Indigenous
One of my most flummoxing experiences when teaching English in Paris involved a weekly hour-long session with the CEO of a large French corporation. The classes took place in his grand downtown office, vast under 20-foot high moulded ceilings of unnerving resonance.
He, reclined in proud profile, set deep in his black leather swivel throne behind a massive oak desk. No eye contact ever, except when I corrected his grammar or pronunciation. And each time I did, he would stop, sit up, jerk his head jagged as a rooster to peer at me with utter disbelief a moment before telling me, “mademoiselle, I cannot accept such impertinence,” re-recline, and continue talking about his vacation spent to be walking along the hot bitches of the Aruba.
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