The Henny Lady

I saw something in a documentary on YouTube yesterday that I thought captured the American entrepreneurial spirit very well.

The documentary was about a rapper who lives in an impoverished area of California, near Los Angeles.

In the documentary, the rapper, who is a gangster rapper, one could say, was taking a film crew around his neighborhood, showing its members all the important spots and explaining just how people in the area live.

At one point, when this rapper and all his friends were partying, he told the film crew that the lady with whom he had just had an interaction was the Henny Lady.

At first I had no clue what the rapper was talking about. However, when I finally got it, I was in awe.

As a service, the rapper says, a woman in this California neighborhood will deliver Hennessey to your doorstep. Not only that, she will do this at any time, day or night, and “she’s faster than Dominos.”

Moreover, the Henny Lady will not only bring the cognac, but also a liter of fruity soda, the kind  often mixed with Hennessey, as well as red plastic cups.

After getting straight exactly what this woman does, I rewatched the part in the video with her in it to see her again in action. After she completes the transaction, she just blends back into the scenery, her actions nothing more than prosaic.

At first, the Henny Lady and the service she provided seemed absurd to me. But after some consideration, I thought she was quite smart, and after even more consideration, it actually seemed to me that she embodied the American entrepreneurial spirit!

I would say that to posses the American entrepreneurial spirit, one has to have brains, gumption and discipline, and this woman totally had all three.

Here's to the Henny Lady!

Lucky Day

I saw him on my way in, and I hadn’t given him much thought.

But on my way out, I had just eaten creamy lentil soup, which I had continually dipped my falafel into. I felt revived, and this time he was making eye contact with me.

It had been raining and had lightened up, but more substantial rain was starting to fall again. I walked a little bit past him, almost like I was going to pass, but then I stopped and opened my backpack and began rooting around in the pocket where I keep my money.

Two euros, no. Another two euros, no ... Don’t I have, like, 20 or 50 cents? Another two euros? God, I've never had so many two euros pieces. Is that all I have? 

Come on, Chad. Sometimes it’s just that way ... We all have lucky days. 

With a two euro piece in my hand, I walked over to the man and dropped the money into his cup.

Reread List

So have you heard of this book called “The Life-Changing Magic of Tidying Up”? It’s by a woman named Marie Kondo, a life coach/organizational master from Japan, and the main tenet of the book is this: If anything you own does not bring you joy, throw it out.

Among the things Kondo thinks we own too much of are books.  She thinks that we could probably throw out about nine-tenths of all the books we own and never feel it. Her rationale: People hardly reread books, despite what they say.

When I read that line, it got me thinking. How many books have I actually reread in my life? I thought I'd create a list of them, just to see if Kondo had a point. (Spoiler alert: she does.) Here is that list.

BOOKS I'VE REREAD

“The Catcher in the Rye” 
by J.D. Salinger
“The Sun Also Rises” by Ernest Hemingway

“The Seven Habits of Highly Successful People”
 by Stephan Covey
“The Stranger”
 by Albert Camus
“Dubliners”
 by James Joyce

Wow, that’s really pathetic, considering that I read every single day. I guess maybe I should really think twice before I again say, “I might read it” as an excuse not to throw out a book!

"Fahrtrichtung"

Here is something that I thought was cool.

A few weeks ago, my girlfriend and I were on a train heading to Frankfurt. The train was beautiful, an Intercity Express, better known as an ICE, and we had been fortunate enough to get a great seat, one of those with a table in the middle.

About 15 minutes into the ride, a woman and her daughter stopped in the aisle right in front of us.  The woman told us that two of the four seats facing the table were reserved for her and her daughter.

Neither I nor my girlfriend saw anything that said that the seats were reserved – usually, it’s posted – but we took the woman’s word for it and began rearranging our things and making room.

As I was putting my duffel bag on the overhead rack, I asked the woman if she would like to sit in the direction that the train was moving in. Sitting in the opposite direction doesn’t bother me, so I figured I’d ask. The woman said yes and then took a seat on the aisle.

Later, my girlfriend told me that she really liked that I had asked the woman if she would like to sit in the direction of the train.

So what did I think was cool? That my girlfriend had taken note of, and liked, my gesture.

Harmonizing

Here’s something I’ve noticed: Artists, all kinds of artists, often use little tricks -- maybe call them tricks of the trade -- to make their art better. For example, a painter might elongate a shadow more than necessary in one of his paintings to fool the eye and make the object look truly three dimensional, or a poet might reuse a certain preposition only because it’s versatile.

