Conversations from a teacher's staffroom

One of the (only) joys of being an English teacher, is the wonderful array of stories that Teachers have to tell each other. It's part of what we do to get through the often mind-numbing tedium of teaching such wonderful things as adverbial expressions of time. Some recent conversations have given me some gems. Usually these always involve a misunderstanding of the English language. For the most part they are innocent enough mistakes. Occasionally however, a story comes along which leaves me helpless with laughter.

For example a friend of mine was telling me about a young Polish boy she is teaching. A quiet, shy, bug-eyed creature, he has sat wordlessly in the class and managed to get through several weeks without uttering a single syllable. One day the class concerned the subject of shopping and my friend asked the students what they should say when they aren’t happy with what they have bought, upon which our small Polish friend yelled out the immortal words “Wrong size Motherfucker”.

However, the coup de grace was a story I was told last week concerning a Russian student who came to stay and study in Dublin two summers ago. Students are placed with host families, who are charged with feeding and looking after these raging balls of teenage hormones. On the first night, the Russian student was having dinner with his new family (including pre-pubescent girls) and the conversation turned to his family back home in Siberia…

Russian kid: thanks you for de loverly dinner
Mum: you’re welcome. So, tell us about your family back home?
Russian kid: What?
Mum: Your family?
Russian kid: Oh. Yes. Mine family…
Dad: Yes, what does your father do?
Russian kid: My father?
Mum: Yes, your father. What does he do?
Russian kid: Oh, yes. Mine father. He has a business…
Mum: Oh very good. And what business is that?
Russian kid: Sorry?
Dad: His business. What is it?
Russian kid: Oh uhm, I, uhm, I don’t know the words..
Dad: Well, can you describe what he does?
Russian kid: Yes I can.
Mum: Good. So what is it?
Russian kid: He fucks dogs.
Dad: He fu… what?
Russian kid: He fucks dogs.
Mum: What? He does what?
Russian kid: He fucks dogs.
Dad: He what?
Russian kid: You know, he fucks dogs.
(tumbleweed rolls through)

Five minutes and several dictionary consultations later, the rather shell-shocked host family got to the bottom of the problem. Our young friend was trying to explain that his father was a champion dog-breeder...