Scary Week, Number 1

Well, I finally, finally began classes this week.  It has been such a long time since I've been in a classroom that I had almost forgot how much I squirm in my chair.  I had also almost forgotten that I'm really not that great in French.  I've found that it is easy to think that I am proficient when the only thing I have to say is "Bonjour," "I would like a baguette please." "Merci, Au revoir."  

I had taken my oral test last Wednesday, during which the nice lady who was giving the test told me that I spoke very well (always good to hear) and that I would probably be placed in B1-B2.  Niveau B is an intermediate level, and I was very, very content in that level because that way I would have nine hours of French every week and could choose two electives to take on top of the language course.  She then explained that she would read my written test and that the final results would be posted at five o'clock Friday.  This woman was the first French woman who was truly nice to me, who told me tangible facts, and whom I believed was telling me the full truth.

Lesson 1: Do not listen to nice French people, they turn out to be liars.  The others, although mean, at least know what is going on.

I went to my university early on Monday to see my results and find out when and where my first language class would be.  The results were confusing to say the least, and after asking too many questions to the secretary, I was finally given a list of elective courses, one list for Niveau B, one list for Niveau C (the higher level French).  Because no one seemed to be able to translate the results for me, so, going on what I had been told during the test, I chose my electives out of the Niveau B grouping.  I went to a couple classes, had a good time.

Lesson 2: If it feels comfortable, the French will find a way to end it.

Today was my first language class wherein I was told that I am not actually in Niveau B but in Niveau C, the higher level French course.  A shiver of trepidation ran down my spine as those words were spoken.  I do not suffer from false modesty, I'm a Niveau B, and I like it.  I explained the issue to my professor, and she gave me this advice, "Well, its better for you in the end anyways.  Now you have something to work for."  Ah, yes, and something to cry about.  So now, I am choosing different courses from the higher level French and praying that I can somehow pretend to be a Niveau C.  

Lesson 3: Sympathy is not something that I should seek from my professor.

Needless to say my day ended with a French-induced headache and a sincere craving for chocolate.  

Elise