Achtung! Englisch!

As I write this, I am suddenly aware of a household emergency: we are out of Tembadoro 80% dark chocolate bars! Aiee!! This not only indicates a rather embarrassing speed of consumption (these things are by no stretch of the imagination snack-sized), it also, horrifyingly!, means that there remains none left within reach to be eaten. This situation must be remedied, and quickly.

But while I await my dapper young Deutscher to get home so that he can accompany me through the dark to the supermarket (where we'll also pick up an emergency supply of red wine), I'd like to write a little something about my work!

It all happened... amazingly fast. I landed back in Germany on September 26th after the Summer of No Work, and within two weeks, had half a dozen different teaching contract offers. Two more weeks of bureaucratic hilarity ensued (which I won't get into here) and by November 1st, I had a full schedule as a freelance "language trainer".

And frankly, it's just great. As a freelancer, I enjoy a little more structural flexibility than in some other teaching jobs: it takes some finagling -- especially if you get contracts from several companies! -- but with luck, you can set up your schedule to accommodate a whole bunch of different groups at near-ideal times. I also had the tremendous luck to meet just the right people (thanks to Bert's alert eye at the BASF Lernzentrum), and suddenly this whole regional network of English trainers opened up before me, like fudge ripple through a tub of vanilla. Turns out there's actually huge demand in this area for what we offer! Long story short, I now teach Technical English to five different learner groups at BASF; one advanced private lesson per week to a manager at BASF; four hours per week of tutoring in Neustadt; one Advanced English for Business class (twice weekly) at the University of Applied Sciences in Heidelberg; plus two more classes at Heidelberg, this time for the university lecturers who are interested in improving their English.

It's a full schedule -- not to mention a lot of travel -- but great fun. Ludwigshafen is the world headquarters of BASF, and their campus is massive. It takes up 7 km along the Rhein River! Security is also pretty heavy, and so the most I'd ever seen of it before -- aside from the familiar, lovely view known to every Ludwigshafener of slender belching smokestacks in the distance -- was on a short bus tour for visitors.

Now I get up three mornings a week and take my brown suede teaching bag to the tram stop to catch the Strassenbahn. I call it the "BASF Bahn": the thing is practically empty when it shows up at Berliner Platz, before the wool-coat-wearing, briefcase-schlepping crowd trundles in. Then everyone piles out a few minutes later in front of Gate 1 and whips out their IDs to beep at the entrance. It's a weird feeling to realize you are also one of these guys. Almost every morning, I think of that scene in "Fantasia 2000", where a bunch of stylized cartoon commuters clings to the loops hanging from a subway ceiling to the tune of "Rhapsody in Blue". Somewhere, the wild kid in me who decapitated her Barbies is pointing and laughing at my new playing-grown-up game.

I beep my own important-looking ID and clipclop inside (trainers are expected to dress the part, too). But unlike the other clipcloppers, I get to turn and head to the production area; my group contracts are all in one production department.

The inside of the plant looks really cool. Because it's so massive, they have attempted to make it almost like a miniature city, replete with tree-lined streets, sidewalks, and their own bus system and railways. Except the buildings are covered in various colored pipes and gauges and weird apparatuses, and enormous pipes arc over the streets from building to building. It's like being inside a giant motherboard. I walk down the sidewalk, and a voice squawks orders in German over the PA system; mysterious steam emits from mysterious vents; tall, hardhat-wearing, broad-shouldered German men walk by in reflective blue coats and grin at me. I grin back. They're like Lego men! The whole thing is like something out of a movie.

And my groups themselves are so cool. They're technicians, and their laid-back, funny camaraderie is infectious. I especially like some of my beginner groups: they actually have fun learning the language, and use their limited vocabulary in creative ways to poke at each other.

Today, for example, we practiced how to use the English auxiliary verb "to do". The learners were about to begin an exercise, so one announces to the other in loud, deliberate English: "Sven! Do-you-have a sheet of paper?"

Sven replies, equally loudly and deliberately, "Yes, Wolfgang, I do have a sheet of paper!"

"Do you want to give it me?"

"Unfortunately" -- this was one of our vocabulary words -- "I do not have one for you."

In another group, I had them practice interrogative syntax by thinking up and writing down some random questions. Afterward, I instructed them to ask their questions of each other. This seemed to take them by surprise, and so everyone sat up straight to prepare himself for this new exercise. One then turned to his colleague and began his question with, "Dear Franz." Hahaha! They're so playful that I sometimes have trouble keeping us all (including me) on track to finish the day's lesson plan.

Occasionally, I have time afterward to catch my own tall, hardhat-wearing, bestubbled "physics technician" for lunch in the (surprisingly nice) cafeteria. Most of the time, though, it's a quick jog back to the Strassenbahn so that I can get to Heidelberg for my Business English class.

There, my students are all majoring in Sports Management. It's pretty much what it sounds like: the business end of the sports industry. I am, frankly, completely apathetic to organized sports of any kind; but our class concerns itself almost exclusively with language and business in more general terms, and so I don't think my (highly athletic) class has discovered this yet. They're a bit younger than my BASF groups -- mostly your typical university ages, between 19 and 25 -- but just as energetic. Admittedly, it sometimes seems they spend more time in competitions of wit than they actually do with the material, but they're fun and it keeps me on my toes. Besides, when you're reading a text on various types of banking, you've got to liven it up somehow!

All in all, I teach about 18 hours a week -- which means lots and lots of preparation, especially since most of the lessons are completely different from each other and require completely different material. Add the time it takes to just commute from one appointment to another, and I put in a pretty full week. The only negative side to all of this is that I only actually get paid for those 18 hours of teaching; and so although the hourly income seems pretty high, the travel and prep time fully justifies my fee.

Well, that physics technician just got home, and so it's time to go solve this lack of chocolate problem. Hope all's well out there in Januaryland!