Lecteur posts and slutty pyromaniacs

I spent all weekend working on lecteur-ship possibilities for next year - finding the email addresses, finding schools, and writing my CV and a model lettre de motivation. The lettre started off really really rough. I felt like I had no idea what I was doing, despite the fact that I looked at about 80 different advice webpages and models of LdM. I eventually got more into the swing of things, but I still feel so unsure about what I've written and if it's any good (not to mention the grammatical mistakes!). Most of the problem is that I'm applying to all of the universities in the Paris region (among others, of course, but Paris is my first choice), and in the long shot chance that they will have lecteur postes that aren't filled by exchange programs, I really have to make myself stand out from the crowd to be on the interview list for that spot. What can I bring to a lecteur post that is new and interesting and different from the 5000 other anglophones trying to get that same job? I think the fact that I have been the English teacher in charge of evaluations and making lessons for two years now gives me that experience check mark, but I am missing an advanced degree, or any degree in a field relative to the teaching of English. Hopefully I'll get some good advice from the Frenchies who have agreed to look at it for me.

Anyway, that was my weekend. Luckily I have no social life to speak of so I could closet myself in the professors' lounge on the computer all weekend.

Although we did get some excitement at the lycée this week. About ten days ago the agent comptable came knocking on my door. Of course this was a Wednesday morning, so I wasn't working, had slept late and just gotten out of the shower, dripping wet and in my towel. Not the slightest bit embarassing, I assure you. Apparently my smoke detector was sending signals to the main control board that something was up in my room. I wasn't doing anything in there except trying to get dressed, so we sort of shrugged off the situation as weird and he let me dress and dry off in peace. Then this past Saturday around noon when I was about to head out to the marché the fire alarm of the whole lycée goes off. Sure enough, it's my smoke detector causing all trouble. Again, I had done nothing, but of course the agent comptable had to tear himself away from lunch with his family to come make sure I wasn't burning down the lycée. So I'm clearly on the shit list for the fire detector problems, and despite my protests of having done nothing, I'm sure they think something is up. Then guess what happens Saturday night around 10 PM? Yep, fire alarm goes off while I was still working on my lettres de motivation in the prof lounge. I thought to myself "that had better not be my alarm," then ran up two floors to see if the light outside my door is on, signalling that the problem comes from there... and sure enough, it's my room setting off the fire detector. I wasn't even in there! I didn't do anything! Luckily the concierge's wife was very nice and understanding about the smoke detector that seems pretty definitively broken. Of course the smoke detectors don't go off when another prof who lives there smokes like a fiend in his room and all over the hallway; the French probably make their smoke detectors specifically to not pick up cigarette smoke. So now the smoke detector in my room is turned off until repairs can be done and hopefully I won't be burning down the lycée again any time soon.

What makes this even better is that on Monday night last week my bed broke. I sat down on it and it collapsed under me! One of the legs, which I had always noticed was loose, had come unglued. I managed to prop it up for the night and then of course asked for a new bed the next day. The secretary found it hilarious that I had broken my bed. I can only imagine what they think I've been doing in there! Unfortunately it isn't due to reasons nearly as amusing and exciting as I'm sure they are all thinking right now. We all know there is no hanky panky happening in my nun's cell, just beds with loose legs. With the bed plus the smoke detector problems, they must think I am doing all kinds of crazy things! Except for the fact that I was hanging out in the lycée in my PJs on a Saturday night, so now they all know that I have no social life to speak of. I can only imagine what sort of stories they are concocting about the slutty pyromaniac...