Sociology. Economics. Student. Therefore. Men. Woman. Firm. Cell phone. Signature. Okay then. Important distinction. So. People. Chocolate? No that can’t be right, I’m just hungry. In fact, I have such a headache from listening to this 3-hour long lecture in Italian, that I could use some chocolate at this point.
I attended my first class at the University on Monday night. I’m definitely not a night person. I try to avoid night classes at all costs when at school in the U.S. But when you register for classes at the University of Teramo, you don’t get to choose your teacher or class time. There is one teacher for that specific class offered at one, and only one, time. So, the rest of my Monday nights in Italy shall be spent with Professor Burroni and the Sociologia della Communicazione Aziendale (Sociology of Business Communication).
Chicken? Did he just say something about chicken? Oh forget it. My head is throbbing by this point, but I don’t know whether it is from hunger or from the fact that my brow has been furrowed for the past 2 hours and 15 minutes trying to decipher any random word of Italian that I can pick out. Perhaps it is a combination of the two.
I certainly hope this gets better. It is very interesting to sit through an Italian University class. From the size of the rooms, I expected my class to be full of 60 or 70 eager Italian students, ready to embark upon the world of business communication. However, my class is about 16 people large (including me, the lone American), which makes for a more personal setting, yes, and also makes me feel even more that I am the only person not understanding.
Thank goodness he uses PowerPoint.
At least I’ll be able to go back home, hop on the Internet, and translate everything I have written down. If I could manage to get everything written down. What frustrates me the most is that I can write down only what is on the slides. In America, I write down the main slide bullet points and additionally copy down some of the teacher’s lecture points. I have no idea what he is saying in his lecture, so my notes consist of only the PowerPoint. And I have to write FAST to get everything on those slides before he moves on to the next one.
I’m going to get arthritis.
Monday night was syllabus day, so we were only in class for 2 hours, not 3. From what I could understand, Professor Burroni simply explained what the class would cover, how to get in touch with him, the difference between frequent and non-frequent students (wait, there’s an OPTION?), the requirements of the course, and what Sociologia della Communicazione Aziendale means.
I figured out what to do when I e-mail him.
I figured out the 3 main requirements for the class (well, THAT’S good).
I figured out that Italian students apparently have the option of not coming to class after a certain point, and it’s actually okay.
I figured out that I have a bad habit of biting my fingernails when I’m bored.
I figured out that I should probably keep a bottle of Tylenol on me at all times during this class, because focusing on understanding Italian gives me a headache.
And that was only Monday night. The next morning, I returned to the University for class from 9:30-12:30. I was going to try really hard to figure out what the professor was saying. I was fervently flipping through my dictionary at every word I didn’t understand…which means I was fervently flipping through my dictionary for 3 hours. Okay, I lie. After about 1 hour, I stopped the dictionary hunting and just looked up words on the PowerPoint slides that looked important. I’ll translate the rest when I get home. There goes an hour of my valuable Internet time…
I decided I would treat myself to Italian hot chocolate that evening. I had other errands to run, and a mid-afternoon nap was calling my name. So, I woke up around 5:00, re-straightened my hair, and headed out to the Grande Italia bar (not American alcohol bar, more like a sandwich/sweets/pub/restaurant all rolled into one) to have some hot chocolate.
I like this place. My 2 friends Beverly and Hasta from Italian lessons and I came here Monday morning to relax and just hang out. Beverly is 18 from Canada, and just living in Italy for the heck of it. I very much admire her, because I would not be able to do that at 18 years old. Granted, she is living with a host family, so her transition is perhaps easier than mine. But she is planning to stay here for 9 months. Just to live abroad. I have a feeling 5 months are going to kill me, but 9? She why I admire her? Hasta moved to Teramo with her Italian boyfriend, after the earthquake in L’Aquila destroyed practically everything recently. She is originally from Lithuania and can speak Lithuanian, Russian, English, and is learning Italian and I believe Chinese? In short, she can speak more languages that I can imagine. I’m struggling with 2.3 (the .3 is for my limited knowledge of Spanish). So I admire her too.
Regardless, Monday I took them to the Grande Italia, because neither had tried hot chocolate yet. I felt so proud when I ordered in Italian and the lady understood me! We each got something different, spent an hour chatting, trying each others drinks, and sharing the two plates of shortbread cookies adorably shaped as hearts and stars.
So, I figured I could handle going to this same restaurant and ordering the same exact thing without a problem. Guess what?
This Tuesday night in particular was (1) Fat Tuesday, (2) Carnivale, and (3) raining. Therefore, all the little Italian munchkins that would normally be running around dressed in costumes spraying each other with silly string and tossing bags of confetti around the town decided to sit in the Grande Italia. On a normal night, I could go in alone and enjoy my hot chocolate with a few others.
Tonight, I had to fight to find a seat. Then I was the only person alone in that restaurant. Surrounded by pairs of women chatting away and tables full of Italian youths, I felt like the ugly girl in high school who had no friends.
But I am young and alive and vibrant and pretty! I have boys asking for my phone number all the time! I’m not this loner you see!
Too bad I don’t know how to say that in Italian.
The waitress came over to take my order. I confidently said, “Classica Oro.” She looked at me with an expression that said, “What are you talking about?” So I pointed to it on the the menu. It seemed like she still didn’t understand. I pronounced it correctly and I’m pointing to it right here! How hard is this?!
“Do you speak English?”
Holy crap. I must have foreigner plastered all over me.
“Yes.” I said dejectedly, feeling my confidence in my Italian ordering skills wash away with the lousy Mardi Gras rain. “Would you like whipped cream?” Oh, that already makes things better! “Please!” I say.
In America, whipped cream on your hot chocolate is free. Not in Italy. It costs .30 euros. Darn.
I decide to do some window-shopping to kill some time before dinner at 8:15 with my friend Davide. I walk out of the Grande Italia, and the next thing I know some young guy is coming up to me babbling off something in Italian. I look at him and say, “HUH?” Firma. Oh signature. Must be some petition. No thanks, I say. I have no idea what you are saying, do you think I’m going to sign your petition? I could totally be agreeing for you to kidnap me and sell me into sex slavery like on Taken. Except I don’t have some Liam Neeson to kick serious butt and save me. I don’t think so, buddy.
I headed home after my hot chocolate and fruitless shopping trip. I had a Skype date with my roommate Emileigh. I was very much looking forward to it.
I log onto Skype, and my grandfather calls. It never fails. When I log on, I can almost always expect him to call. I like it though. Certain constants while I’m over can make these 5 months bearable. :) Plus, my grandfather is pretty cool guy, not gonna lie. Emileigh logs on, and we spend the next 20 minutes fighting with my sketch Italian Internet. First it would connect, but she couldn’t hear me. Then I was like a bad cell phone signal. Then my Internet just quits randomly. So, I finally give it one more time, and SUCCESS! We didn’t get to talk nearly long enough, because we lost the first half of our date time just trying to connect. At least we got to talk about the nice Conway weather, the crappy Teramo weather, stupid boy problems, stupid boys, and periods. I love my Skype dates with Emileigh.
Then my friend Davide texted me. He was outside. It was time for dinner.
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