The Assessor's Visit

She's not a pleasant woman. She's smiling at the right times, and she sort of seems to be paying attention to my lesson, but she writes notes in a little black book and whispers to my tutor often. He grimaces at my lesson plan, sitting in front of him. Steven, my third tutor during the CELTA course, has definitely been the hardest to please. I half-watch helplessly from the front of the room, even as I attempt to teach. No, the assessor, the official ambassador of Cambridge sent to make sure this CELTA course is up to par, is not a happy woman. In an attempt to spare the one boy who is actually in danger of failing from a heart attack, Steven decided to allow the assessor to see his group, with me teaching. He mentions off-handedly that she only comes to see people who are in danger of failing or are in the running for getting an A. I don't want to hype myself up into believing that she's here to see me, but these are not things that you think so calmly while sitting in front of her, attempting to get out a lesson on the Present Perfect.

Afterwards, Steven pulls me to another room. He begins bluntly. He has no time to waste. "Neil and Kate have told me good things about you, and I thought you were a candidate for an A. However, what the Assessor and I saw today was not an example of an A student. You are a strong teacher, but that was not a strong class. For your next class, stick to the book and allow me to give you the grade you deserve." My stomach rises to my throat. I meekly nod an affirmative, and something like, "I will try." Everything is riding on my class tomorrow.