Musicians have tricks, too. One, in my opinion, is harmonizing. Harmonizing, the type that I’m talking about anyway, is when one musician sings one melody line while his band mate, or whoever, simultaneously sings one that is nearly identical but different by a note or two. When the technique is done correctly, it produces a rich and intriguing sound.

I call harmonizing a trick, though, because it can be very hard to do if you’re just one person. You obviously can’t sing two melody lines at once, which can be frustrating and may often lead you to wonder, "Why does the song sound so much better when they sing it?"

I mention all this because recently I had been trying to sing the chorus to the Beatles’ “Don’t Let Me Down” and had noticed that something was a little off. Was it “Don’t let me dow-n” that was sung or was it “Don’t let me dow-ooh-ow-n”?

Well, the answer is . . . both. John Lennon and Paul McCartney were -- you got it! -- harmonizing. One was singing “Don’t let me dow-n,” while the other was singing “Don’t let me “dow-ooh-ow-n.”

Because I would never be able sing the chorus as I had wanted, I thought I’d get creative. On my phone, I have two voice recording apps. How about, I thought, making a super rudimentary two-track recording?

So that’s what I did. On one app, I recorded “Don’t let me dow-n” on a loop and then, while it was playing, I opened the other recording app and started singing the other melody line over it, so the final track has both melody lines, just like on the record.

Here is the result. Enjoy.

bzw.

Have you ever been frustrated?  Of course you have. I used to be frustrated whenever a German person would use the word “beziehungsweise” — and they use this word often — and then not be able to explain to me what it meant.

Well, I finally understand what it means, and I'm super proud that I do.

“Beziehungsweise,” sometimes abbreviated to "bzw.," simply means, “or rather.”

I absolutely love big boats, or rather yachts.
He was one of the most famous men, or rather infamous men, from last century.
I love Indian food, or rather Indian food that is popular in the U.S.

We use “beziehungsweise” when we want to be more precise in our wording.

Here is how those examples above look in German:

Ich liebe Schiffen bzw. Yachten.
Er war einer der berühmtesten Männer bzw. berüchtigten Männer des 20. Jahrhunderts.
Ich liebe indisches Essen bzw. indisches Essen, das in den USA beliebt ist.

How novel this little "bzw." thingy is. I really like it and look forward to using it!

Total Chad Moves

Total Chad Moves. This is what I call actions of mine that are totally idiotic but are characteristically me.

For example, putting the toilet paper pack in the refrigerator or an empty bag of chips back in the cupboard are Total Chad Moves.

Usually, Total Chad Moves, or TCMs, as I sometimes call them, don't serve me well, and anyone who witnesses me make them thinks I might have screw loose. But yesterday I did a TCM and it wound up being very much to my benefit.

I was in class and I had wanted to make copies of an article for my students. However, when I got to the copy room, I noticed that I just had the first page of the article with me. I didn't want to go back to the classroom to get the magazine because I felt as though the students would think I was an idiot.

I was just standing there wondering what to do, when for some reason, I decided to open the copy machine, and, boom, I suddenly had my answer.

Another Total Chad Move had saved me.

It turned out, when I had been in the copy room earlier in the day, making copies for another class, I had left the magazine in the copy machine.

So, I figure now that the mathematics of TCMs goes something like this: When you add one TCM to another, they cancel each other out!

Chaos and Control

Here is a very interesting story from my past, one that shows that life truly is chaos and that we really never have all that much in our control even though we think we do. 

In the summer of 2015, I had been giving English lessons regularly at the airplane manufacturer Airbus, in Finkenwerder, Germany. One day after class, one of my students, a mechanical engineer, asked if I’d like to have a deeper, more thorough look at one of the planes in the Airbus fleet, the A-320 passenger jet. I said I would, and he and I then set off to one of the many massive hangers Airbus has on its sprawling premises.

Inside the hanger, we walked up to the A-320, a sleek, single-aisle aircraft known for its versatility. After pointing out a few recent advancements that had been made to the plane's tail and wings, we climbed a set of metal stairs and went inside the aircraft.

Right away, I was attracted to the cockpit and wanted to have a look inside it. The cockpit was small, smaller than I had imagined, and filled from top to bottom with all kinds of buttons and screens and gears. It was pretty cool.

As we were leaving cockpit, my student put his hand on the cockpit door. “It’s very strong,” he said. “Once the pilot locks it, no one’s getting in.” I knocked on the door myself, appraising its sturdiness.

