© Stephanie Glaser
Not long ago, I was a substitute teacher for a high school French class. Right away, I confessed to the students that my knowledge of French was very limited. Basically, it consists of pleasantries, “petit déjeuner” (“breakfast”) and “Où est Jim Morrison?” (“Where is Jim Morrison?”)
My admission was met with confused looks, and they asked, “Who is Jim Morrison?”
“Jim Morrison? You know, the lead singer of The Doors…The Lizard King…sound familiar?” Blank looks. Maybe song lyrics would work. “You know, ‘Come on baby, light my fire?’ That’s a song, by the way, I don’t really want to light your fire.” I tried to sing the refrain for them.
More looks that said, “Wow, CRAZY sub. We wish we had Mrs. Johnson right now.”
Travel Oops 