a story about bad grammar and non-existent punctuation and my TEFL adventures
In 2002 I finished my undergraduate degree, only to realise that it was probably not going to be the easiest thing in the world to find a proper job – I didn’t think my dad would approve of me claiming answering the phones at Butler’s Pizza as a career. The more I thought about it, though, the more I realised that this wasn’t actually a problem, because I didn’t actually want a proper job.
So I decided to do TEFL. I found a local language school, did the application assignment, paid the fees and spent the next few weeks blissfully dreaming of all the amazing places I would soon be visiting: the deserted beaches, spiritual retreats, incredible food. (What I did not imagine were the crying, puking children; nasty, hormonal teenagers; grumpy principals with a fetish for paperwork; or tedious compulsory school events. But we’ll get to that later.)
Having spoken English my whole life and read for most it too, I convinced myself the TEFL course would be a breeze. This was the first of many times when I was oh-so-wrong.