"Elle est bostonienne!"

Last night was the “event planning meeting” for our next event at the school where I work. Julia, Erin and myself are in charge… oh the irony. Our decided theme was Olympic Games, and we started to come up with activities. Our boss also tasked us with planning a team-building tutor meeting. Trust falls, anyone? Anyway, this meeting quickly deteriorated into “Inappropriate Story Time,” “Make Your Boss Cringe Time,” and “You Three Take Over Because I Don’t Want to Go Tonight Time.” Meaning that then Julia, Erin and I were left in charge of the English Department’s St Patrick’s Day celebration. So our boss gathered all the tutors, told them to give attendance to us at the end of the night, and sent everyone off in different directions. One group of people thought we were going to Mouffetard, but some guy who had supposedly “planned” the evening said we were going to Butte aux Cailles. I didn’t know where that was, so I trusted him when he said it was near Tolbiac and just a short walk from Porte d’Italie. I called Erin and Julia, who were stuck behind which large groups of lost French guys, and told them where to go. Half an hour later, we got there. It was not a particularly long walk from Tolbiac, and Tolbiac is not a particularly long walk from Porte d’Italie, but combined it was way too long a walk to try and make with 300 students and expect them to stay together. Oh well.

Once we got there everyone split up and went into different bars. I actually spent most of the night standing out on the street making sure people didn’t sneak away to Mouffetard, and just kind of pretending I knew what I was doing. At one point I also convinced a guy to give me his pizza. That was the highlight of the night. At ten, I gathered up as many attendance sheets as I could find, gave them to my boss who had randomly showed up, and booked it. Vaune and I walked back to Tolbiac and headed home. When I got home, I had this e-mail in my inbox:

Chère Mademoiselle ----------,

J'ai bien reçu votre lettre et les réponses au questionnaire. Votre candidature nous intéresse.
Je vous demande de bien vouloir m'envoyer un Curriculum Vitae. D'autre part il se trouve que madame D, la directrice de notre établissement part pour Paris ce jeudi et qu'elle souhaite vous rencontrer.

Seriez-vous libre les jours et heures suivants? :
Dimanche 23 mars avant le déjeuner ou à 18 h 30
Lundi 24 mars toute la journée
Mercredi 26 mars à 18h30

Je vous prie deme faire savoir vos possibilités. Ensuite monsieur R, notre directeur adjoint vous confirmera le rendez-vous et vous dira à quel endroit à Paris , madame D vous rencontrera.

Which means :

“Dear Ms. ----------,

I have receieved your letter and your responses to the questionnaire. Your application interests us. Please send me your CV. Moreover, it just so happens that Madame D, the director of the school is leaving for Paris this Thursday and she would like to meet you.”

The rest is just “Let us know when you’re free, etc etc etc.” The point is that even though I am not French, they still want to meet me, so that’s a good sign. I’m nervous though, because when I first read the email I thought it was next weekend, and now I look at it, it’s actually this weekend. So soon! I’m worried that my French isn’t good enough. We’ll see.

I also got a letter asking me to send thank you notes to the donors who made my scholarships possible. I didn't know I had received any scholarships. I have sent an email to the scholarship office. I still haven't heard anything. I'll keep you updated.

Today is Wednesday, which means I am exhausted. I woke up at 6:30, showered and dressed, booked it to Clignancourt for my eight AM class, skedaddled back to the FEU for some pasta (which was bad) and hot cocoa (which was good). Then I went to my 11:30 class at Reid Hall. Now I am back here, exhausted, eating a grilled cheese sandwich that tastes slightly of death thanks to whatever vague substance was burnt onto the stove. One more class to go (all the way over at Clignancourt). Then my crazy day is over.