able to be more adventurous while still feeling vulnerable (ahhh, I’m nearing the connection). Bonus: blondes with American accents are a commodity down here, get them while they're hot (and young)!!

Anyway, this is where I fit in. From the second we close the door, I go to work. Three months into this job, and I’ve already learned how each student ticks. I have some who prefer me to dress in business attire, others who like jeans a t-shirt. Some men like to jump right into the nitty-gritty while others need to be coerced into starting. I have a few men who at the end of class simply want complain about their job, their wives, stress, etc; I’m more or less the big spoon in our relationship.

Day in and day out, I sit there with a smile plastered across my face, encouraging them, making them feel special; “you’ve almost got it, that’s perfect, don’t give up, you’re not tired.” I think you get the gist… Even in the most painfully boring classes, I have to be their personal cheerleader and damn it, it is exhausting!

It’s funny how many of them have said they can talk to me about things they can’t talk about with their wives (more so because their wives don’t speak English, but that definitely sounds like a line you’d say to a hooker). I’m able to understand them a certain way and fill their needs like no one else (ie, their “needs” being a native English speaker).

Next would be the gifts. I’ve had my students come to class with a slew of things for me. I’ve received chocolates, candies, and ice cream; we’ve gone for espressos (at YPF), one brought a beautiful flower, another offered primo fútbol tickets (and then extended a personal tour of River Plate stadium), the lawyer gave me a taxi ride to my front door. Finally, one is going all the way to the United States just to fetch me some Jif peanut butter… Ok, he’s going for a golf trip, buuut he’s still bringing me back a piece of home, so that should count for something.

Each one of my students leave class with a sense of satisfaction; I have done my job and made them feel like “the man,” even if I needed to picture a great pair of boots the entire time to get through it... I, in turn, leave class with cash in my hand, exhausted and dreading my upcoming appointment… See what I’m talking about? The similarities are abundant with all “working girls,” but don't worry, I'll leave turning tricks to the real professionals.

(An ESL teacher needs to be poised and able to wear many hats. The picture above shows just one of my many talents)

Easy Mac Ain't So Easy

It's a rainy day, I don't have classes until Monday, and I'm flat out bored of the "telenovelas" that are on during the daytime so I wanted to write about my experience at the Supermarket.

While I was packing, Pops said I should bring a small jar of peanut butter because if I was hungry all I needed to do was buy a loaf of bread. So, I bought the peanut butter and had it ready, that is, until I started to weigh my luggage. The cost for luggage over 50 lbs in the States is outrageous, so I had to "trim the fat" on what I could and could not bring. Peanut butter was one of the first to get cut. Yes, it only weighed a pound, but it was not making it in my bag over a great pair of shoes.

I arrived in Buenos Aires and like many other newbies, found a very expensive restaurant that cost 40 pesos for a salad and water, tipped the man 20% and went on my way. I have thus found out that for 40 pesos I could eat three or four meals from the supermarket; also it is only customary to tip 10% in restaurants and nothing for a taxi ride. Touche waiter, touche...

The other day I decided to check out the local Supermarket, Coto. It's a relatively big store that twists and turns like a labyrinth with no real organization, to my knowledge. My first lap around the store was interesting to say the least. In past travels, it was never necessary to go to the supermarket for groceries and I looked at everything from the eyes of a tourist. Now that I am living in Buenos Aires and will be for an extended period of time, I have been looking at things in a different light.

Walking around the store yielded a difficult experience; every time I saw something "different," to put it lightly, I had to stifle my laughter because some things were just plain weird. The eggs here for example; if you want eggs you can only buy them fresh. The eggs are located in one huge stack, each box interlocked with the other. I'm not talking about them being stacked on a shelf. No, no; they are literally stacked from the floor up, one on top of the either. Interesting...

Next was the meat department. Ever want to know what raw intestines coated in flour look like? Eh, less than desirable. But the pièce de resistance has to be the squid and dead fish display. I mean, squid as big as your head delicately laid out so they spill onto the ice. They are then intertwined with the jumbo fish, eyes and head included; followed by a swarm of flies that linger in the air for a bit of your savory meal. I'm not sure if I will ever find this appetizing.

So my first view of the store was less than impressive. My second go-round required me to change my thinking. "Ok Laura, you are starving and you need to not spend your money frivolously; find something that resembles Easy Mac and lets get going." My mental pep talk did the trick and I found my way to the pasta section. Alphaghetti and Zoodles were definitely out of the question, but there was a box that looked like it was targeted for kids and had macaroni-like pictures... BINGO!!! In the next isle I found the ketchup. I had all the fixin's for a home-ish meal.

I had my gear and was on my way out, not before being stopped by an elderly lady whose spanish went a mile a minute. She kept telling me that I needed to drink milk and exercise at least 30 minutes a day. I'm not sure why she felt the need to share this information but I let her tell me how things were just to make her happy.

I went home and made my "Mac-n-Cheese." Let me tell you, Argentina does not know what's up in this department. The meal was less than impressive, although it was edible. My host family thought it was the weirdest thing that I put ketchup on my pasta. I told them Americans feel the same way; Ketchup and Kraft dinner, for Canadians, go together like da Bears, Ditka, and Sausage.

I have thus found out that Peanut Butter is like Sasquatch here; people have heard of it but rarely see it. Perfect, looks like the Parents were right. Can't I get a care package people??!!

The rain has stopped and the sun is coming out. Time to get out of this house!