¡Me quedé de Piedra! (You could have knocked me down with a Feather!)

Thursday.
9am.
Spanish.
Christ on a bike! 'Wing Man' is in the classroom!
Looking sheepish, admittedly.
Javier attempts to do the roll call by memory.
He always fails dismally.
But at least he tries.
In general, he gets a few of us right, and yet more of us wrong.
But there is a gradual shift in the right to wrong ratio as the course progresses.
In favour of 'right'.
He is doing very well!
I nearly tell him so, but then I remember my rightful place in the teacher/student relationship.
As Javier scans the room and his neurons muster up all their strength to fire their connections, his eyes land on the gurrier.
He executes what I can only describe as 'cartoon-like' surprise.
It is the kind of goggle-eyed physical jump that you would easily dismiss as overacting if you saw it in a farce, let alone a regular comedy.
I manage to stifle my 'cartoon-like' guffaw.

¿Como te llama? (What's your name?) he asks 'el Wingo'.
'Euh...me... llamo...euh....Brian...euh...Donnelly', he replies in his best inner city accent.
(Dublin, not Madrid.)
'Ah!' Brian Donnelly!' enthuses Javier, as though Brian were the prodigal son returned.
Chuck Norris's features are so familiar to me by now, I could pick him out in a line-up if I were blindfolded and with my hands tied behind my back.

As the lesson takes shape, it becomes clear that Brian has still not got round to purchasing the prescribed course text book and is sharing with his classroom neighbour.
I notice I am grinding my teeth, so I inhale deeply and convince myself he is not my problem.
I am not the project coordinator for our 'Exploring Hispanic Cultures' group.
So why should I give a SHIT?
I smile as I exhale on that thought.
Or word.
Whatever.

At the end of the class, 'Wing Man' approaches me.
I am stupified!
He smiles and says to me, 'I'm in your Hispanic Cultures group,' like it's some major revelation.
I reply, without spitting, 'I know! I thought you'd dropped it!'
He then declares he has been in hospital and that he really wants to catch up and that he's not trying to shirk his responsibilities or anything.
I am sorely tempted to tell him to wing off!
My inner skeptical bitch warns me he's lying, but I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt.
I briefly update him on the group's progress, leaving him in no doubt as to what we have achieved in his absence, and, by implication, what he has failed to do.
I inform him we have a meeting scheduled for 4pm this afternoon.
I ask him to give me his phone number, which he willingly volunteers, and tell him I'll text him with the location details.
He genuinely seems both relieved and grateful.

I text him.
So does another member of the group.
But, guess what?
Yup - he doesn't show!
The Winger!

©Alacoque Doyle