I don't journal too much, so this is as archival as I get these days, unless you count Post-It notes. But, this is just way too much fun to think about without putting it somewhere for safe keeping:
Last week, my Wednesday classes had a lesson on restaurant etiquette. I had several stations to which groups rotated, with each station offering some kind of activity. One station introduced new vocabulary (a la carte, a la mode, soup du jour, gratuity, etc); another offered names and descriptions of dishes which had to be identified using a slideshow on a digital photo frame; I even had my own station where I demonstrated a very basic version of Bananas Foster, much to the delight of sleepy-eyed, breakfast-deprived students.
Once all the groups completed the stations, we assembled as a class and discussed certain protocol. I had partners perform role plays and rehearse mock conversations between a server and a patron. I also gave out real American menus that have been collected over the years by former teachers. I don't know who was more fascinated: THEM over the menus with their glossy prints, oversized photos, and thick binding or ME over watching THEM. As we neared the lesson's end, one girl – clutching a menu to her chest – looked at me with a longing in her eyes and asked, “May I keep it?” I glanced at what she was holding so tightly. It read, “SONNY'S.”
Before dismissing the students, I gave them a unique homework assignment. I wrote down the URLs of six different restaurants, each one a chain with multiple locations. The students had to visit the websites, choose one of the six restaurants, and get familiar with the online menu. They also had to choose a location somewhere on the west coast and record the phone number. My last instructions made them gasp: “Next week, you'll bring that phone number to class, and I'll select a few of you to call these places in America and ask them a few questions.” They nearly lost bladder control.
Fast forward a week. I was surrounded by 30+ students, so quiet that I could hear their simultaneous breaths. Cell phone cameras were out and ready to capture the historical event. One student sat in the hot seat after being randomly chosen from the stack of ID cards that I keep for each class. Using my cellphone and an international calling card, I dialed the number and pressed “speakerphone.” Bodies leaned in as they began counting rings. Suddenly, the rings would stop, the line would go silent, and a REAL! HUMAN! VOICE! FROM! REAL! AMERICA! would break the silence. Here's an excerpt from one of the riveting conversations:
“Hi, Welcome to Olive Garden. This is Michelle. How can I help you?”
The breathing intensified. Pupils dialated. A pause. “Uh...” whispered the student, “What time do you close?”
“We close at 10:00.”
“May I make a reservation?”
"Sorry, we don't accept reservations. It's a first-come-first-serve basis."
“How long is the wait?”
"Hold on, let me connect you to the front lobby."
Eyes immediately looked to me in panic. What does that mean? Lobby? Why? WHY? WHYYYY?
“It means that she's sending your phonecall to the front desk because that's where the line forms. Don't worry.”
A few seconds later, another voice came through the phone. “Hi, this is Lorraine.”
“How long is the wait?”
"About 20-25 minutes."
"Ok, thank you."
"Ok. Bye."
Click.
Faces lit up with victorious smiles. High-fives erupted overhead as I heard the audience congratulate the caller in such a way that, if they had the right vocabulary, would sound something like this:
You totally rocked on that “What time do you close?” question! That was so street.
Once breathing and pulse returned to normal, the caller would then select a card from the student pile and everyone would gasp as the next draftee nervously approached the hot seat. In all, about five to six students were able to make calls. I told them that we will work a few more in next week.
They left class in a delighted frenzy of chatter. I left class with a smile that could not be contained.
