Theft by Finding - David Sedaris

September 3, 1998
Paris
Last night I worked on my homework for three hours. This morning I got up early and spent another
four and a half hours on it. I wondered if I was maybe going overboard, but all that time did nothing to
prepare me for today’s lesson, or for the teacher.
My fellow students have begun forming camps. The Poles sit together, as do the Japanese,
Koreans, Thais, and an inseparable couple composed of an Italian girl and an Argentinean musician,
who announced during his introduction that he likes to make love. I was surprised by the number of
people who hadn’t done their homework or who handed in scraps of paper written on the Métro. The
teacher exploded, calling us liars and good-for-nothing shits. She stormed across the room, berating
those who had already had absences. Apparently people enroll just to get their student visas. Then
they either come to class or stay home, try their best or give up and stare out the window. If I’m not
mistaken, this was her attempt to frighten them off. No one could do anything right today, not even the
sweet, pretty Yugoslavian girl who has no one to bond with. I cringed when the teacher yelled at her.
At one point she asked us a number of true-or-false questions regarding the passé composé.
Everyone agreed to the final one, and when I questioned it she marched across the room, raised my
hand, and said, “Bravo. He’s the only one in the room who’s not sleeping. He’s the only one who
caught it!”
I felt the hatred of my classmates and slunk down in my seat. Then, too, I’m the only one who typed
his homework and handed it in fastened with a paper clip. She told us to keep our sentences simple,
and I didn’t quite obey. But why write “I went to the store with a friend” when, without relying on the
dictionary, I can say “I visited the slaughterhouse with my godfather and a small monkey”?
September 7, 1998
Paris
We got a new student today, a Moroccan who’s clearly the best French speaker in the room. She
correctly and confidently answered one question after another until the teacher shut her down by
saying, “This is not your little occasion to show off. This is for people who don’t know the language.”
Later, when I handed in my homework, the teacher took the stack of papers and said to me, in front
of everyone, “What is this, a detective novel?”
Meanwhile, I got back yesterday’s assignment with Excellent written on the last page. It meant the
world, as I’d put a lot of time into it.
September 10, 1998
Paris
I can’t figure this woman out for the life of me. Today she came to class apologizing for not having
graded our homework. In hopes that we might forgive her, she brought in a chocolate cake and a roll