Of course, my student -- who really had become my tour guide -- mentioned the door due to 9/11. I'm sure he had thought it would be interesting for me to know that cockpit doors nowadays were super sturdy. And it was interesting. I was glad that improvements had been made to airplane cockpit doors, so that nothing like 9/11 could ever happen again.

Sadly, though, this experience with the student was thrown into a totally different light when only a few months later, the copilot of a Germanwings plane en route from Barcelona to Düsseldorf locked the captain out of the cockpit and crashed the aircraft into a mountain, killing himself and the other 143 people on board.

Life truly is chaos.

Self-fulfilling prophesy

Here is a good example of a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Let's imagine that we have bus driver, a discontent bus driver. Let's imagine that one of the reasons why this man is discontent is because he thinks that everyone who gets on his bus is an idiot. Perhaps many people don't board properly or they generally make too much noise. Whatever it is this bus driver, right off the bat, doesn't have too much respect for the people who board his bus.

Now let's imagine that the bus driver not only thinks bad things about his passengers, he radiates his negativity through his actions. If the bus driver let’s it be known -- perhaps by failing to make eye-contact or just grunting when asked a question -- that he holds the passengers in contempt, there is a better chance that a person boarding the bus will make some kind of mistake when buying a ticket. Don’t you agree? Isn’t it fair to say that when we feel uncomfortable, we are more prone to mistakes?

So let’s imagine this exact scenario: A person gets on a bus and asks to buy a ticket. The bus driver makes no eye-contact with the person and just looks grumpy. The person senses bad vibes and tries to get away from the bus driver and into the bus as quickly as possible, but in doing so, he forgets to take his change. The bus driver notices the oversight and says, "Please take your change, sheesh!" The man takes his change and after he does, the bus driver thinks to himself that this passenger, just like all the others, is an idiot.

The prophecy has been fulfilled, and the cycle continues.

John McCain

This is just going to be a small little note. Recently, as you know, John McCain died. Now I’m not immune to feeling a bit of sadness when famous people die. But lately, with the Internet and all, it seems like every five minutes we're learning that someone well known has passed away. All the information can have a numbing effect.

But I have to admit I felt a little something in my soul when I learned that John McCain had died. I really can’t say why. It just seems like he was a guy who was always there. During the last 20 years, as I have matured as a person and have become more and more interested in journalism and politics, John McCain was just always around. He was always in the news, always up to something.

And he was always a guy you couldn't help but root for. He had an amazing backstory, and he just seemed like the embodiment of American ideals.

In the paper today I read that John McCain had wanted “Danny Boy” played at his funeral. Here is my favorite rendition of the song.


Oh Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling

From glen to glen and down the mountain side
The summer's gone, and all the flowers dying
'Tis you, 'tis you must go, and I must bide

But come ye back when summer's in the meadow
Or when the valley's hushed and white with snow
'Tis I'll be here in sunshine or in shadow
Oh Danny boy, oh Danny boy, I love you so

But when ye come, and all the roses falling
And I am dead, as dead I well may be
Go out and find the place where I am lying
And kneel and say an "Ave" there for me

And I will hear, tho' soft your tread above me
And then my grave will warm and sweeter be
For you shall bend and tell me that you love me
And I will sleep in peace until you come to me

"Perspective"

The other day I wrote a blog entry about how the words “perspective” and “context” are sometimes used interchangeably but do of course have separate meanings.  In the entry, I defined both words and then gave clear examples of them in action so the differences could be understood.

Well, life recently handed me a great example to help illustrate the meaning of "perspective."

Someone that I know -- let’s call this person a “good” friend -- was recently due to fly back to Germany. Before this person went on the plane ride, however, she and I had had a telephone conversation in which she had expressed her slight fear of flying. She said that she wished she didn’t have to fly and wouldn't it be great if she could just take a train back?

Basically, the upcoming flight was making her think a little bit about mortality. After all, when we fly, we do test the gods.

At any rate, I reassured her that everything would be fine. Still, she was upset and spoke of how nervous she often feels before flying.

When her plane landed, I was supposed to pick her up from the airport, at "Arrivals." However, I was five minutes late in getting there. When I finally came face to face with this person, who had happened to land early and had wound up waiting for me, she was super upset.

Why was I late? Couldn’t I get things right for once? She was super disappointed.

Gone, however, were the thoughts of mortality, of arriving safely, of perhaps never seeing the ones she loved again. All she could focus on was that I had been five minutes late.

