Teaching After A Bomb Blast
Teaching After A Bomb Blast
One of the things you learned when teaching in Guatemala in the early 80’s was the sound of a Bomb going off. It’s kind of a hollow explosion as opposed to a muffler or a gunshot. Apart of the massive slaughter and murder on both sides I have to hand it to the guerrillas in one area. When they set off a bomb to blow up a building they did it at night or on the weekend when the human casualty would have been low. Whether it was intended that way or not is another question.
I was teaching a class (my very first class doing my own gig) at this large bank with twin towers. The bomb blew up on Sunday night and it looked like someone just rubbed their thumb up the front of a clay building. You could see holes in the adjacent housing and metal fences where parts of the car hit at a high velocity.
When I arrived on Monday morning to teach my class there must have been a million cops all around the place. I, like a fool, waltzed up like I owned the place. They immediately set upon me asking what I was doing there. I explained that I was an English Teacher and I had to come teach a class. After checking me out thoroughly they decided to let me in. I had to get in and start because everyday of delay was a day I didn’t get paid for the next course.
I got to the stairwell and everything was all blown to hell. The fire doors had imploded. Glass & Metal was everywhere. I thought I was on LSD. I finally made my way through the wreckage up to the third floor fully expecting to do a class. I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn’t come off but, hey, I had to go for it.
I walked in to the office where I was supposed to teach. Man, that place was destroyed. Ceiling stuff hanging down, walls blown out, destroyed furniture. Incredulously I looked at the manager and he looked at me and we both smiled and started laughing. He said, “Give us a week.” I replied, “If they didn’t like my classes, all they had to do was tell me. They didn’t have to blow up the building.”
One of the things you learned when teaching in Guatemala in the early 80’s was the sound of a Bomb going off. It’s kind of a hollow explosion as opposed to a muffler or a gunshot. Apart of the massive slaughter and murder on both sides I have to hand it to the guerrillas in one area. When they set off a bomb to blow up a building they did it at night or on the weekend when the human casualty would have been low. Whether it was intended that way or not is another question.
I was teaching a class (my very first class doing my own gig) at this large bank with twin towers. The bomb blew up on Sunday night and it looked like someone just rubbed their thumb up the front of a clay building. You could see holes in the adjacent housing and metal fences where parts of the car hit at a high velocity.
When I arrived on Monday morning to teach my class there must have been a million cops all around the place. I, like a fool, waltzed up like I owned the place. They immediately set upon me asking what I was doing there. I explained that I was an English Teacher and I had to come teach a class. After checking me out thoroughly they decided to let me in. I had to get in and start because everyday of delay was a day I didn’t get paid for the next course.
I got to the stairwell and everything was all blown to hell. The fire doors had imploded. Glass & Metal was everywhere. I thought I was on LSD. I finally made my way through the wreckage up to the third floor fully expecting to do a class. I knew in the back of my mind that it wouldn’t come off but, hey, I had to go for it.
I walked in to the office where I was supposed to teach. Man, that place was destroyed. Ceiling stuff hanging down, walls blown out, destroyed furniture. Incredulously I looked at the manager and he looked at me and we both smiled and started laughing. He said, “Give us a week.” I replied, “If they didn’t like my classes, all they had to do was tell me. They didn’t have to blow up the building.”
posted by Teachergary @ 10:51 AM
0 comments
