Yesterday Tim and I had lunch in the Mariscal so I didn’t leave the neighborhood after my morning classes. We ate at the very gringo but safe and tasty Magic Bean. After lunch we stopped at Lucky’s work and picked up the deposit for the computer. He was giddy: it was pretty fun to watch. By the time we left his job, it was about 2:30. I decided I’d rather kill an hour down in the Mariscal than bus it back home only to have to come back to teach the night classes I’ve been subbing for this week. So Tim and I went to El Espiral and bought about 6 new DVDs, for a grand total of $15. Tim headed back home at about 3:00 so I decided to go to the politechnica (where I’m teaching this cycle) and plan a little in the teacher’s lounge before class started.
As I entered the teacher’s lounge my heart sank: The Whistler was there. The Whistler is an older Ecuadorian guy who teaches in the morning. Back when I taught at the other building I would get to school at about 6:30 when the building would open so I would always have enough time to be ready for class. The Whistler would also arrive early. Every morning he’d say, “Buenos dï¿½as” and then some form of “how are you?” I’d usually reply in Spanish with the appropriate, “Good, morning. I’m good, how are you?” One day a few months ago though, I said, “I’m ok.” He ranted in Spanish for a couple of minutes about how everyone should be good, and life is wonderful, etc. So after that I stuck to the “good.” The most irrtitating characteristic of The Whistler though is not his morning chat but, of course, his whistling. After the formalities are done he starts. Usually it’s an unidentifiable but occasionally he’ll break out with something like Beethoven’s Ninth. Oh, and it’s always out of tune. Always. When I found out that this cycle I had to work at the other building I was disappointed because new I wouldn’t see the other teachers that I’d made friends with as frequently. Also, there isn’t free internet at the Poli. But I thought at least there’d be no Whistler. First day of class this cycle, yep, he was there.
So you can understand my disappointment when I saw him sitting at the teacher’s table. However, I noticed he was eating a sandwhich. Since you can’t eat and whistle at the same time I thought maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. So I got out my books and started figuring out Monday’s lesson. I couldn’t help but notice The Whistler is a LOUD eater. He was smacking his lips and making plently of other noises. I just tried to ignore it. When he finished eating he did start whistling a little. Ach. But then, miraculously, he stopped. Only when I looked up he had lit a cigarrette! The teacher’s room is small and smoking is not allowed. I gave up. I packed up my books and went and sat out on a bench out in the hall until I had to teach.
Who knows when the The Whistler will strike again…