That, my friends, is a loss of perspective.

Bloody Mary

Remember that myth about Bloody Mary? Supposedly, if you stood in front of a darkened mirror and repeated the name “Bloody Mary” 13 times, an evil spirit would be called up. 

This myth, which I had learned about as a kid, always freaked me out, and I was never able to bring myself to say "Bloody Mary" more than a few times in front of a darkened mirror. 

Which makes me think that I must have been feeling especially brave in a dream I had last night.

When it opened, I was standing in the bedroom of my childhood home, looking into one of the two large mirrors hanging on one of the walls. For some reason, I was annoyed and felt like just testing the gods. I looked in the mirror and started saying, “Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary! Bloody Mary!”

Suddenly, the room  became a little darker and a wind started to whip a curtain that was behind me, but the strangest thing was that I started to feel a squeezing sensation on my hand.

"Oh no," I  thought to myself, "a squeezing sensation on my hand after I just changed Bloody Mary?! That can't be good."

Then I woke up. It was pitch black in my bedroom and the sensation that I had felt in my dream was actually my girlfriend. She had been squeezing my hand, trying to coax me out the dream. I don't remember much else, but I remember that she had also mumbled something in a soothing way as she gripped my hand. Phew.

The funny thing is, this morning I asked her if she remembered waking me up last night and she said she didn’t.

Nowhere Man

You know, it’s funny how the mind works. Let me explain. Today when I was out walking my dog in the park, I just started daydreaming. For some reason, my mind shot back about six years, to the time when my mom and I were on a winding, two-lane road driving to Jim Thorpe. If you don’t know, Jim Thorpe is this cozy little northeastern-Pennsylvania town nestled in the Lehigh Gorge. The place looks like something out of the 1800s and it has even been called the Switzerland of the U.S.

Anyway, I specifically thought back to a particular conversation that my mom and I had had during the car ride. We had been discussing the Beatles, and I was giving her some insight into the band and into what exactly made them great, as her knowledge of the Beatles is not as in depth as mine.

In particular, I was explaining to her one of the things that I thought made John Lennon amazing. I told her that, yes, of course John Lennon was a great songwriter, but what made him so good was his ability to meld his songwriting with another talent of his.

See, in addition to songwriting, John Lennon had been into, well, plain old creative writing. He especially liked to write nonsensical, pun-filled sketches of made-up characters. These wild writings of his -- to see what I mean, get a copy of “A Spaniard in the Works,” the 1965 book they were published in -- are good. But that’s it; they’re nothing more than good.

However, when John Lennon would apply these fiction-writing chops of his to his real craft, songwriting, the final product was often, just, amazing.

To illustrate my point, I cited the song “Nowhere Man.” See, on the one hand, “Nowhere Man” is a song about a person who is lost; on the other, it’s a song about an actual character named Nowhere Man, and Nowhere Man is a creation that could have come straight out of the kooky pages of “A Spaniard in the Works.”

So that was one place where my mind drifted to when I was daydreaming in the park. The other place seems a little less random considering the story I’ve just related, but I find the whole train of thought fascinating nonetheless.

I was transported back to my dorm room in Fitzgerald Hall.

Fitzgerald Hall was the red-bricked, two-story rectangular building where I lived for two years when I attended SUNY Cortland, my college. It’s also the place where I met my first love, as she had also lived in the dorm.

The moment that I thought back to was one from an afternoon in the spring of 2002. I had just nailed the solo to “Nowhere Man” on guitar, and after I did, had called this girlfriend of mine at the time into my room to have a listen.

And just like it was yesterday, I was able to recall the scene exactly. I was sitting at my roommate's desk and she was sitting on his bed, and when the song got up to the solo, I began playing along, note for note.

After I had finished and had shut the music, she told me she thought the whole thing was pretty cool. However, she didn’t give me any over-the-top praise. Still, I know she was a Beatles fan, so I’m pretty sure she had meant what she said.

Poetry in the everyday

You know, I’m a big believer that there is poetry in everyday things. Case in point, today I was working with one of my students and he was having trouble understanding the word “sympathy.” Which makes sense. For German learners of English, "sympathy" is a false friend. Germans often think that our word “sympathy” is the same as their word “sympathisch,” when it isn’t. “Sympathisch” means “likeable," "easy going.” So, for example, “Er ist ein sympathischer Typ” translates to, “He is a likeable guy.” Fine. The problem occurs when a German speaking English says, “Oh, Frank…? Frank is great. He’s a real sympathetic guy.” You see? It doesn’t work.

