You might want to start here.
Anyway, here’s my thinking: bollocks to teenagers. Really, 8 out of 10 of them are just fucking awful. That’s how I feel right now. The only blight on my otherwise-awesome first week in Mexico City is a group of uncivilised, privileged monsters out close to Metro Polanco. I can’t get them to settle for a proper lesson, so I compromise with lessons that involve little more than vocab. When I’m observed, that’s an appalling decision based on the little angels’ sterling behaviour – that being with two high-ranking school officials in the room, of course.
All of my adult sessions have been great – I’ve developed a great rapport with my students, and I genuinely think I’ve taught them something when I leave the class. I have a good time, they have a good time, they learn something, I don’t feel like taking a nap on the Metro line.
Sigh. So, yeah. The decision I wasn’t willing to make a few months ago in the face of depression? I’ve made it. I’m going get out of this one contract and try with tooth and claw not to teach screaming semi-developed simians ever again. Job done.
Kosmopolite 