Up the down staircase

I was nervous the entire bus ride. Nervous I might miss the stop, be late, walk down the wrong street and end up walking for an hour before I found the building. I had gone to it on the weekend, but another way, from another direction. But being nervous about getting lost was just to take my mind off of being nervous about teaching adults. Something that before this week I had never done. Sure, I've tutored adults and college students, helped people from 9 up to 30 write essays. This, though, it felt like a whole new ball game.
I found the building. Now, the architecture, my goodness, it was like the hippest building in some sitcom about the hippest people ever. Metal siding, the top painted barn red, oval windows, square on the bottom. Inside, goodness, it was like a warehouse transformed into chic by a billionaire. Shiny cement floors, charcoal drawings with a dash of red paint. I had to be buzzed through a subway entrance look-a-like. The elevator, all glass, so the artwork, the collage, the creative vibes could shoot you full of art juice on your elevator ride.
Then there was the company, an advertising agency. There were no suits to be found. If there was a person over 40 in there, they were disguised as a Levi's model. I waited to speak with the secretary, the office was open, cubicle walls replaced with space - I'm guessing there was better flow this way. People walked passed me, fitted jeans, Bed Head hair. I had somehow fallen into the set of Ugly Betty, but this was in Poland and there was more red.
"Oh, you're the English teacher," her face brigthened up. "Right this way, I'll show you the room."
The board room, red chairs, metal handles, hi-tech equipment, in no way an intimidating environment. Then my students started filtering in.
"Hi." "Hello." "I'm Chris, I think." And then, it wasn't so intimidating anymore. There were 6 altogether, and it reminded me of high school. There were the 3 who weren't excited to be there. The gay guy: never answering the question but making a stupid joke and talking in exaggerated syllables.
"Meeee?" he touches his chest. "I'm dreaming of a white Christmas."
"Well, that's a lie."
His hand leaves his chest and he gives a short, quiet laugh. "Mmmhaaa."
And who was his partner in class interruption? Right-O, folks, the girl who bleached her hair, cut it short, and felt the need to remind people that she parties and even past the age of 30, as a strong woman, guys are still into her.
"Sex in the City. What you don't like that show?"
"I don't like the city...I don't like the Yankees."
"Then I bettter get out of here."
Yeah, cause being from Poland makes you the chick from Sex in the City. Sure.
The last who didn't want to be there wasn't because of trying to prove something, but because she was shy, hadn't spoken as much English, but when she spoke, it was regarding sex.
"I agree with Freud. You know, that on maybe some level, all dreams are about sex."
Thanks for joining the conversation.
Then the other 3: One just wanting to learn, excited to speak with a native speaker,
"Maybe we can do a lesson on talk shows." the leader of the class who has the best grasp of English grammar, "I want to learn the rhythm of the language." and the guy who figures these conversations might be a nice break from work. "
And for bullshitting with this group of people, I get paid. And you want to know something? Right now, it's illegally. It really is crazy, though. I get paid more than the average Polish worker. Way more.