Anyway, so there I was trying to explain to my student how "sympathy" is a false friend. Doing so wasn't really all that hard, but then he decided to throw in the word "empathy," to ask what exactly that word meant. And then shortly thereafter, he was having questions about the word "compassion." Things were getting super tricky. So instead of trying to explain it all orally, which really would have been cumbersome, I decided to write out example sentences for him, so he could see the words in action.

It's funny, they say a picture is worth a thousand words. I really feel as though an example is, at least in language teaching. At any rate, after I wrote all the example sentences for him, I noticed that the little chunk of text I had produced really had some poetry in it. I hope you think so, too.

sympathy = Her husband just died. That must be awful. I'm sorry for her. empathy = Sarah, I'm so sorry that your husband just died. My husband died two years ago, and I know exactly how that feels. Sarah, it's going to be hard, but you will be OK. I never thought that I was going to be OK, but I'm better. compassion = I'm so sorry that your husband died. You know what, you don't have to come into work today or next week. And you will still be paid. I want you to take this time for yourself. Don't worry. We'll find someone to do the work. 

chess game

So when it comes to chess, I’m usually my toughest critic.

Let me back up a minute. I love chess. It has been a passion -- an obsession -- of mine since 2001. If I could do anything straight for an entire day it would be play chess. As it is, I play every single day, but only for about 45 minutes.

OK, so that's the backstory. Back to my being my toughest critic.

Usually, after I play a game of chess, I think to myself, "That was not that great." And that's even if I win. I know where I have made errors, and if an error was made, I don’t feel fully satisfied. Only rarely do I play a game and think, “Yes, that was awesome...that’s what it’s all about.”

Well, today I played such a game. Click on this link and you'll be taken to the game, which I've annotated, so you can see what I was thinking throughout.  Enjoy.

Bzzzzzz

Here is a story:

Yesterday as I was lying in bed, getting ready to go to sleep, I heard a noise coming from a lamp I had on at the far end of my room. Upon closer look, I saw a small shadow knocking around inside the shade. I thought that a moth was in there, as moths are attracted to light.  But it was actually a wasp.

This revelation didn’t bother me. I don’t mind wasps. On my balcony there is a wasps' nest and I often find myself marveling at the industriousness of these little creatures, which all day long fly in and out of an opening that leads to their domicile. I figured I would just leave the wasp alone and let it find its way out of its predicament.

And then I heard a droning noise by my head. Inside the shade of the lamp on the nightstand next to me was another wasp. I was a little more concerned here. I mean, I like wasps, but it’s a little disconcerting to have one right by your head when you want to sleep.

I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. Could I possibly help the winged insects out somehow? Usually, when a spider is in my apartment, I just trap it with a cup and throw it outside. But these were wasps.

And then I had an idea.

I got up and shut the lamp on the far end of my room and then shut the lamp on my nightstand. My room now was completely dark. For a few moments I heard droning but not after long it was silent.

A good point

You know, German people can be a doozy. What I mean is, in addition to being very precise, it doesn't take much for a German person to take issue with a point you make or anything else you might say. For example, ask a German person if he likes chocolate -- a question most people in America would answer with a simple yes -- he is likely to respond, “It depends.” Ask a German person if he did anything interesting over the weekend, it is not unlikely that he will respond with a flat no. Reason being: he truly doesn't believe that anything he did on Saturday or Sunday would interest anyone. One time, for an article I was writing, I asked a guy who was a major antique collector if he had any other “hobbies.” Instead of answering my question, he stopped dead and said, “This here” -- pointing around to his antiques -- “is not a hobby.” He had taken issue with my having used the adjective “other.”

Bottom line: Germans don’t liked to be pinned down and are very aware of the train of logic in any given argument. Perhaps this sensitivity has to do with their culture. Germany is known for its philosophers, and arguments and language are very important in philosophy. Perhaps it has to do with WWII and how language was very much manipulated by the Nazis. I don’t know. What I do know is many Germany people at least in my experience like to argue, to verbally spar, to ask, “What exactly do you mean by that?” to raise counterarguments to your argument.

One of the best counterarguments that I've heard from a German recently was in a Letter to the Editor in a local newspaper. The writer of the letter was responding to an article about an animal-rights group having protested the pony rides at the local fair. The writer's argument was so sharp and was such a good illustration of what I mean when I talk about the German argumentative spirit, it needs no introduction. Enjoy.

***

What exactly is animal cruelty? 

