Fabio

I Can't Believe It's Not Fabio!

Last Monday I started Spanish classes with Fabio.  I got up early to shower and eat a healthy breakfast, fully aware of the mentally taxing class that lay ahead.  Honestly, I was probably just as nervous as my niece was when she started Kindergarten that same day (coincidence?).  #2 pencils sharpened and ready, I eagerly rode to work.

My Spanish teacher and I started off on the wrong foot, let's be honest.  First, he looks nothing like the other Fabio, the man who sold more margarine worldwide than Michael Jordan did Wheaties (probably).  Eh, I guess that was really the only thing I had against him, but you know how first impressions are.  He's in his mid-to-late 40's, worked a couple years in the US as an editor, before returning to Queretaro to be a freelance English teacher.  He's a nice enough guy, but I really wasn't super impressed with him until an hour into our first lesson, when he got into a verbal argument with the receptionist, who had just kicked us out of the room for no apparent reason.

I didn't exactly follow the verbal barrage that was exchanged, but I didn't need to.  You could tell by the tones that each was giving the other a shellacking.  Later, however, I was given a brief synopsis of what transpired, which was roughly that she was in fact a terrible person, and he made sure that she knew it.  In so many words.  Several times over.


Naturally, I had a lot of respect for the man after said incident.  He had valiantly fought for a legitimate classroom for which to use to teach me the many intricacies of the Spanish language.  I'm sure the other Fabio would've done the same.  And, sure, Spanish Teacher Fabio totally got worked by the receptionist, and now we've been exiled to the cafeteria which smells and is loud, but I appreciate the effort.

Since then, Fabio has totally turned out to be pretty flaky.  He skipped our second class altogether, apologizing afterward "if I had waited around" for him (I had given him 10 minutes), and then was a full 45 minutes late for the third class.  But still, I'm giving the man a mulligan, since he clearly loves what he does... or knows that he can show up late and make up for it by calling class 15 minutes early.  Whatever.  I've got work to do, and I'm learning Spanish.  I mean, there are still a lot things I have no idea how to say, but I DO know 5 different ways to tell someone their being a jackass (some ways more colorful than others).  Fabio had nothing to do with me learning those, but at least I'm learning, and that's the important thing, right?