Just cuz they gave you that fancy-shmancy title
doesn't mean you have some degree. Knowledge is earned bro. Don't let
that shit get to your head!
March, 2008 Somewhere in Warsaw..
"Didn't you tell me you were an actor, Tom?"
She said after she paid 50 zloty for our coffee and cake. The equivalent of my hourly private lesson rate. Dagmara was just a year younger than me. He on the other hand was twice my age and when he said I should give his wife English lessons too, I was expecting someone a little more, “preceding”. When she opened the door to their sick-ass 'Powisle' apartment, our eyes met and I fell in love. Not with the 26 year old wife of an old millionaire, but the idea that this whole thing resembled a 90's movie, starring Chris O'Donnell or some other idiot.
Although everyone automatically assumed she was a gold-digger, she wasn't. Daga was cool. She did what was expected of her, be a loving wife and supportive pillar to her husband and his enterprises. We met twice a week at their apartment or if she was out, we'd meet at an overpriced coffee house somewhere on Nowy Swiat.
It was the first warm day of early spring and like all sun starved Europeans, Daga suggested we take our lesson outside. She never read any of the learning material I emailed her so we'd always end up sitting around talking about her life, her 7 year old daughter and the Arts.
The sun was shining and the salt stained sidewalks would soon be washed clean after the first few rainfalls.
"Yes, that's right, well it's what I studied".
We sit down on two white plastic lawn chairs facing each other and Daga takes a sip of her Machiatto. It's one of those places conveniently adjacent to a park with plenty of space to sit outside. People in lawn chairs recline, wrapped in colorful fleece blankets, cupping over sized mugs of coffee and hot chocolate.
March, 2008 Somewhere in Warsaw..
"Didn't you tell me you were an actor, Tom?"
She said after she paid 50 zloty for our coffee and cake. The equivalent of my hourly private lesson rate. Dagmara was just a year younger than me. He on the other hand was twice my age and when he said I should give his wife English lessons too, I was expecting someone a little more, “preceding”. When she opened the door to their sick-ass 'Powisle' apartment, our eyes met and I fell in love. Not with the 26 year old wife of an old millionaire, but the idea that this whole thing resembled a 90's movie, starring Chris O'Donnell or some other idiot.
Although everyone automatically assumed she was a gold-digger, she wasn't. Daga was cool. She did what was expected of her, be a loving wife and supportive pillar to her husband and his enterprises. We met twice a week at their apartment or if she was out, we'd meet at an overpriced coffee house somewhere on Nowy Swiat.
It was the first warm day of early spring and like all sun starved Europeans, Daga suggested we take our lesson outside. She never read any of the learning material I emailed her so we'd always end up sitting around talking about her life, her 7 year old daughter and the Arts.
The sun was shining and the salt stained sidewalks would soon be washed clean after the first few rainfalls.
"Yes, that's right, well it's what I studied".
We sit down on two white plastic lawn chairs facing each other and Daga takes a sip of her Machiatto. It's one of those places conveniently adjacent to a park with plenty of space to sit outside. People in lawn chairs recline, wrapped in colorful fleece blankets, cupping over sized mugs of coffee and hot chocolate.
I am very happy because I put my son in
international kindergarten. He will be learning English, French and
Spanish. They have a very advanced music program too! I bought a
piano for the flat.
Usually during these casual unprepared
conversation lessons, I tend to switch off. I call it an imaginative
philosophical trance. I answer yes, no and immediately follow up with
questions that I know they will love to go on about.
Me - Do you really believe that depriving a 4 year old of a simple sandbox and finger-painting childhood by replacing it with a competitive scholastic curriculum will be beneficial in the long run?
Pupil - Eh, can you repeat it?
Me - Sorry, what kind of Piano did you buy?
A few yards away, behind the playground, a shaggy dog chases a ball thrown by a guy with one of those ball chuckers for people too lazy to throw.
Me - Do you really believe that depriving a 4 year old of a simple sandbox and finger-painting childhood by replacing it with a competitive scholastic curriculum will be beneficial in the long run?
Pupil - Eh, can you repeat it?
Me - Sorry, what kind of Piano did you buy?
A few yards away, behind the playground, a shaggy dog chases a ball thrown by a guy with one of those ball chuckers for people too lazy to throw.
On the grass ahead of us, a little boy wearing a
yellow GAP kids jacket decided to take his A&F hat off and start
throwing it up in the air and catching it. Soon another kid joins him
and they take turns throwing the hat up into the air, seeing who will
get it first.
"That child will get pneumonia!"
Screams an old woman in a moher beret and fur coat
that looks like it was stolen from a boar after a hit'n'run.
"You're parents are irresponsible do you hear
me!"
The old woman's yelling prompts the kid's mother
to react. A tall curvy blond in tight designer jeans and chocolate
brown riding boots with a golden ponytail, marches over to the kid
and nearly rips his arm out of it's socket and drags him back to
where she and an immaculate brunette were sitting and discussing the
new color of grout between the brunettes bathroom floor tiles. The
kid starts to cry, but mom inquires about the grout between the tiles
in the brunette's kitchen.
Daga takes another sip from her latte. The froth is so thick that when she put the glass down, a tiny flake of foam stays on the tip of her nose. I rub my nose to subconsciously send her a signal, but it doesn't help.
"Well, how would you like to act in Poland?"
I start laughing.
"What's so funny? I'm serious. You're a great guy, you speak English and Polish, there aren't many actors with these qualifications in Poland. You have a good chance".
Daga takes another sip from her latte. The froth is so thick that when she put the glass down, a tiny flake of foam stays on the tip of her nose. I rub my nose to subconsciously send her a signal, but it doesn't help.
"Well, how would you like to act in Poland?"
I start laughing.
"What's so funny? I'm serious. You're a great guy, you speak English and Polish, there aren't many actors with these qualifications in Poland. You have a good chance".
"Sorry, you just have this drop of latte foam
on your nose and that is such a surprising question. The two combined
just.."
"Oh shit"
She dives into her Chanel bag and takes out a
compact with the little mirror and wipes her nose.
"Leszek and I absolutely adore the Theatre.
You know, we actively support cultural projects. Actually, I have a
great idea! We've been invited to the premier of Famous Person's new
play. How would you like to join us? I could introduce you to some
very important people"
Just as I begin to respond, Daga's mobile rings and she's absorbed in the conversation. Suddenly, she gasps Oh Jezu,
Just as I begin to respond, Daga's mobile rings and she's absorbed in the conversation. Suddenly, she gasps Oh Jezu,
"Tom, I'm sorry, I have another appointment,
enjoy the cake!" With that said she dives into her bag, pulls
out another fifty zloty note and drops it on the table in front of me
and trots out towards the black Porsche Cheyenne that looks like a
tractor trailer next to her.
I drink the rest of my Americano, put the 50 Zloty
note in my pocket and walk out into the sunshine. Then suddenly my
mobile buzzes, I look at it and it's a from Daga. “Don't forget
Friday Tom!!!”. I thought about the dangers of texting and driving
and perhaps inserting that topic into our next English lesson.
Life was different in Warsaw. I was no longer a
Film School drop-out sentenced to a life of anxiety and meaningless
part time jobs. I mattered, I was a Native. And pretty soon a
movie star ;-)
No comments:
Post a Comment