Picking Grapes

Last night, as I am leaving the apartment of my counterpart (who is also, incidently, my Bulgarian tutor) after a particularly rousing Bulgarian lesson (Pila li si nyakoga rakiya predi chas?/Have you ever drunk rakiya before a class?) she hollers down the stairs, "Tomorrow classes will be 30 minutes!"

"Why?" I ask, though I have generally come out of the habit of asking that question over the past five months.

"Because tomorrow is the picking of the grapes," she says.

"It's the what?" I ask, again going against my newfound reluctance towards enquiry.

"Tomorrow everyone goes out to pick the grapes for wine and rakiya," she explains. She also explains that due to all the rain, this will be a bad year for both beverages (which, I am beginning to think, are the only two things that get Bulgarians through the winter. Could be interesting...)

Eh, I say to myself as I fumble home in the pitch black (Dark by 8?! No street lights?! Whaat?!!) During my time in Bulgaria, "Eh" has become by most-used utterance.

In the morning, as I sit in the supply closet with the other teachers, one looks at me and says, (in Bulgarian) "Classes will be 20 minutes."

Okay, I think to myself. Even less time!

First period is those pesky 5th-graders...Somehow I get through unscathed (no doubt because the class was only half as long as usual). Then I have my "window" (free period), and then I walk in to set my classroom up for my 3rd period 8th grade class...

That's funny, I think as I enter the room. There's no one here. Usually there is someone around, leaning and/or throwing things out of the window, writing obscenities or my name on the board, or generally causing some sort of mischief. But, nyama.

I check the hall. Surely they must be out there bothering other teachers. Surely they are swarming somewhere in the vicinity. But, no one there either.

Where is everyone?!

A 7th grader walks by. "What hour is this?" I ask, thinking I surely must have mixed up my window period in the confusion of the shortened day.

"Third," she says, looking at me like the little pauper boy at the end of A Christmas Carol when Scrooge asks what day it is.

Hrm, I think. Indeed, this is strange.

Low and behold, two of the calmer 8th graders come by. "Where is everyone," I ask.

"They left," the girl says. "Left where?" I ask. "Home," she says. "Oh," I say. "Can we go home too?" she asks. "Well, I guess so," I reply.

So, I guess that means no class now, huh? Okay, I guess I'll print out the essays on the printer downstairs that wasn't working this morning.

Twenty minutes later I go to wait for my 4th period 6th graders. And dammit, they show.