Intern in Russia, part 3: English native speaker from Serbia

Before the start of my internship I sent my CV to my future employeer with description of my qualities. I added a presentation video demonstrating my language skills. The CV was probably left unnoticed and the video most likely too.

About a month ago before my departure I had contacted the owner of the language school where I was supposed to work via AIESEC. The conversation was conducted in English and in the first place it concerned arranging the necessary formalities to secure a smooth and timely arrival. However, one of the first things inquired about was whether I had any experience with teaching in a language school. I answered 'yes' and added further information about the number of years worked and thought to myself - I did mention all the required information in my CV. At some point she asked whether I, by a chance, spoke 'a bit of Russian'. Again I answered affirmatively and at the same I regretted all the time spent updating my CV and editing the self-presentation video. The owner was delighted - she said that Russian 'could be handy'. Reality: without Russian I would be totally screwed. How would I explain to 5-years-old Masha how to write letter 'P' with no Russian? Or how to use Present Perfect to a straight-C-student? I was amazed how huge "pig in a poke" I could have theoretically turned out to be. Someone once said recklessness is a national sport in Russia and it surely wasn't said in vain.

If there are folders in the backround, your presentation video makes a much better impression.

Part of my colleagues expressed their interest in talking to me - they were driven by the assumption that I am a native speaker. I was trying to figure out how could they possibly get this information, but soon it was explained to me. As a part of a marketing campaign of the school me and the secretary Nastya went together to one of the local secondary schools. Our task was to go class by class, explain in a nutshell what kind of courses do we offer, hand out flyers and move on. As usual, Nastya didn't exactly tell me what is expected of me: I find myself standing in a class full of third-graders and the lady abruptly asks me to say a few things about myself. I bulge my eyes in her direction and recite some facts about my mission in Volgodonsk. Nastya adds that I am an English native speaker and that they should take advantage of this unique offer to take classes with me. Next classroom - the same thing. In the following one for a change she says that I am from Serbia and I have graduated in English (which I have not). The truth will out and when you badly need to lie, you should at least feed everyone the same lies. One class later Nastya places me to the former Yugoslavia again, I decide to correct her in public and provide the right information about my nationality in front of the hungry eyes of the pupils. Before the next class Nastya just states that I'm a teacher from Slovakia, yet she adds that I have a master from English. The next day I retell the whole story about our deceptive marketing campaign to my colleagues, but no one gets the point I'm trying to make. 'That's how you promote yourself' says one of them. Natasha with a master from engineering comes to my classroom for her first lesson. You are not a native speaker? No. But she stayed anyway.

The class of second-graders is a good servant, but a bad master.

The campaign has proven successful though and I was partially sent to teach afternoon classes in the mentioned public school. Nastya promised me the assign a private 'cabinet' for me which I would use for my purposes. The cabinet turned out to be an ordinary class which remains empty after classes and I could leave my books and printer there. Due to the transfer to my new place of work I had to use the public transport for the first time. The stop of bus 51 is supposed to be located right in front of the shop where I usually do shopping. I arrive to a place which looks most like a bus stop, but I fail to find any specific information about buses stopping there, not to mention the schedule. I ask one of the women waiting at the stop where I could possibly find it - she said it was at the terminal stop. I imply that I could really use it here, on the bus stop. What for? All the buses go in the same direction anyway. And quite often. You just come, wait and the bus arrives. Or it doesn't.

Every bus has its own folklore: in some there are garlands hanging, in other you can find Xmas decorations. In this one people stare at a screen with pastries.

The closer you get to the city centre, the more often you see a developed civilization - some stops are marked with a pictogram shaped like a bus, at one of them I even manage to find a schedule. Although at first I had a feeling that I was staring at a draft from a statistic yearbook, it didn't take me much time to figure it out. The arrival of my bus is defined by an interval - every 8 minutes. I stand for about 10 minutes and no bus in sight. All of a sudden a marshrutka arrives with a route similar to my bus, I get on board. However, marshrutkas are only intended for seasoned travellers; you need to be quite familiar with its route and announce your requested bus stop (or basically any place on the road) to the driver in advance. I happen to sit all the way in the back in a seat perpendicular to trajectory of the ride. The windows are dirty, I can't see outside and I lose the track of the location. I ask an older woman where we are. 'In Volgodonsk' replies Captain Obvious sitting in the opposite seat. Shortly I recognize the whereabouts again, the bus stops fly by one after another - we drive past cinema 'Komsomolets' (which is a name of a former Soviet youth organization), across Lenin street to Builders' boulevard, I get off at the 30 Years of Victory street and I constantly remind myself, that it's truly 21st century. There is a loudspeaker hanging above the bus stop, which shouts the same annoying commercials to people constantly the whole day round. I already know the price offer of the shoe shop "Booty" so thoroughly that I could actually work there. I also decided that not for all the tea in China I would set foot in the karaoke bar 'Eat and sing'. A prominent Slovak guitarist once mentioned his opinion about 'sound smog' in cities, who knows what he would say about this one. And as an icing on the cake: this form of advertising is illegal. However..

Inside marshrutka. The sticker above the door indicates "space for banging your head against". In the backround you can see the cinema Komsomolets.

This reminded me of Excel and contingency tables.

I travel about 500 metres from the bus stop, I enter the school and suddenly feel like a rock star - thanks to our marketing campaign, children and youngsters recognize me, they say hello to me in the corridor and ask about my patronymic name 'ochestvo' (which is derived from your father's name). I explain, that I'm "simply Thomas" which in my case works as a solid counterpart to the name - patronymic name pair. My class has an ambidexterous character - it serves as a museum and as a class for music education at the same time, therefore it mixes together books about Russian compositors with posters from the Great Patriotic War period. The sun usually sets before I finish my classes. Just to be on the safe side, after my first day I stopped by the doorkeeper to ask for the precise directions how to get back to the bus stop. The lady drew me a little map and insisted that I saved her phone number - because she wouldn't forgive herself if I didn't make it back. In half an hour I dialed her number and reported - Galina Alexeevna, I'm home. But not everybody who looks like a stereotypical grandma from a Russian fairy tale truly has a heart of gold. Once instead of having lunch I paid a visit to a grocery shop and I merrily addressed a nice-looking shop assistant if she could give me a hand choosing a decent substitute for lunch. 'And why on Earth should I?! You choose yourself!' She had gone and I was left alone in the room accompanied by buzzing of the cooling box.