The Townville Shaggers
‘Class,’ in America is different to back home. Big lectures replaced by smaller seminars with regular tests and homework’s. Walking into the first few was scary, not knowing whether there was a weird American thing about where you sat. Whether sitting in the front corner, or the third row from the back or wherever it is was like having an earring in your right ear or publically declaring your love for enya, i.e. definitely gay. I opted for the spot next to the two guys in military uniform with the shaved heads. Nobody in the military is gay, at least if I don’t ask.
In the first lessons, just as back home, you have to endure the painful process of introductions to the class where people say something interesting about themselves like whether they like orange juice with or without pulp. The lass next to me, to the question ‘what are your hobbies?’ said “reading, I just love to read so much.”
She was then asked what her favourite book was and she said the second Harry Potter. I didn’t point out, when we were forced to introduce ourselves to our neighbours, that the second Harry Potter was my least favourite of the series and that it does actually have a name, its called the Chamber of Fucking Secrets.
I asked her where she was from and she said “Townville South Carolina.” She wasn’t kidding, I checked on google maps if there was actually a place with such an unimaginative name and there was, not far from here. I said that’s funny as I am actually from Cityvillage in Countryland to which she said, “is there really a school called Hogwarts?” I stared at her for a number of seconds, I had obviously chosen the wrong row.
Digger wasn’t having much luck either despite a gorgeous girl chatting with him in his photography class. His introductory question was ‘what’s your favourite band’ to which he said ‘the Beatles.’ The tutor said, “What’s your favourite album of theirs” and he replied, “that’s a Tough one… I’d have to say ‘The Best of the Beatles.’”
After this killer Alan Partridge line and her reported chuckle, I would have paid good money to see his snarly, ‘I-could-be-in-here’ grin, cruelly wiped from his face when they ‘called the role.’ At her name, “Jane Evans,” she said, “its actually Jane Jackson now, I got married this summer.”
Digger is still adamant that is not the reason he changed classes but his new, all female, Pilates module does not seem to be all that related to his course.
I am doing a module in ‘Swing Dance’ here. Genuinely getting credit for dancing. That was an intimidating first class to go to, turning up and the teacher, in his thin tie and crisp white shirt, quizzing me on where I was from. “I’m from London” I said to which he replied, “Oh London! You must have danced swing with (insert extravagant name)”
I have not danced swing with this extravagant named swinging guru. I have never danced swing. I have in fact never danced. Still it’s a lot of fun and lots of the class have not done swing before either. They have all done ‘shag’ though, a similar local dance that caused me great confusion in my first class when the teacher proceeded his first question with “have you shagged?” Slightly embarrassed I stood looking dumb, just as I was about to admit that I might be a bit out of practise he said “I actually lead a shag class here, most of these guys are pretty good.” The penny was slow to drop but now I am shagging with my roommates mum who is patiently showing me the ropes. She’s a great shag.