My latest ventures have landed me an internship at a film festival company in which I work for an Australian man and am constantly told I have a strange accent. The office is hidden away down a garden path in a beautiful area of Paris. So once I'm inside I could be in the Bronx, but the walk there is lovely. It is an eclectic group of people that work there, dominated by Italians but also featuring people from Denmark, Norway, Estonia, Canada, Poland, England, Spain, Australia, France and then me, the lone New Zealander that is constantly asked to repeat herself to be understood and speaks in a jumble of French and English to get points across. Nothing like adding a language barrier to a new job. My official role is "social media content advisor" which briefly translates to 'making-coffees-running-errands-and-doing-whatever-is-needed". No, luckily I don't make the coffee's. That person is above me.
So my day is spent organising aspects of the website and their various and diverse social media platforms (check out ECU Independent Film Festival Paris for more information, see that plug I chucked in there? What a segway.) So, other than the fact that the French don't eat for long periods of time, (and asking to pop out for a baguette at 12pm would be like suggesting to the French they leave out cheese from their diet), and therefore the only lunch time music lighting up the office is the sound of my empty and grumpy stomach demands. But despite this, I feel like I have one of those real people jobs where you wear tailored suits, heels and walk with a purpose, like you're late for perpetual meetings (of which I do none, and come to think of it, have none. Though as a result of having to catch three metro's to get there, I normally am running.)
By night, I moonlight as a responsible, respectable babysitter for three loud but charming children. (which really translates as me playing grown-up but really enjoying finding my true calling as a 10 year old). Single-handedly looking after a 12, 9 and 2 year old is not the easiest job I could think of but it sure keeps thing interesting (read: forgetting that 2 year olds probably shouldn't cross the road by themselves..)
Although I'm supposed to combine my babysitting hat with my teaching English hat, I really just end up learning French from someone 19 years my junior. Yesterday we played "guess the animal" which consisted of me asking the two year old what animal it was that I was holding. Little did she realise she was teaching me the name of a variety of animals. However my personal favourite was the colour game which followed the same idea. But this time, when I pointed to yellow, I asked her what the colour was and she responded "yellow". I instantly stopped.
"Uuuhh, huh?" I asked, stumped.
"Yellow" the French two year old repeated.
"Ahhh, oui, tres bien" was all I could muster.
I am still failing to understand how on earth she knew to say yellow when it really should have been 'jaune'. Guess my English teaching skills are better than I knew. (I'll just skim over the fact that I hadn't even mentioned yellow yet, but what the heck.)
So regardless of a few tears here and there (theirs, not mine, though I'm not sure which is worse), and the mission of trying to control 3 energetic, crazy French children, I'm practicing my kid-French and learning that not everyone in Paris lives in as ridiculously small apartments as I do.
I just hope they don't pick up New Zealand accents with my influence. Having been away from home so long, hearing the accent is, ummm, interesting.
Ay?
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