So today was my last day working. I’m feeling more emotional about leaving the job than I thought I would be. I did have to hold back the tears as I finally left by the backdoor – but even on my final day working I was treated like a servant, bet this kind of behaviour doesn’t happen on Downton….
The change started earlier this week when I went to sign for my new flat. Yes, soon I will be living with other human beings who aren’t related to me by blood so won’t just put up with my one word grumblings in the morning- scary I know. It feels quite odd to leave my little attic up here in the skies. I suppose most people feel melancholic when they move out of the first place they had on their own. I’ve had some good memories and some bad ones here (the bad ones mostly being when the WiFi doesn’t work and I have to decamp to Starbucks).
I feel less bad about leaving my weird angular abode due to the new neighbour situation. Since about March there has been another English girl living down the corridor, which has been… how can I put this…erm…interesting?! She likes to run down the corridors and ring my shrill doorbell at odd hours to get some toilet roll for the communal toilet (which I’m still rather smug that I don’t have to use). This sets us up quite nicely for next part of this sorry tale.
After having bumped into said neighbour earlier in the day who told me that she was leaving the next day I assumed that the person ringing my doorbell at 11h15 in the evening might be the one neighbour I actually know. So I pulled on a hoody over my really rather attractive trackie bottoms and what I can only describe as an interesting hairstyle, mostly piled on the top of my heads in a wet and wavy mess. Turns out it wasn’t said neighbour. How embarrassing. Not as embarrassing as it was for the -what I can only describe as overgrown child - who had actually rung my doorbell and it turns out everyone else’s doorbells. The answer to the question “Am I disturbing you?” when posed to me after 10pm is usually “But of course you are, I’m watching MasterChef you crazy fool”. This wasn’t what I replied with but I feel I portrayed it with the expression on my face. I seem to have improved my steely glare since moving to Paris and it has never been more useful than this particular moment. So this young boy proceeds to ask me about who I have as a WiFi provider even though I had already said that I was asleep when he rang the bell. I must admit that whatever I did say to him must have seemed like the angry crazed ramblings of a mad woman because my French comes out as a weird mix of words I’ve only just managed to string together in my head.
Unfortunately there are still far too many mosquitoes here though – for more information about my recent problems with insect bites please see my twitter feed where I think I have spoken about this subject perhaps a little too much. I was trying to beef up my arm muscles a little bit but the handily placed swellings have made me look like Arnold Schwarzenegger on a bad day. (Sorry for that horrific image).
Returning to my last day of working, it started with me standing at the school gates for the very last time (or at least until my next nannying job). Half the children pouring out of the doors were crying because they didn’t want to leave school, well either that or the were coming down off the sugar high which had been induced by the extraordinary amount of sweets small kids think they can eat on the last day of school.
What happened in-between me arriving at their flat and leaving was of little consequence so I will only tell you dear readers of my departure. Both of the kids came to see me out, half the time they can’t be bothered so it was rather sweet that they actually wanted to say goodbye. L gave me the biggest hug and just looked me in the eye and said “It’s been a good year”. Now I’m not one to get overly emotional at things (one of the only films I’ve cried at was Gladiator) but I did have to hold back the salty droplets forming in my eyes. J kept saying “Goodbye” along with “Merry Christmas”, “Happy Paques” and “Happy Birthday”, which they both knew to be 1st August (I have trained them well, haven’t I?) They even tried to walk up the stairs with me but stopped as soon as I threatened to pack one of them in my suitcase and take them back to the UK with me.
I never thought that I’d be particularly good at looking after kids but it seems to have worked out quite well at least no one hurt themselves while under my supervision and J now knows how to say “anticonstitutionally” which is a word in French but the translation doesn’t really scan that well.
Maybe I will get another English teaching job or maybe I’ll find something different but despite the frustration this one has given me, it has also given me some hilarious anecdotes indeed far too many to put on this blog. I will home at this time in 5 days and I’m not back in Paris until mid-August to go and move into the new apartment. I guess what I’m trying to say is that there will probably be a bit of radio silence from now until then. So it’s over and out from me until then.