July 30: Another protest against the pony rides at the fair. 

Why are animal-rights protesters making so much noise about the pony ride at the fair? Sport horses often have to spend 22 hours a day in a box because they are not allowed to go out to pasture due to risk of injury. Furthermore, horses are transported in stuffy hangers and are exposed to a lot of uncomfortable noise at tournaments. Then they are locked away again.

The ponies, on the other hand, get to move throughout the day, don’t spend their day in a box and get plenty of attention from children. Maybe it's time to rethink what we mean when we talk about "animal cruelty."

Up on the roof

I had a very interesting dream last night, and when it opened up, I was at the top of a very high tower with some sort of acquaintance. Though the guy and I didn’t know each other well, we were stuck in the same predicament. Both he and I needed to get down from the tower, which was about 50 feet off the ground. A ladder was attached to the tower, but unfortunately it ended 30 feet above the ground. The guy, who was heavyset, gave me instructions on how best to descend the tower. First, he said, I should take off my shoes and place them on the ledge. Then, when going down the ladder, I should keep my eyes straight ahead of me and at no point look down.

I was skeptical. Below us were several people with whom this guy and I were friendly. They were telling us that we had to come down, that we had no other choice, and that we should stop being afraid. After all, they said, they had come down the same way. But this guy and I were hesitant. Finally, the guy decided to go. He followed his own advice and for a while it all seemed to work. But then, after he had gotten down as far as he could on the ladder and had jumped -- I guess that had been his strategy: to jump the rest of the way, even though it was a major drop -- he landed on a surface that had looked like earth but was actually ice, and sank.

Obviously, this didn’t make me more enthusiastic about jumping or following the guy’s advice. I had thought that I was trapped and I really didn’t know what to do. Then, I noticed that there was a building next to the tower. I noticed that if I was careful, I could climb from the tower onto the building via the roof of a doorman booth, which for some reason was wedged between both structures. 

I worked up the nerve to climb over the small roof and was successful. From the building's roof now, I looked down on my friends and laughed at them “See!” I said. “You don’t have to do it the way you guys said I should. I did it my own way and it was perfect!"  For some reason, though, I had to go back to the platform of the tower. I had left some important papers on it or something. I was very unenthusiastic about this because I had just reached safety. But in the dream I felt it was my duty to go back. Luckily for me, my friend Kaivan was there -- he was one of the friends who had been waiting for me below -- and he did just want a good friend would in such a situation. He came up onto the roof where I was and told me that he would accompany me back onto the tower.

"Field of Dreams"

Last night I had a dream and when it opened up, I was sitting in a dark room with a teenager. For some reason, I was supposed to give him tips on how to write better. The only really thing that stood out about this guy, besides his seeming nice, was that he had tattoos  — including face tattoos — and he had had his earlobes stretched. I remember saying to him, half kidding, “In my day, we just got our tongues pierced. And that was crazy enough.” This kid had a book with him, one that he had heavily annotated. The book was “Field of Dreams.” I'm not sure if "Field of Dreams" is even a book, but in my dreams, it was. I remember thinking to myself that "Field of Dreams" was a super strange book to have, just really random. But he had underlined and highlighted lines and passages that he liked, and was eager to have me help him with the writing that he wanted to do about the book.

Dream

Last night I had a dream and in it I was sitting in a classroom full of kids. The kids were about 15 or 16 years old. It was an ESL, or English as a Second Language, class and when the dream opened up, the teacher had just begun handing back tests we had taken. 

As I sat there waiting for my test to be returned, I felt a bit antsy. I was very curious about what my score was going to be. The funny thing is, I couldn’t see the teacher, or couldn't really, anyway.  I knew the teacher was female, but all I could see was her bottom half, sorta like how they used to do it on the "Muppet Babies."

Anyway, after a minute or so of just sitting there,  I began chatting with the student next to me. I think I might have been chatting with a few students, but I’m sure that I was chatting with at least one. I remember feeling nervous because I knew that if I got anything less than a “1” -- in Germany,  a "1" is the highest grade you can get -- the students around me were going to think that I was not very impressive. After all, English is my native tongue.

Finally the test was put down on my desk. I got a 1. The first thing I did after getting the result was show it off to the student I had been speaking to.  “Boom, see!" I said, “of course, I’m going to get a one,”  I said and I started laughing. Everything at that moment felt harmonious and proper. When I looked at the test, I saw that out of 90 questions, I had gotten all correct but three. Still, that qualified me for a 1.